Chapter 11 - A Marriage for Ayra Russo (2)

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."

Ferdinand didn't reply, instead he puffed out smoke and watched it ascend to the sky. 

"You would not do the same if it were Lisbeth," Eleanor accused. 

Ferdinand paused. He rolled his cigar over his fingers, lost in thought. 

"Lisbeth is... Different. Stronger. Quite a bit like you," he said after a while. 

Eleanor scoffed. 

"I'm nothing like that brat."

"No you're not," her brother chuckled. "Lisbeth is better than us in almost every way."

They stood in silence, smoking their respective cigars while the sun sank below the horizon. 

"You've gone soft, Ferdy."

He smiled sadly, the wrinkles around his eyes prominent. 

"Yeah. I have, haven't I?"

....

Ayra woke with a start. The dim glow of the moon seeped through the curtains, casting faint silver streaks across her room. 

She lay still, her breathing shallow as her mind adjusted to the waking world. She has no idea what exactly has woken her but something felt off. 

Perhaps she was simply restless since her wedding was the next morning. 

She turned, her gaze drifting toward the edge of her bed and her breath hitched in her throat. She forced her body to remain still. There, sitting with eerie stillness, was Lisbeth.

Ayra let her breathing stay slow and even, feigning sleep. Through half-closed lids, she watched her sister. 

Lisbeth sat stiffly, her posture uncharacteristically tense. 

Her hands were clasped together in her lap, fingers twitching every so often as if she were struggling with some inner turmoil.

She raised a hand, a finger brushing through Ayra's hair but not touching her scalp. 

She stopped suddenly, retracting her finger, and stared at Ayra’s sleeping form with an expression Ayra coul

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."

Ferdinand didn't reply, instead he puffed out smoke and watched it ascend to the sky. 

"You would not do the same if it were Lisbeth," Eleanor accused. 

Ferdinand paused. He rolled his cigar over his fingers, lost in thought. 

"Lisbeth is... Different. Stronger. Quite a bit like you," he said after a while. 

Eleanor scoffed. 

"I'm nothing like that brat."

"No you're not," her brother chuckled. "Lisbeth is better than us in almost every way."

They stood in silence, smoking their respective cigars while the sun sank below the horizon. 

"You've gone soft, Ferdy."

He smiled sadly, the wrinkles around his eyes prominent. 

"Yeah. I have, haven't I?"

....

Ayra woke with a start. The dim glow of the moon seeped through the curtains, casting faint silver streaks across her room. 

She lay still, her breathing shallow as her mind adjusted to the waking world. She has no idea what exactly has woken her but something felt off. 

Perhaps she was simply restless since her wedding was the next morning. 

She turned, her gaze drifting toward the edge of her bed and her breath hitched in her throat. She forced her body to remain still. There, sitting with eerie stillness, was Lisbeth.

Ayra let her breathing stay slow and even, feigning sleep. Through half-closed lids, she watched her sister. 

Lisbeth sat stiffly, her posture uncharacteristically tense. 

Her hands were clasped together in her lap, fingers twitching every so often as if she were struggling with some inner turmoil.

She raised a hand, a finger brushing through Ayra's hair but not touching her scalp. 

She stopped suddenly, retracting her finger, and stared at Ayra’s sleeping form with an expression Ayra couldn’t quite place in the low light.dn’t quite place in the low light.

Ayra had never seen her sister like this. Lisbeth, with her sharp tongue, sharper eyes, and dismissive demeanor, always seemed unshakable, a pillar of cold confidence. 

But tonight, she seemed... uncertain and troubled. Strangely so. 

The faint scent of her perfume, sharp and almost metallic, wafted through the air. Ayra’s muscles burned from lying so still, but she didn’t dare shift.

Finally, Lisbeth stirred. She let out a soft sigh, almost imperceptible, and leaned back in the chair. 

For a moment, her shoulders slumped, the sharp edges of her usual confidence dulled by some invisible weight. It was a side of Lisbeth Ayra had never, in all her years, seen. 

Lisbeth could be bitchy, arrogant, oddly thoughtful (at least when it came to their father), and downright dangerous, but she was never... This. 

Lisbeth didn’t move for what felt like an eternity and questions spun in Ayra's head. What was her sister doing here, sitting silently in the dead of night?

She stood, her movements slow and deliberate, and walked to the window. 

The moonlight caught her face, glinting off her pupils in a way that made her seem almost inhuman. 

But Ayra knew that was false. Lisbeth used contact lenses to achieve the effect. 

She had always had a flair for dramatics - so much so that it seemed to be ingrained in her every movement. 

Her sister’s movements were deliberate but strange, almost aimless. She pulled a cigarette from a silver case and lit it with a flick of a lighter. 

The scent of smoke curled through the air, mingling with the faint perfume that always clung to her. 

She leaned against the window frame, staring out into the night as she took a slow drag.

The orange glow of the burning tip illuminated her face, and for a moment, Ayra thought she saw something like resignation flash across her features.

Then the expression vanished, replaced by the hard, calculating mask Lisbeth sometimes favored.

The smoke curled around her, drifting toward the ceiling. Ayra lay in silence, watching her sister as she leaned against the windowsill, her posture stiff.

The sharp buzz of a phone vibrating broke the stillness. Lisbeth cursed softly, pulling the device from her pocket and glancing at the screen. 

She shot a look at Ayra and perhaps convinced she was asleep, answered it with a sharp tap.

“What?” Lisbeth snapped, her voice low and laced with unmistakable irritation.

Ayra tensed, straining to hear the other side of the conversation, but the voice on the line was too faint to make out.

“I don’t care about the details, you dumb shit,” Lisbeth said, her tone growing sharper. 

“Just make sure everything goes as planned. If something goes wrong, it’s your head on the line.”

She paused, listening, and then let out a bitter laugh.

“No, I don’t think you understand. Of bloody course this is about the wedding - leave the deal out of it. And do you think he’ll let us walk away if this falls apart? Do you think I’ll let you?”

The venom in her voice sent a chill down Ayra’s spine. It was the Lisbeth she knew, cold and calculating, dangerous, and very, very bitter. Not someone you would like to cross. 

"Of course I care! She's my bloody LITTLE SISTER you twat!"

Lisbeth's gaze snapped to her and she resisted the urge to flinch as Lisbeth’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before looking away.

“Just make sure the wedding goes smoothly,” Lisbeth continued, her tone harsh. “No mistakes, got it?”

The voice on the other end must have said something displeasing because Lisbeth suddenly barked, “Do you think I care?! You handle it, or I’ll find someone who will.”

She ended the call with an irritated tap and slipped the phone back into her pocket. 

For a moment, she just stood there, staring out the window, the cigarette burning low between her fingers.

Ayra’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. What in the world was happening? She lacked context for everything that was going on. 

Lisbeth remained at the window for a while longer, smoking in silence. 

Her rigid stance softened ever so slightly, the sharp edges of her presence dulled by what Ayra could only describe as exhaustion. 

It was strange seeing Lisbeth this way - vulnerable, almost... almost human.

But the moment was fleeting. 

"Tastes like garbage no matter what dad says," Lisbeth cursed and stubbed out the cigarette on the windowsill, flicking the butt out the window. 

She cast one last glance at Ayra before leaving the room, her footsteps fading into the quiet hallway beyond while a litany of swear words trailed her steps. 

Ayra waited, counting to fifty in her head, before daring to open her eyes fully. Her gaze darted to the window where Lisbeth had stood.

Ayra was totally and utterly confused.