"Are you sure you don't want the Gucci handbag? I can buy anything you want, you know that right, Noah?" Elara asked, lifting a sleek black purse off the display like she was presenting sacred treasure. The lighting glinted off the gold accents, dramatic as hell—typical Elara.
I waved her off with both hands. "I'm fine, I swear." I already had, like, ten designer bags sitting in the closet collecting dust. I didn't need another one.
Elara huffed, eyebrows raised like I had personally insulted her ability to spoil me, but before she could argue, something caught my eye. Something perfect.
"Oh my god. Look at this shirt!" I gasped, snatching it off the rack and holding it up proudly.
It was a bright forest green, soft and thick, the lettering bold white and impossible to miss: "MY WIVES BEAT ME"
And on the back, even bigger: "TROPHY HUSBAND"
Bella burst out laughing first—like, full chest laughter that turned heads three aisles down. She bent forward, hands on her knees, nearly wheezing.
"Oh my fucking god, Noah, that's literally you. That's—holy shit—I'm dying—" She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still giggling.
Elara's reaction was... different. Her eyes went wide, her jaw tightening so hard I thought she was about to snatch the shirt from my hands and rip it in half.
"Noah," she began sternly, "there is absolutely no way in hell I'm letting you wear—"
I pouted. Just a tiny frown, my lip sticking out a bit. I didn't even do it intentionally—it just happened. But Elara saw. And the fight in her dissolved instantly.
Her shoulders slumped, she rubbed her forehead like she was admitting defeat in some war, and she sighed dramatically.
"Ugh. Fine. Jesus Christ. If it makes you happy..." She crossed her arms tightly. "But don't expect me to stand next to you in public while you're wearing that."
Bella snorted. "Oh, you will. You know damn well you will. You're obsessed with him just like I am."
Elara glared at her, but there was no real heat behind it. "Shut up."
I hugged the shirt to my chest. "This is gonna be the perfect shirt for dinners and family pictures."
"You better not," Elara muttered under her breath.
"I absolutely will," I whispered back smugly.
Bella wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into her side, kissing my temple. "You're ridiculous. I love you."
Elara rolled her eyes and grabbed the shirt from my hands, tossing it into the shopping basket. "Let's go before he finds something even worse."
But I caught the corner of her mouth lifting—just barely. She was amused. She loved this. She loved me.
And honestly? That shirt was the most "Noah" thing I'd ever seen.
"That'll be... eighty-seven dollars and twenty-nine cents. Cash or card?" the cashier asked, voice tired in that I hate my job kind of way.
I blinked. That much... for two shirts and some underwear? Christ, luxury stores were insane. I swear the walls were stealing money just by existing.
"Card," Elara said flatly, already pulling out the matte-black metal card—the kind that looked heavy enough to kill someone if thrown hard enough. It glinted sharply under the bright overhead lighting as she handed it over. The cashier ran it with zero hesitation, like she already knew it would approve instantly.
The little screen printed the total including tax, almost twenty dollars extra. My stomach twisted—unbelievable—but Elara didn't even flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't look. Just slid the card back into her wallet with bored precision, like she'd just paid for gum.
We stepped out of the store, the automatic doors hissing behind us, the mall unusually quiet for a Saturday—echoing footsteps bouncing off tiles, a few scattered shoppers wandering aimlessly.
"I need underwear," Bella announced, stretching her arms overhead casually, her tank top rising just enough to show her toned, scar-marked abdomen.
"Yeah, me too. Same size, right?" Elara asked, glancing sideways.
Bella nodded, and we turned into a nearby store called Alpha Female—which made me internally groan. The name was printed in metallic silver letters like it was trying way too hard to be edgy.
The moment we crossed the threshold, the stench hit me like a damn freight train.
Mint. Not good mint. Like aggressive industrial mint. Like someone filled a room with five thousand sticks of gum and then lit them on fire.
I actually coughed, scrunching my nose. "Jesus, did someone drown this place in toothpaste?"
Bella laughed and bumped my shoulder playfully. "Don't be dramatic."
"Look, Elara—" Bella grabbed a shirt off the rack triumphantly, holding it up.
A plain black tee, bold white letters: "I BEAT MY HUSBAND"
And on the back: "PROTECTOR OF HUSBAND"
Elara's expression shifted instantly—first confusion, then pure delight, wicked and bright.
"These—fuck hard." she said, her voice bubbling into a laugh. "We're getting them." Without hesitation she snatched two and tossed them into the basket like stolen treasure.
