Chapter 5 - Chapter Five: Brushstrokes of Doubt

The check hadn't moved from the kitchen table.Eliana walked around it all morning like it might detonate. She made toast she didn't eat, brewed tea that went cold, and even rearranged her bookshelf alphabetically—something she hadn't done since college.All this while the slip of paper still sat there even the five thousand dollars. Her name printed neatly on top, just beneath a letter that read like poetry and a warning at once.Create only for yourself. Who even said things like that?And why her?Jasmine had been watching her for the better part of the morning, eyes flicking from her sketchpad to her sister, then back. Finally, she set her pencil down and said what they were both thinking."So... are we going to talk about the Bond villain who paid you five grand for your feelings?"Eliana blinked. "He didn't pay for my feelings."Jasmine snorted. "That's exactly what art is, emotional ransom."Eliana cracked a smile despite herself. "You've been reading my old journals again.""Guilty but seriously, El... that's real money. We could fix the radiator and….maybe finally buy that used fridge that doesn't make death noises."Eliana stared at the check. "That's not the point.""Then what is?"She sighed, running a hand through her curls. "What kind of man gives this much and doesn't ask for anything?"Jasmine tilted her head. "A man who's rich enough not to care?"Or a man who wanted something deeper, something unspoken. That's what scared her most.Eliana folded the contract again and shoved it in a drawer beside unpaid bills, broken pencils, and scraps of half-finished canvases. She didn't want to look at it anymore.At least not until he came back.********Three days later, just like the letter said, he returned.It was raining when he knocked.Not the soft drizzle kind. The heavy, straight-from-the-gutters kind that made everything smell like rust and old leaves. Eliana was in the middle of washing paint off her hands when she heard it. She paused, heart ticking faster than her thoughts.She opened the door slowly.Dominic Blackwood stood there, rainwater soaking the shoulders of his tailored coat, his jaw sharp under the dim hallway light.He didn't smile this time.Instead, he simply said, "May I come in?"Eliana hesitated—but only for a second.He didn't look around this time.Didn't pretend not to notice the chipped wall paint or the damp stain near the window. He just stood near the table, eyes resting on the drawer where she'd hidden the contract."I assume you read it?" he asked quietly."I did.""And?""And I don't know what kind of man sends five grand to a stranger without strings, but I'm not used to that.""There are no strings.""There's always something," she said.Dominic moved closer, slow and steady. "What I want from you is simple. Six paintings, nothing more.""Why me?""You already asked that.""And I still don't believe your answer."His lips pressed into a line. "I don't need you to believe anything, just trust yourself.""You think I can do that?""I think you already have. You just haven't realized it."They sat in silence after that. The clock ticked like a metronome, loud in the quiet room.Finally, he said, "I can leave the check or take it back."Eliana looked at him. Really looked.He wasn't just rich. He was polished in a way that made other men look undone. But something about him—behind the confidence and custom-made coat—felt... heavy."You said this wasn't about a gallery," she said. "What is it about, then?"Dominic leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. "There's a kind of silence only art can speak into. I'm building a space for that silence.""That sounds... lonely."He nodded once. "It is."And that, more than anything, made her hesitate.Not because she pitied him.But because she understood.After he left, the apartment stayed quiet for a long time.Jasmine returned from tutoring that evening with a busted umbrella and a nose full of sniffles. Eliana wrapped her in blankets, made soup from powdered broth and canned corn, and tried to pretend she wasn't unraveling inside."You saw him again?" Jasmine asked between spoonfuls."He came by.""And?""I still don't know.""You like him."Eliana snorted. "I barely know him.""Doesn't mean I'm wrong."She didn't answer. Instead, she cleaned the dishes too hard and went to the studio to paint something soft—white and gray and blue.Days passed.Then a week.Then two.Dominic didn't come back.But he did send things.A box of high-quality brushes.A new easel.Canvas rolls too expensive for her to even price.All with no notes. No pressure.Just gifts.Eliana didn't touch them at first. She left the box near the window like a test or a trap.But one night, after Jasmine had another flare-up, after Eliana sat up until 3AM refreshing GoFundMe campaigns for other girls in worse shape, she opened the box.The brushes were soft as clouds.She didn't mean to use them.But her fingers itched.And once she started, she couldn't stop.The third painting came out without permission.A man in a hallway, his hair wet, a face half-shadowed, half-revealed.She signed it with shaking hands.Then shoved it in the closet.Weeks later, a knock came again.This time, she didn't hesitate.Dominic stood there with his hands empty and a question in his eyes."I'm not here to ask again," he said. "I just wanted to see."Eliana stepped aside. Let him in.She walked to the closet, pulled out the wrapped canvas, and set it on the table.He stared at it in silence."I didn't paint it for you," she said."I know.""I didn't mean to paint it at all.""I know.""But it's yours."Dominic looked at her then—really looked. And in that moment, she felt like he saw more than just what was in front of him. Like he saw the girl she'd been, the woman she'd become, and all the mess in between."You haven't said yes yet," he said."I know.""Will you?"Eliana closed her eyes for a beat. Thought of Jasmine's medicines, the rent and the fridge that coughed every night."Not today," she said.And when she opened her eyes, Dominic just nodded."Then I'll wait."