Tracking down Sophia 1

"Son," the deep, authoritative voice cut through the quiet hallway as Gilbert reached for the door handle. His fingers paused mid-air, tension rippling across his shoulders. Slowly, he turned, masking his irritation beneath his usual calm facade.

His father lounged on the couch, a crystal glass of wine balanced in one hand. The light from the chandelier reflected off the dark liquid, casting fleeting shadows on his sharp features. His gaze was piercing, expectant, as if daring Gilbert to challenge him.

"Where are you off to?" the older man asked, his tone carrying not concern but a cold, habitual authority.

Gilbert's jaw tightened, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought the urge to snap. "Since when do you concern yourself with where I go?" he replied, his voice measured but laced with defiance.

The wine glass paused mid-swirling, and his father's eyes darkened. "Don't try using that tone on me, Gilbert," he warned, his voice low but biting.

Gilbert didn't respond. Instead, he turned back toward the door, his lips pressing into a thin line as he flicked off the hallway light with a sharp click, an intentional dismissal.

"There's a dinner event at the Sherwood Hotel this evening," his father announced, his voice heavy with finality. "I want you to come with me."

Gilbert's hand gripped the doorframe, the wood creaking faintly under his fingers. "I'm not interested," he said flatly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

A flicker of something crossed his father's face—irritation, perhaps disappointment, though it vanished as quickly as it appeared. "I'm not giving you a choice," he snapped, his composure slipping for just a moment. "Be ready by seven."

Gilbert's shoulders tensed as he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him. His father's voice, now muffled, still echoed faintly in his mind. "Must this son of mine always give me a hard time?"

Outside, the air was sharp and brisk, carrying the faint scent of rain. Gilbert's chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as he leaned against the cool brick wall of the house. His thoughts churned, a tempest of frustration and guilt.

Why does it always have to be about control with him? Can't he ask- for once ask and not demand?

But even as the anger burned, a quieter voice whispered beneath it: the part of him that still craved his father's approval. The son who once sought praise but had long since given up on hearing it.

His phone buzzed, breaking the spiral of his thoughts. Snatching it from his pocket, he answered brusquely. "Speak."

"Got a lead," came the gruff voice of his mole, a faint static crackling over the line. "De Wayne Henry will be at a dinner tonight. Big tech investor thing, Sherwood Hotel. Starts at seven."

Gilbert froze, his breath catching. The coincidence struck like a bolt of lightning. The same event. The same place.

His fingers tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white. Of course. Because why wouldn't life make this mess more complicated.

"Got it," he muttered, his voice clipped. "Thanks."

"Hold up," the mole added, a faint smirk audible even through the static. "Guess you're rubbing elbows with the bigwigs tonight, huh? Just try not to cause too much trouble."

Gilbert exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "One of us has to stay professional," he retorted, hanging up before the mole could respond.

The phone dropped back into his pocket as he pushed off the wall, his mind racing. On one hand, he could help his father navigate the world he clearly cared so much about. On the other, his friends were depending on him to uncover the truth behind DH.

For a moment, he stood still, the faint sound of distant traffic filling the silence. Then, with a shake of his head, he walked toward his car. Whatever decision he made, it wouldn't be one his father forced on him.

---

"Well, looks like it's just you and me," Alexander announced, his voice steady but calm. His sharp gaze flicked to Kamsi as if gauging her reaction.

Kamsi's shoulders slumped involuntarily, disappointment flickering across her face. She had been counting on Gilbert's presence to make the outing feel less... tense. But now? Just the two of them? The thought left a knot tightening in her stomach.

"Oh, she just said, 'let's go,'" Alexander added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, as if amused by her reaction.

Kamsi gave a small, uncertain nod, trying to mask her apprehension. They were supposed to use Gilbert's car, but now that plans had changed, Alexander casually pulled out his phone and called someone.

Moments later, a sleek black sedan rolled up in front of them, its polished surface gleaming under the late afternoon sun. Kamsi blinked in surprise. "You have a driver?" she asked, her tone carrying equal parts awe and curiosity.

Alexander stepped aside to let her in first, his expression unreadable. "Not exactly. Family arrangement," he said coolly.

As they settled into the car, her curiosity got the better of her. "Don't you drive?"

His posture stiffened for the briefest moment, and she noticed the way his jaw tightened, a shadow passing over his face. For the first time, his usual air of calm seemed to waver.

"Not anymore," he answered flatly, his voice lower, as if to end the conversation.

But Kamsi wasn't satisfied. She studied him, the way his hand gripped the edge of his seat, knuckles pale against his fair skin. There was something behind that answer, something heavy. But before she could press further, he leaned back, closing his eyes, effectively shutting her out.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, though. If anything, it was a quiet respite. The hum of the car engine and the muted city sounds filtered in, and Kamsi allowed herself to relax, her thoughts drifting.

For Alexander, however, the past clawed its way to the surface. A memory, vivid and unwelcome, replayed in his mind—a night cloaked in chaos, headlights illuminating the rain-slick road, the deafening screech of tires… He exhaled slowly, forcing the images back into the depths of his mind.

The trip to Georgetown passed uneventfully, much to Kamsi's relief. When they arrived, she stepped out of the car, taking in the neighborhood's picturesque charm—the cobblestone streets, ivy-draped townhouses, and an air of quiet affluence.

"This is it," Alexander said, his voice snapping her out of her reverie.

"This is it?" Kamsi echoed, more to herself than him, as she gestured for the driver to park.

Alexander's stride was confident as he approached the door, hands slipping casually into his pockets. Kamsi trailed behind, her gaze inadvertently drawn to his poised figure, the way he moved with an unspoken authority.

When he reached the door, he rapped lightly, the sound almost polite. Kamsi hovered a few steps back, anticipation coiling in her chest.

The door creaked open, and a girl, no older than seventeen, appeared. She had deep brown eyes that seemed to hold a spark of mischief and thick black hair tied back in a loose, wavy ombré.

Her gaze landed on Alexander, and her lips parted slightly, as though she'd forgotten how to breathe. "Did an angel fall from heaven?" she blurted, her voice soft but unfiltered.

Alexander's lips curved into a faint, disarming smile, the kind that could melt the iciest resolve. "Hey," he greeted smoothly, his tone warm but restrained.

The girl blinked rapidly, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "H-hey," she stammered, clearly entranced.

Alexander tilted his head slightly, his smile never wavering. "Does Sophia Eaton live here?"