The hours slipped by like sand through her fingers. Her isolation was suffocating as always, yet she clung to the small lifeline Eleanor had given her.
Her aunt’s messages arrived sporadically, their delivery concealed in the meticulous work of the maid.
A folded napkin, a hollowed-out bread roll, a ribbon tied too tightly around a gift - her messages came in the details, as it were, and Ayra simply had to admire the woman's level of innovation.
Eleanor’s plans for the escape were detailed and intricate in their design. She had secured a safehouse - somewhere Ayra could be hidden for a while once she made her escape.
It was an ostentatious villa in the middle of the city, but Eleanor and Ayra both agreed that it was best to hide right beneath their noses until Ayra could leave the city entirely.
The city’s roads were mapped, the hidden back alleys and lesser-known paths highlighted on a series of papers Eleanor had sent.
Ayra had made sure to burn them all - they were just there to placate her after all, to assure her that there WAS a plan in place.
'You will be out of their reach,' Eleanor’s notes promised.
And yet, despite the careful blueprint laid out before her, Ayra’s mind churned with doubt. She has a nagging suspicion that following the plan would not end exactly as she wished.
Her aunt’s messages always carried the edge of calm authority, but even they could not quite quell Ayra’s rising anxiety.
Eleanor assured her that everything was under control, yet Ayra couldn’t shake the unease that something could go terribly wrong.
And by the way, she only needed Eleanor's help to escape the wedding venue. She had her plan.
Her brief stint outside was not just for show, after all. It is often said that to deceive someone, you must first deceive yourself.
Well, Ayra certainly couldn't deceive herself - she had to know the plan after all - but she could do the next best thing. Deceive her 'partner' as it were.
One particular note brought more than just instructions. It contained an explanation—a revelation that added another layer of bitterness to her situation.
Lucian, it seemed, had been busy elsewhere, consumed by matters Eleanor couldn’t fully disclose.
That was why he had postponed the wedding, not out of hesitation or concern, but because he simply couldn’t spare the time.
Ayra’s lips pressed into a thin line as she read the words. Busy.
The idea was that he had postponed their wedding not because he questioned its morality or because he wanted to give her more time.
But because she, seemingly, wasn’t even worth his attention, left her feeling hollow and angry.
Here she was turning her brain till it turned to mush and poring over aerial shots of the wedding venue to escape his clutches, and what?
He goes on a damn business trip?! Sipping a martini somewhere no doubt and having whatever model he fancied dangling off his arm.
It made her more angry than she would let on.
There were whispers from her aunt about the delay in the wedding - Lucian would be absent from it, it seemed, and Ayra found herself with one less thing to worry about.
Lucian was still occupied with something important, Eleanor had explained, and it was for that reason he had postponed the ceremony.
It was certainly good news. At least half the trepidation Ayra had been feeling was from Lucian's presence.
Everyone painted him out to be some form of monster and she did not want to test it.
But the wedding was still on. No delay would stop it. Her father’s pressure on Lucian was unrelenting.
Everything had been arranged, the guests invited, the venue set. The wedding would happen soon, with or without Lucian.
And for all his cold detachment, her father knew what he was doing—he would force Lucian’s hand.
The deal, after all, was too valuable for him to let it slip away, whatever it was.
Her father’s disregard for her autonomy stung more with each passing day.
To be married off like an object, to be traded for power and money—was this truly all she was worth?
Ayra’s anger was a fire that burned low in her chest, simmering with each passing hour. How could he force her into this?
How could he force her to marry a man she barely knew, a man who had no interest in her, only in the arrangement?
The hurt ran deeper than she cared to admit. Somewhere deep down she had hoped for her father to come in one day and be like: "April Fools!!"
Never mind that April was long since gone.
It made Ayra sick.
The feeling of being controlled, the feeling that she was just a piece of his game, the feeling that he didn't care - it tore heavily at her spirit.
