Charged Connection

II

II. Tensions and secrets 

Third Person's Point of View

The door opens, and Solange finally steps out, looking tired but defiant. She gives a sharp nod to her dad and walks past her sister without a word. Jefferson, holding himself with that composed authority, motions for them to follow him to the car.

In the car, the air is thick with tension. Beyoncé's fingers are busy typing on her phone, subtly smiling at the texts she's getting from Megan, the conversation playful and flirtatious.

∞∞∞

My Stallion🐎❤️ : "You still stuck at the station? Hope they ain't stressin' you too much."

B🐝: "Nah, it's cool. Just gotta deal with some family stuff. But later... I'll be thinkin' about you."

 My Stallion 🐎❤️:"You really don't have to say all that, you know. I'm just glad you good."

B🐝: "Oh, I mean every word. You gonna let me show you later?"

My Stallion🐎❤️: "I'm just happy to hang, Bey. Nothin' serious."

B🐝: "You say that now, but you won't be ready for what I got planned."

∞∞∞

Beyoncé bites her lip,  waiting for her friend's reply, maybe she was too straightforward this time, but Jefferson's voice cuts through the air like thunder.

Jefferson grips the steering wheel, and his tone is low but pointed. "Solange, do you even understand the gravity of what you're doing out there?" His words are polished, dripping with that formal precision he's known for, yet holding back anger.

Anissa crosses her arms, staring out the window. "I'm fighting for what's right, Dad. You taught me to stand up for my people, didn't you?"

Jefferson's eyes narrow, keeping his voice steady. "I taught you to be smart. You're acting reckless."

Beyoncé, half-listening while texting, smirks and whispers, "Takes one to know one."

Jefferson catches that, shooting her a warning glance in the rearview mirror, but before he can respond, red and blue lights flash behind them.

The car comes to a slow stop on the side of the road. Two white police officers exit their cruiser, walking up with the kind of swagger that makes it clear they don't expect to be challenged.

Jefferson lets out a deep breath, already sensing trouble. Beyoncé glances up from her phone, tension creeping into her chest, while Solange crosses her arms, ready to challenge whatever comes.

One of the officers, tall with a sharp jaw, approaches Jefferson's window. His partner walks to the passenger side, eyeing the car with a disdainful sneer.

 "License and registration."

Jefferson hands over the papers, his voice composed but firm. "Here you go, Officer."

The officer's lip curls. "Step out of the car." There's no reason given, no explanation—just an order laced with power.

Jefferson hesitates but keeps his cool. "May I ask why, Officer?"

"I said, step out of the car." His voice is harder now, an unmistakable threat lurking underneath.

In the back seat, Solange's hand quietly slips to her phone, recording. Her jaw clenched tight, she mutters under her breath, "This is some straight-up racist bullshit."