Bella was grinning ear to ear, practically vibrating with excitement. "We're literally gonna match Noah's shirt. People are gonna stare so hard."
"Let them," Elara said, chin lifted confidently, eyes burning with amusement and pride. "If they don't like it, they can choke."
I lifted the bag in my hands, feeling the weight of the shirt inside—the ridiculous bold message I couldn't wait to wear. A spark of warmth fluttered in my chest.
Walking between them felt like walking with two dragons—dangerous and powerful, but mine.
Even through the mint-poisoned air, I couldn't stop smiling.
"Would these look hot on us, Noah?" Elara asked, tossing a pack of underwear toward me. Plain colors—black, grey, white—but on them, they'd look dangerous. They could wear garbage bags and still make me fall in love with them again.
"Fuck yes," I said without hesitation, catching the pack against my chest. "You look hot in anything. Both of you."
Bella smirked, cheeks tinting slightly pink, and Elara's eyes softened. They exchanged a quick, satisfied glance before dropping the packs into the basket, the plastic crinkling softly.
"Anything else you might need, Bella? I'm good currently," Elara said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, tone casual but commanding.
Bella tapped a finger on her chin in exaggerated thought, eyes scanning around the store filled with neatly stacked displays and overpowering mint fog.
"I think... I think I'm good too," she decided, shrugging with a playful grin.
We headed up to the register together—the soles of our shoes clicking against the glossy tile floor, the mall's low background music echoing faintly like it was coming from underwater.
The cashier didn't even look up until Elara placed the basket down. She had a perfectly neutral face, like she'd practiced not giving a single opinion about anything in this universe.
"Elara," I whispered, nudging her. "Bet she smells mint even when she goes home."
Bella snorted, covering her laugh with her sleeve. "Card?" the cashier asked mechanically, already reaching.
"As always," Elara answered with calm authority, sliding the heavy black card across the counter like a mic drop.
The woman swiped it quickly, handed it back, and read the script in a dead voice: "Thank you for purchasing. Come back to Alpha Female soon."
She handed Elara the receipt without blinking, already turning to stare at the next customer who wasn't even there yet.
We stepped away, bags rustling against my leg, the cold paper handles digging slightly into my palm. The mint stench faded behind us as the automatic doors hissed shut.
"Christ, any longer in there and I think I would've passed out," I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as we headed down the wide mall corridor. The mint stench still clung to my clothes like some cursed perfume.
I didn't care where we were headed anymore—wherever Elara and Bella walked, I naturally followed between them like gravity itself was pulling me there.
"I'm starving," Bella groaned dramatically, pressing a hand to her stomach.
I raised a brow. "You ate twenty pancakes four hours ago."
"And?" she shot back, dead serious, as if that was a perfectly normal diet.
"Fuck, me too," Elara admitted. "I think they have a Panda Express in this mall. Let's go."
She nudged my hip lightly, guiding me without even realizing she was doing it, like I was something precious to be steered carefully.
As we hit the food court, the noise washed over us—a low chaotic wall of clattering trays, conversations blending into one giant hum, and the sharp smell of stir fry and fries and cinnamon sugar.
It was way more packed than the main mall halls; families grouped around tables, teenagers in clusters, office workers still in suits wolfing down lunches.
I always stuck in the middle, and they flanked me perfectly, both tall and intimidating in their own ways. People stared without shame. A few whispered. I kept my eyes forward.
"Oh look, they have a play place here," Bella pointed across the food court.
It sat in the center like some cage made of neon plastic and netted walls—slides twisting around each other, padded floors, and brightly colored steps. It was loud, obnoxious, and full of squealing laughter and the thumps of kids crashing into things. Dozens of little girls sprinted around, climbing, shrieking, fighting over who got to go down the slide first.
I only caught sight of one kid—a small boy, couldn't have been older than seven, drowning in a sea of torment.
A group of girls circled him like vultures, pushing him around, yanking at his messy hair, and pawing at his flushed face. Their shrill voices cut through the hum of the food court.
"Cry! Cry!" they taunted in unison, cackling as the boy's eyes welled up. It was a gut punch to watch. I turned to my wives, "Hey, order for me, girls. I gotta stop this crap." They gawked at me, mouths open, as I strode over to the kid getting roughed up.
"Back off, all of you. Go mess with someone else who isn’t a boy," I snapped, my voice sharp enough to make a couple of them flinch. They scattered a bit, muttering under their breath, but I ignored them.