And in the quiet spaces of her mind, when the guards were absent and the house had gone silent, Ayra began to realize, with burgeoning dread:
Her father was the one who truly imprisoned her. And it was her father who had forced her into this marriage, regardless of her feelings.
And Lucian was not a prince charming, not the hero who would swoop in and save her. She'd had her prince. Heavens know where he is now.
She found herself staring out the window for moments on end, reminiscing about the past.
....
The wedding was rescheduled, and a definite date was given for the ceremony.
One night, after the guards had come to take her to her room for the night, the maid slipped Ayra a burner phone that Eleanor had provided, along with a fresh note from her aunt.
Eleanor had reiterated the details of the escape route, and Ayra allowed herself a brief moment of relief.
The plan was sound, and the safehouse was waiting. Eleanor would also be watching and would use the phone to give her the details on the D-Day in case anything changed.
She would need to deceive Eleanor into thinking everything was going according to plan, while in reality, she would strike out on her own.
She would use her aunt's help to slip away, but the route she took would be different from the one her aunt had suggested. Oh very different.
....
The mansion was a flurry of activity as preparations for the wedding ramped up.
Staff bustled about, their movements hurried and precise as they worked to ensure every detail was perfect.
Ayra observed it all with a detached sense of dread. The wedding wasn’t for her—it was for her father, for Lucian, for the alliance they sought to forge.
She was merely the means to an end.
Her dress arrived one morning, a vision of pristine white lace and satin. The sight of it made her stomach churn.
It was beautiful, yes, but it felt more like a prison than a celebration.
The maids fussed over her, taking measurements and adjusting the fit of the gown for hours on end.
Ayra stood still, her face carefully blank as they worked.
Patience, she reminded herself. Play the part.
She loved the gown - she did not like what it represented.
Ferdinand leaned on the balcony, staring out at the setting sun, a lit cigar between his fingers. The door behind him opened and his sister stepped through. She observed him for a while before coming to rest her elbows on the railing too. Ferdinand offered her a cigar pack and she picked out a stick. "Light me," she requested and her brother flicked open a lighter and lit the cigar for her. "Congrats Ferdy," Eleanor said, her lips working around the cigar in her mouth. "Ayra is getting married in two days."Ferdinand sighed and took a drag."My little girl," he whispered. "To get her together with The Director himself, Ferdy, I wonder how you did it.""We all have our ways," Ferdinand said with a chuckle. "You have an idea of what you are doing to her, don't you?""Wouldn't you do the same?" Ferdinand asked. "No, I wouldn't," Eleanor answered. Her brother chuckled. "That is why you would never have children, Eleanor.""Don't need them. They're a hassle to take care of."Ferdina
The morning sunlight filtered through the heavy drapes of Ayra’s room, bathing the space in a dull, golden glow. The first rays of dawn painted the sky in muted gold and pink, but, unsurprisingly, the beauty of the morning was lost on Ayra. She awoke with a knot in her stomach, the weight of what lay ahead pressing heavily on her chest. Today was her wedding day.She had thought it would be more... Joyful. Oh, she certainly was shivering, but not from anticipation or joy - she was nervous. So very nervous. Although she couldn’t afford to falter now, the nerves were just part of the day. See, Ayra had spent sleepless nights piecing together a plan, but all those nights had served to tell her that there was very little she could do to manage how things panned out. She was going to have to go with the flow and improvise on the fly - which she absolutely DREADED - and now, with her escape just hours away, there was no turning back.And there was also Lisbeth's visit last night plagui
The sunlight poured through the mansion's grand windows, casting a pale glow across the marble floors. The day had arrived, and the house thrummed with activity while Ayra whiled away the time in her room. Not quite the scenario she'd pictured for her wedding. The knock calling her out came sooner than she expected.“Miss Ayra, it’s time,” someone announced from the other side of the door.Ayra opened it to find a familiar face - the woman who had been working as Eleanor’s contact. The woman’s gaze flicked briefly to the hallway behind her before she stepped inside and shut the door.“Miss Ayra,” the maid whispered, her voice low but steady. “We need to act quickly. Please sit down.”Ayra obeyed, sitting on the edge of her bed as the maid knelt before her.From under her apron, she pulled out a roll of beige fabric and a small black case. She motioned for Ayra to lift the sheer silk gown she wore.Ayra hesitated but complied, her heart hammering in her chest as the maid efficiently
