Ophelia hadn't planned on going anywhere. After Darren left, his voice still echoing in her ears like a shadow that refused to fade, she tried to lose herself in her book. She even tried to nap on the velvet couch. But rest didn't come easily.
The house was too quiet, its endless hallways and immaculate furniture pressing in on her. Silence here never felt peaceful—it was oppressive, watchful, as though even the walls had ears.
So, when the driver lingered politely in the foyer, waiting for instructions Darren had not given, Ophelia seized the opportunity.
"Would you take me shopping?" she asked, standing straighter than she felt. "Just… downtown. Somewhere with clothes and—things."
The driver, a broad-shouldered man with kind eyes, hesitated for a moment. She could practically see the calculation running through his mind. But after a small nod, he opened the door for her.
