CHAPTER4
1201 Words
A Glimpse of Freedom
The weekend arrived cloaked in quiet unease. Donald had been away most of the day in meetings, leaving the mansion unusually silent. Sofia sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the neat stack of books Eleanor had placed on the desk. Literature, economics, art history, all the pieces of her old life still tethered to the new one.
But reading felt impossible. The walls pressed in on her, suffocating, gilded cage or not. She needed to breathe.
Sofia slipped into jeans and a soft cardigan, pulling her hair into a loose knot. She walked down the grand staircase, her footsteps echoing faintly. Eleanor spotted her immediately from the hall.
“Where are you going?” Eleanor’s tone was polite but edged with duty.
“Out,” Sofia answered, a flicker of defiance sharpening her voice. “Just… for a walk.”
The older woman’s gaze lingered on her, weighing whether to stop her. But finally, Eleanor inclined her head. “Stay close. And don’t be late.”
Freedom small, fragile, was still freedom. Sofia pushed through the heavy doors and stepped into the bright Los Angeles sun.
The air smelled of jasmine and exhaust, warm and sharp. She followed the sidewalk until the mansion disappeared behind her, replaced by coffee shops buzzing with chatter and the hum of traffic. For the first time in days, she felt almost invisible.
Almost.
Because fate had a way of finding her.
“Skipping class already?”
The voice startled her. She turned to find Scott leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, mischief in his smile.
Her breath caught. “Scott.”
“Relax.” He pushed off the post, walking toward her with that effortless swagger. “Not stalking you. Just a coincidence.”
“Coincidence?” she echoed, raising a brow.
“Okay, maybe a little curiosity.” His grin widened. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
Her lips twitched despite herself. “From what?”
“From looking too serious.” He tilted his head, studying her. “What’s weighing on you, Sofia Andrew?”
She froze at the sound of her name. “How do you ”
“Campus records,” he interrupted lightly. “Not that hard to find.”
Her heart skittered. She reminded herself that he didn’t know the truth couldn’t know. Still, his interest unsettled her. “That sounds like stalking.”
He laughed, raising his hands. “Guilty. But only because you’re… intriguing.”
She shook her head, trying to fight the warmth creeping into her chest. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Her voice faltered, the weight of her secret pressing down. Because she was married. Because her prison had Donald’s name etched into its bars. “Because you don’t know me.”
Scott stepped closer, his expression softening. “Then let me.”
The sincerity in his voice unraveled something inside her. Against her will, her pulse quickened.
Sofia looked away, her throat tight. “I should go.”
But Scott wasn’t deterred. “At least have coffee with me. No strings, no stalking. Just… coffee.”
Her common sense screamed no. Donald’s face flashed in her mind, sharp and cold, his warnings etched in memory. Yet the thought of sitting across from Scott in a noisy café, just for a moment of normalcy, tugged at her like a siren call.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
Scott studied her, reading the conflict in her eyes. He didn’t push, but his voice dropped lower, almost intimate. “One day, you’ll say yes.”
Her heart twisted. She turned away quickly, walking fast before she could betray herself.
That night, Donald returned. The air shifted the moment he entered the mansion, his presence commanding, suffocating. Sofia sat stiffly at the dinner table, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
“How was campus?” His tone was deceptively casual, but his eyes were sharp, calculating.
“It was fine,” she answered carefully.
“Just fine?”
“Yes.”
Donald leaned back, sipping his wine. “You should be grateful, Sofia. I allow you the freedom most women in your position would beg for.”
Her chest tightened. Allow. The word made her want to scream.
“I am grateful,” she murmured, even as the lie tasted bitter.
He smirked faintly, clearly satisfied. “Good. Remember, every choice you make reflects on me. Do not forget that.”
Her fork clattered against her plate. She lowered her gaze, fighting the burn in her throat.
Donald studied her for another long moment before standing. “I have calls to make. Don’t wait up.”
The moment he left, the silence returned, heavy and suffocating.
Sofia’s hands trembled as she set her utensils down. She hated him, hated the cage he wrapped around her. And yet, a dangerous truth lingered at the edges of her thoughts: when Scott looked at her, she didn’t feel like a prisoner.
Days passed, each one a careful dance between obedience and resistance. Sofia buried herself in lectures, assignments, anything that gave her a sense of normalcy. But Scott seemed to appear everywhere by the library, in the courtyard, even in the cafeteria.
He never pushed too far. A smile here, a quip there. But each encounter chipped away at her defenses.
One afternoon, as she left class, he fell into step beside her.
“You always look like you’re running from something,” he said casually.
“Maybe I am,” she replied, keeping her eyes forward.
“Want me to catch it for you?”
She shot him a look, unable to suppress a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you smiled,” he pointed out, grinning.
The smile faded almost instantly as Donald’s voice echoed in her mind. You belong to me. No one else.
She stopped walking. “Scott… we can’t do this.”
“Do what?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“Talk. Be friends. Whatever this is.” Her chest ached as she said it, but the fear of Donald discovering them was worse.
Scott’s expression softened, his grin replaced by something more serious. “Who hurt you, Sofia?”
Her breath caught. “No one.”
“Liar.” His voice was quiet but certain.
The word struck her like a blade. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back, shaking her head. “Please. Just… stay away from me.”
She walked quickly, leaving him standing in the courtyard.
But the truth was impossible to escape: her heart wanted the very thing she was forbidden to have.
That night, as Sofia lay in bed, the mansion silent around her, she stared at the ceiling and whispered the truth she couldn’t say aloud.
“I want to be free.”
Her chest tightened as another truth followed, more dangerous, more impossible.
“I want him.”
And as sleep tugged at her, her dreams betrayed her, painting Scott’s smile across the darkness.
The next morning, Sofia will discover that freedom isn’t ju
st a dream. Scott won’t stay away. And neither, it seems, will her heart.
- Writer