“It won’t take long,” she added, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within her.“Very well,” the lead maid said after a pause. “We’ll wait just outside. Let us know when you’re ready.”The group filed out, leaving Ayra alone in the dressing room. The door clicked shut, and she let out a shaky breath.She didn’t have much time.She turned quickly to the wardrobe, her fingers trembling as she unlatched the hidden compartment. Ayra pulled out the plain blouse and trousers Eleanor had mentioned and tossed it onto the chair alongside the earpiece. The first attempt to remove the wedding dress was futile; the corset was too tight, the layers of fabric tangled and unyielding. Frustration surged through her as she yanked at the delicate stitching, tearing through the lace with sharp, deliberate movements.“Damn this dress,” she hissed under her breath, the ripping sounds oddly satisfying. She hated the dumb color scheme anyway. Icy whitish blue and gold was her preferred color
Minutes earlier...Lisbeth’s reaction was immediate as well as rather explosive. The moment she realized Ayra had slipped away, a cold, simmering rage bubbled beneath her skin. She'd known this would happen. It still didn't stop her from being annoyed when it did. The room was quiet, save for the faint murmur of guests outside the venue. Lisbeth’s sharp gaze swept over the scene, her mind racing to piece together what had happened. HOW it had happened. She came up with nothing. “You lot,” she called sharply, turning to the gaggle of servants at the door. “Tell me; who was the last person in this room before she disappeared?”The maid stammered, her face pale. “J-just the team helping her dress, ma’am. I don’t know what happened after that. She asked for some time alone, and, well, we -”“Time alone?” Lisbeth spat. “And what? None of you dimwits thought to question that? Of course she needed time alone - time to escape! What did I tell you?! Weren't my instructions clear enough?! An
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice quiet.“You’ve always been too intense when it comes to Ayra,” Ferdinand said, his tone almost fatherly. “I needed to ensure this was handled with precision, not the brute force you would have preferred.”Lisbeth could not argue with that. "So, what now?" She asked. Ferdinand chuckled. "Now, we hunt down Ayra."As if on cue, Lisbeth’s phone rang in her pocket. She retrieved it with and her brows knitted together when she saw Sarah’s name flash across the screen. She answered, putting the phone on speaker.“Sarah, what do you have?” Lisbeth asked. On the other end of the line, Sarah hesitated, her voice uncertain. “Lisbeth, Ayra called me just a minute ago. She asked after the tickets I told you she'd asked me to help her book.”“What did you say?” Lisbeth interrupted. "She called you? Now?""Yeah, I just got off the phone with her. Said she would call me again and I should get the train ticket ready for her."“The train ticket. Did y
It was impractical to search the entire city for her, Ayra knew. But if she really did disappear without a trace then it would merely be a matter of minutes before she was caught and dragged back. Hence she had set up for her father two leads - Marcy and Sarah. The train tickets from Sarah would ensure he directed manpower that way given that the chances of her taking the train was practically fifty fifty. Marcy was a done deal, and perhaps he would suspect aunt Eleanor too and waste his efforts on her. That would give her the opportunity to strike out on her own and actually have a chance at fleeing. With their minds so fixated on the decoys she had set up and trying to see if they had ignored any other, she would run for the hills and have a pretty good headstart. It was rather clever, but Ayra did not quite come up with it in her own. Her mother had to take credit for the general idea. She had taught Ayra much. At the moment, Ayra sat in the dimly lit corner of a café, a cup
