Chapter 35 Hang Out

Chapter 35 Hang Out
Hang Out

"You know what you need?" Isabella said brightly, clapping her hands together as she bounced on Sophia's bed. "A girls' day out! Shopping, eating overpriced food, buying ridiculous things we don't actually need. It's the perfect cure for brother-induced depression."

Sophia looked up from where she'd been staring blankly at the ceiling, her eyes still puffy from crying. "I don't think that's a good idea. Ethan made it clear he doesn't want distractions today, and…"

"Screw what Ethan wants," Isabella interrupted with cheerful defiance. "You're not his prisoner, Sophia. You're his wife, which means you have just as much right to leave this house as he does."

"Do I though?" Sophia sat up slowly, the weight of her situation settling back onto her shoulders. "Because it feels like I'm very much his prisoner."

"Well, then it's time for a prison break," Isabella declared. "And we're taking Marcus with us. When was the last time that sweet boy got out of this mausoleum for something fun instead of medical appointments?"

The mention of Marcus made Sophia pause. Her brother had been doing better with his new environment, but she could see how the mansion's formal atmosphere sometimes stifled his natural curiosity. A normal outing might be exactly what he needed.

"I don't know," she said hesitantly. "What if Ethan finds out?"

"What if he does?" Isabella shrugged with the casual confidence of someone who'd never truly feared consequences. "The worst he can do is yell at you, and you've already survived that this morning."

Sophia wasn't entirely sure yelling was the worst Ethan could do, especially after Isabella's story about Doris Valentino, but the prospect of escaping the mansion's oppressive atmosphere was tempting.

"Where would we go?" she asked, already feeling herself weakening.

"The Galleria. It's huge, it's public, it's perfect for retail therapy and people-watching." Isabella's smile was infectious. "Come on, Sophia. When was the last time you did something just because it was fun?"

Sophia couldn't remember. Before the marriage, her life had been all work and responsibility. Since the marriage, it had been all careful navigation of family politics and emotional landmines.

"Okay," she said finally. "But we have to be back before dinner. And we need to bring security—"

"Security ruins the whole point of sneaking out," Isabella protested. "Besides, we'll be in public. What could possibly happen at a shopping mall on a Tuesday afternoon?"

An hour later, Sophia found herself in the backseat of Isabella's red convertible, her heart hammering with a mixture of excitement and terror. Marcus sat beside her, his eyes bright with anticipation as he watched the city pass by through the windows.

"The probability of traffic accidents increases by twelve percent during peak shopping hours," he announced, though he sounded more excited than worried. "But the psychological benefits of novel environmental stimulation often outweigh minor statistical risks."

"See?" Isabella called back from the driver's seat. "Even Marcus understands that sometimes you have to take risks for fun."

The Galleria was everything Isabella had promised… massive, crowded, alive with the energy of people going about their normal lives. Sophia felt a rush of freedom as they walked through the main entrance, surrounded by families and teenagers and couples who had no idea they were sharing space with a crime lord's wife.

"First stop, shoes," Isabella declared, steering them toward an expensive boutique with windows full of designer heels. "You can tell everything about a woman's state of mind from her footwear choices."

"I don't need shoes," Sophia protested, though she found herself drawn to a display of beautiful sandals. "I have perfectly functional shoes."

"Functional is the enemy of fabulous," Isabella replied, already signaling a sales associate. "We're not buying functional today. We're buying ridiculous, impractical, outrageously expensive things that serve no purpose except making us happy."

The next two hours passed in a blur of boutiques and price tags that made Sophia's eyes water. Isabella shopped with the unconscious confidence of someone who'd never had to check her bank balance, throwing designer dresses and luxury handbags into their growing collection without a second thought.

"Isabella," Sophia said nervously as they approached another high-end store, "I can't afford any of this. Some of these price tags are more than I used to make in a month."

"Honey, you're not paying for any of this," Isabella laughed, linking their arms as they walked. "My brother… your husband… is equal to the task. Trust me, Ethan spends more on bullets than we're spending on clothes."

The casual reference to ammunition made Sophia's stomach clench, but Marcus was examining a display of silk scarves with such obvious delight that she couldn't bear to cut the outing short.

"The fabric weave density is optimal for light diffusion," he said admiringly, running his fingers over a particularly vibrant blue scarf. "The color saturation suggests high-quality dyes, probably imported from Italy or France."

"See how happy he is?" Isabella whispered to Sophia. "When was the last time you saw him this engaged with something new?"

She was right. Marcus was practically glowing with enthusiasm, his usual anxiety about unfamiliar situations completely overwhelmed by his fascination with the mall's sensory richness. He'd chatted with sales associates about textile manufacturing, marveled at the mathematical patterns in floor tiles, and even tried on several hats just because Isabella encouraged him to.

But even as Sophia enjoyed seeing her brother's happiness, a growing knot of anxiety settled in her stomach. They'd left the mansion without permission, without security, without telling anyone where they were going. If something happened to them, if Ethan discovered they were gone...

"We should head back soon," she said as they settled at a café table with overpriced lattes and pastries that probably cost more than her old weekly grocery budget.

"Relax," Isabella said, but something in Sophia's expression must have conveyed her genuine fear because her tone softened. "Okay, I can see you're really worried. What's the worst thing that could happen if Ethan finds out we went shopping?"

Sophia thought about Isabella's story, about Doris Valentino and the truck that had ended her life. She thought about Ethan's cold dismissal that morning, his warning that she was nothing more than a distraction.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "That's what scares me."

Marcus looked up from his meticulous arrangement of sugar packets. "Sophia's stress indicators suggest genuine fear rather than minor anxiety. Her breathing pattern and facial expressions indicate concern about significant consequences."

"What kind of consequences?" Isabella asked, her playful demeanor fading as she picked up on the undercurrent of real fear in Sophia's voice.

"The kind your family specializes in," Sophia replied, meeting Isabella's eyes directly. "You told me yourself that Ethan doesn't let obstacles stay in his way. What if he decides I'm becoming too much trouble?"

The question hung between them like a threat, and for the first time that afternoon, Isabella's confidence seemed to waver.

"He wouldn't hurt you," she said, but her voice lacked its usual certainty. "You're his wife. You're under his protection."

"Was Doris under his protection?"

Isabella fell silent, and that silence was more terrifying than any answer could have been. As they gathered their shopping bags and prepared to return to the mansion, Sophia realized that her brief taste of freedom might have just painted an even bigger target on her back.

She'd defied Ethan's control, left without permission, spent his money frivolously, and shown that she was capable of independent action. In his world, those might not be seen as signs of a woman finding her voice.

They might be seen as signs of a problem that needed to be solved.