The day felt lighter the moment Mia stepped outside.
Not because the air was different — it wasn't — but because she wasn't measuring it. She wasn't counting steps or checking her phone out of habit. No one reminded her of time. No voice corrected her pace.
For the first time in weeks, she walked without anticipating interruption.
She chose the café she had passed so many times before. It was small, tucked between two larger shops, its windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. She ordered without thinking too much about it and took a seat near the window, watching people pass.
They were ordinary.
Students arguing quietly. A couple laughing over something she couldn't hear. Someone on a call, annoyed but unafraid.
No one watched her.
No one cared.
The coffee tasted better than she expected. Not because it was exceptional, but because it belonged to her choice. She lingered longer than necessary, savoring the absence of structure.
This is what he keeps from me, she thought — not bitterly, just with quiet certainty.
After that, she went to the park.
It was larger than she had imagined, stretching open in a way that felt almost unfamiliar. She walked the paths slowly, pausing to watch children play, people read on benches, joggers pass without looking twice.
Everything felt harmless.
She checked the time and smiled. She still had hours.
The bookstore was last.
She had saved it deliberately, wanting something to end the day with — something personal. The shop wasn't on the main street. She had to walk a little farther, following directions on her phone until the noise of traffic softened behind her.
The street narrowed.
She didn't think much of it.
She had lived in cities before. Narrow streets existed everywhere. Shortcuts existed for a reason.
She turned into the alley without hesitation.
It wasn't dark.
Just quiet.
Closed shops lined one side, their shutters down, metal dull with age. The other side held a long brick wall broken only by a service door halfway down. The sounds of the city didn't disappear — they faded, muffled by distance.
Her footsteps echoed faintly.
She slowed slightly, checking her phone again to confirm the route.
That was when she noticed the footsteps behind her.
Not loud. Not rushed.
Just… consistent.
She told herself it was coincidence.
Cities had rhythms. People walked the same routes. It didn't mean anything.
She kept going.
The sound followed.
When she slowed, it slowed.
When she stopped briefly, it stopped.
Her stomach tightened — not with fear, but irritation.
I'm imagining things, she thought. I've been watched too long. That's all.
She adjusted her bag and walked faster.
The alley narrowed further.
That was when a hand touched her arm.
Not roughly. Not painfully.
Firm enough to stop her forward motion.
"Mia," a calm voice said.
She startled, spinning around.
Two men stood beside her — close enough that she hadn't heard them approach. Their posture was relaxed, their expressions neutral.
"Sir asked us to escort you back," one of them said.
Her heart pounded — not from fear, but from sudden anger.
"What?" she snapped. "Why?"
"We'll explain on the way," the other replied.
She looked past them instinctively.
The alley was empty.
Whoever had been behind her was gone — if there had been anyone at all.
"This is ridiculous," she said. "I was just—"
"Please," one of them said quietly. "Let's go."
She hesitated, then nodded sharply.
They didn't touch her again. They didn't rush her. They simply positioned themselves on either side and walked with her out of the alley, back toward the noise and light of the main street.
No one stared.
No scene was made.
By the time they reached the car, her pulse had settled — replaced entirely by indignation.
She stared out the window as they drove, jaw clenched.
A single day, she thought. I asked for a single day.
The house gates opened as they approached.
The day ended exactly where it began.
She went straight to her room.
She didn't change. Didn't sit. Didn't unpack the book she had managed to buy before everything went wrong.
Her hands trembled slightly as she set her bag down.
Not fear.
Anger.
She waited.
It didn't take long.
Theon didn't come to her.
She went to him.
He was in the study, exactly where she expected him to be.
Working.
She didn't knock.
The sound of the door opening made him look up.
"You're back early," he said calmly.
That did it.
All the restraint she had carried home with her snapped into something sharp and bright.
"Yes," she said tightly. "Because apparently even one day is too much to ask."
He didn't rise from his chair. Didn't raise his voice.
"Sit," he said.
She didn't.
"I asked for permission," she continued, words tumbling out faster now. "You agreed. And then you had me followed anyway."
"I didn't—"
"You didn't even let me finish my plans," she said, cutting him off. "I wasn't doing anything wrong. I wasn't talking to anyone. I was just walking."
He watched her steadily.
"You said don't talk to outsiders except when necessary," she went on. "I didn't. I followed your rules. And still—"
She gestured helplessly.
"This is what you call freedom?" she demanded.
"Being watched until the moment you decide I've had enough?"
Silence filled the room.
Her breathing was uneven now.
"I took all your tests," she said. "Every single one. I did what you asked. I work. I follow rules. I don't complain. And you still don't trust me."
He didn't respond.
"That's what hurts," she said bitterly. "Not the watching. The pretending."
She laughed softly, humorless.
"You loosen rules. You give books. You give tea. Desserts. Comfort." Her voice hardened. "But it's all just deception."
He remained seated.
"I never asked you to comfort me," she said.
The words hung between them — heavy, final.
She waited for his response.
It didn't come.
Theon looked at her for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Then he spoke — not in defense, not in anger.
"We'll talk later," he said quietly.
She stared at him, disbelief sharp in her eyes.
"Of course," she said. "That's what you always say."
She turned and left.
Behind her, the study door closed softly.
And Theon remained where he was, listening to the sound of her footsteps retreat down the corridor — lighter than before, angrier than before, and completely unaware of how close the day had come to ending differently.
The decision did not arrive all at once.
But it began there.