I crouched down to the kid's level, meeting his teary, wide-eyed stare. "You okay, buddy?" He gave a shaky nod, bottom lip trembling. Then, in a tiny voice, he mumbled, "They... they kept trying to touch me... down there..."
My stomach twisted. I pulled him into a tight hug, trying to shield him from the lingering stares of passersby. "Where's your mom or dad at?" I asked gently, pulling back to look at him.
He just blinked at me, clueless, eyes darting around. "I don't have a mom. I think my dad's... over there." He pointed a tiny finger toward the seating area of the food court, a cluttered mess of tables and people. A few men lingered around, nothing too specific to go on, but I figured it wouldn't be too hard to sort out.
"Alright, let's find him," I said, taking his small, sticky hand in mine. We weaved through the crowd, the kid clinging to me as he shyly shook his head at each guy we passed. "Not him," he'd whisper, or "Nope." Finally, he tugged my hand and pointed. "That's him."
I followed his gaze to a man standing near the entrance of the women's bathroom, looking out of place. He wore tight jeans and a cropped top that showed off too much skin, his lips glossy with a cheap sheen of lipgloss. My mind jumped to ugly conclusions, and I hated that it did. He didn't look like he was waiting for someone—he looked like he was working.
"Hey," I called out as we approached, keeping my tone even but firm. "Your kid was getting messed with by a bunch of girls over there."
The man's face shifted instantly, softening as he dropped to his knees and pulled the boy into a desperate hug. "I'm so sorry, James. You know I gotta make money for us. I promise, next time I'll leave you at Auntie's house, okay?" James nodded, burying his face in his dad's shoulder.
I stood there, arms crossed, piecing it together. The outfit, the spot by the bathroom, the way he talked about "making money." It didn't take a genius to guess what he was up to.
It made my chest tight, thinking about the kind of life this little boy was getting dragged into. I couldn't help but feel a pang of pity—and frustration.
"Just... be more careful with your son, alright? He needs you around," I said, my voice low, almost pleading. The man looked up at me, eyes tired but grateful, and nodded. "I will. Thanks for looking out for him."
I gave a curt nod, not sure what else to say, and turned to walk back to my friends. A heavy sigh escaped me as I trudged through the crowd, the weight of that kid's situation sticking to me like glue.
As I stepped back closer to Elara and Bella, the world felt too loud, too bright. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to push away the sting behind my eyes.
I just hoped they'd be okay.
"What's wrong, Noah?" Elara's voice softened instantly. She tilted her head, noticing the gloss in my eyes, the way my jaw trembled. Her hand brushed my shoulder, grounding me.
"It's— that boy..." My voice cracked as I wiped at my eyes with the back of my arm, embarrassed I was even crying in public. "He... he's going through so much. He doesn’t deserve that."
I swallowed the knot in my throat and glanced back at the man and the boy. They were still standing in the same spot—James gripping his father's sleeve, the father holding onto him like he was all he had left in the world. Something about it broke me in half.
"Can we help them?" I whispered, voice small. "Please? Can we give them money or something?"
Elara didn't hesitate—didn't ask questions, didn't argue. "I only have like... one thousand in cash. Is that enough?"
I nodded quickly—almost desperately. "More than enough."
She pressed the stack of bills into my hand and I walked back toward them, trying to gather myself so the kid wouldn't see me cry again. When I reached them, I held the money out carefully, like something fragile.
"Here," I said quietly, "this should last you a couple weeks. Take care, okay?"
The man stared at the money, eyes widening, his lips trembling. He let go of James' hand and stepped forward, pulling me into a tight hug—shaking.
"Thank you... thank you," he whispered, voice breaking. "You have no idea..."
I just nodded, patting his back gently before he stepped away. James gave me a tiny wave—small, but brave. I felt something heavy lift from my chest as I turned back to the food court.
At least now I knew he wouldn't have to work—whatever he was doing—for a while. Maybe they could breathe tonight.
"No! I said five orders of General Tso's chicken!" Bella's voice cut through the noise as I approached, snapping the tension clean in half. She was arguing with a confused Panda Express worker, her hands exaggeratedly moving through the air.
I couldn't help but laugh, the sound leaving me like a relief valve releasing pressure.
My mood instantly lifted—wrapped in the absurd normalcy of Bella yelling about Chinese food in the middle of a mall.
Elara slipped her hand into mine and squeezed.
"Good job, baby," she murmured, smiling with pride.