Ayra was well aware she only had a small window of time before Simon realized his card was missing and blocked it. Every second counted.Her first stop was a car rental office she knew since she was a kid. Obviously. The nondescript building, squeezed between a laundromat and a pawnshop, was the kind of place where people didn’t ask too many questions. Inside, the air smelled strongly of coffee and air freshener. Uncle Jim - the man who owned the place - was severely addicted to caffeine. The clerk, a young man with messy hair and a bored attitude, barely glanced up as Ayra approached the counter. “How can I help you?” he drilled, looking like he did not actually want to help her in any way. “I need to rent a car,” Ayra said, keeping her voice calm.The clerk slid a form across the counter. “Fill this out. ID and payment when you’re done.”"No ID," she said, handing over Simon’s card.He grunted and swiped the card, handed it back, and pulled out a set of keys.“Parking lot, stall
The silence gnawed at Ayra.For all her careful orchestration—for the balcony appearances with tousled hair and artful smudges of lipstick, for the planted photographs handed to Nico, for the media blitz that followed—Lucian had yet to respond. No message. No confrontation. No fury.No presence.Ayra wandered through the silent halls of the manor like a ghost in her own haunting. It had been two days since she fed the flames of the scandal herself, tipping the scales and watching Lucian’s pristine, untouchable image buckle under the weight of betrayal. It had spread like wildfire—first, the hushed reveal of their secret marriage, then the carefully timed photos of her supposed affair with Leon. The media had eaten it up, ravenous for every scandalous morsel.The silence that followed was not relief.It was strange, like waiting for an earthquake after watching the ground crack beneath her feet. She expected retaliation, the burn of his fury, maybe even for Lucian to return and demand
He set the envelope down, fingers tightening against the edges. "You’re playing a dangerous game," he murmured.Ayra tilted her head. "Am I?"He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back, assessing her with a careful, measured look. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?"She smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. "That’s for Lucian to figure out, isn’t it?"A beat of silence. Then:"You want me to do something with this."Ayra reached for her wine glass again, swirling the liquid absently. "I want it to be known," she said simply. "I want the world to talk."Nico exhaled, setting the envelope down as if it were something poisonous. "You do realize that if I take this to him, you’ll regret it?"Ayra’s gaze sharpened."I’ll regret nothing," she said quietly.Another silence stretched between them.Finally, Nico let out a slow, resigned breath. "You really don’t care if he burns everything down over this, do you? And by the way, it's practically impossible for him
She told herself it was necessary, what she was doing.But in the past few days, something inside her twisted in ways she couldn’t quite name.It was easy enough to play the role, to smirk when she needed to, to let her fingers trail over the stem of a wine glass as if she had all the time in the world. But every time she stepped onto that balcony, feigning the remnants of an intimate encounter, a part of her coiled tight in discomfort.Lucian had done nothing but let her fester in silence, leaving her with no choice but to force his hand. She needed him to react—to do something. If he wanted to play the game of indifference, she would break that facade piece by piece.And yet, she hated that it had come to this.That she had to use someone else just to make herself seen.At night, when the estate was quiet, she would stand by the mirror in her room, staring at her own reflection as if it held the answers.What did she expect Lucian to do?What did she want him to do?She wasn’t sure a
Ayra led Leon into her chambers with steady steps, her fingers brushing against his arm in a way that suggested intimacy. Yet as she stepped over the threshold, a quiet revulsion coiled deep in her stomach.The thought of him here—of his presence in this space—left a bitter taste in her mouth.Still, she had to see this through.She glanced at the walls, at the high corners of the ceiling. She suspected Lucian had placed surveillance somewhere in the house. That would explain his silence—his patience. He’s waiting for proof. Waiting to see if she would really go through with it.Fine.If he needed proof, she would give it to him.Leon, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her, exhaled a slow breath as he stepped into the room. "You know," he murmured, turning to face her, "I wasn’t expecting this tonight."She forced a small smile. "Change of plans."He studied her for a moment, his gaze dark, his amusement barely concealed. "And here I thought you enjoyed the chase.""I do." She cros
The game unfolded slowly, piece by piece, each move carefully placed on the board.It started with simple meetings—casual, almost meaningless to an outsider. Ayra and Leon continued their rendezvous in high-end cafés, lounges with dim lighting, and restaurants tucked away in discreet corners of the city. They never once met at the same place twice. That alone was enough to stir whispers among those who paid attention.She ensured Lucian’s men saw them. She played her part well, letting moments linger, leaning in a fraction closer than necessary despite the roiling in her gut, letting a smirk or a laugh escape at the right moments. There was no real intimacy, but to anyone watching, it didn’t matter. The illusion had begun to take root.And then, she took the next step.She invited Leon to the house.It was a slow escalation, deliberate in every way.The game unfolded over two weeks, methodical and deliberate. Ayra knew the power of suggestion, the weight of unspoken words, and the way
The message came just before dinner.Leon: Had a great time chatting today. Wouldn’t mind another round—this time, somewhere quieter?Ayra sat back on the plush sofa of her sitting room, twirling the phone in her fingers. She had been expecting him to reach out. Encouraging it, even. Yet, staring at the message, she hesitated. The line between playing a game and getting caught in it was dangerously thin.But Lucian had yet to react to anything she’d done. Not the staff replacement, not the disorder she’d caused in the estate, not even her blatant attempts to provoke him. He remained distant, untouchable, as though she didn’t even exist. It burned.Maybe this would be the thing to get under his skin.She typed her response carefully.Ayra: I wouldn’t mind that. Where do you suggest?His reply came within moments.Leon: I know a private lounge near the East District. Great wine, even better company.She smiled faintly. He was charming, smooth. Just enough to make this easier.Ayra: Send
The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the city as Ayra stepped out of the car, the sleek black vehicle blending seamlessly with the polished luxury of the district. The streets here were lined with designer boutiques, private lounges, and high-end cafés—places that oozed exclusivity, where only the elite could afford to linger. It was the kind of setting she had been raised in for the later part of her life, yet now, standing before one of the finest cafés in the city, she felt strangely like an outsider.The café, Bellaria, was known for its privacy and refinement. It wasn’t a place for loud conversation or rushed meetings; here, the rich came to drink imported coffee, discuss business, and subtly flaunt their power. It was exactly the kind of place Lucian would be seen in.That was part of the reason she had come.Ayra pushed open the glass door, a small bell chiming above her head. Inside, the space was decorated in dark wood and gold, the air rich with the scent of roasted co
Nico stepped into Lucian’s office, the weight of his report pressing down on him. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the evening cityscape filtering through the large windows behind the man seated at the desk. Lucian didn’t look up immediately, his attention fixed on the documents before him, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood.“Speak,” Lucian said, his voice low, controlled.Nico took a slow breath before delivering the news. “It’s about Ayra.”Lucian’s fingers stilled. He finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “What did she do now?”“She’s replaced the staff.”Silence.Lucian leaned back in his chair, studying Nico with an eerie calm. “Come again?”Nico’s jaw tightened. “She fired the entire estate staff. Threw them out and replaced them with her own people. None of the original staff are left. Worse, they refuse to return.”Lucian’s gaze snapped up. “Refuse?”Nico hesitated, then nodded. “They’re scared, boss.”Lucian scoffed, leaning back in his cha
By the time the dust settled, the house was eerily quiet.The last of the protesting staff had been escorted off the premises, their voices still ringing in Ayra’s ears.The replacement staff stood awkwardly near the foyer, waiting for orders. But Ayra had none to give.She should have felt victorious.She had made her statement. She had taken control.But all she felt was exhaustion.The butler was the only one who hadn’t been forcibly removed. He still stood by the staircase, arms clasped behind his back. Unlike the others, he hadn’t fought. He hadn’t shouted.And that made him all the more annoying.Ayra met his gaze, a strange tension hanging between them.“You’re still here,” she observed.“I am,” he replied.“I told you to leave.”“You told them to leave,” he said with an insipid little look on his eye. “But you did not fire me.”Ayra exhaled through her nose. “Do you really think Lucian would let me? Would he be happy if I did so?”The butler smiled slightly, but it was devoid o