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 strapped the burner phone to her thigh using the fabric band.
It was tight enough to stay secure but loose enough that she could pull it free quickly if needed.
“This should stay in place,” the maid said as she worked.
“Here,” the maid said, reaching into the black case and pulling out a tiny, nearly imperceptible earpiece.
"Madam Eleanor will contact you once you’re at the venue. Keep it hidden until then.
When you’re alone in the dressing room, put this in. Your aunt will guide you from there.”
Ayra took the earpiece with trembling fingers and tucked it into the pocket of her robe. Her nerves were hardly settling.
The maid gave her a tight smile and rose to her feet. “It's alright. Just remember to keep calm and no one would suspect a thing.”
'Easier said than done,' Ayra scoffed internally
With that, she turned and left, gesturing for Ayra to follow.
As Ayra walked, her heart thundered something fierce in her chest as they moved through the sprawling halls of the mansion.
The staff and family members they passed seemed preoccupied with their own tasks, giving her only cursory glances but even that was enough to set her nerves on fire.
She had never done something like this and it made her extremely nervous.
The ride to the venue felt like a surreal blur. Ayra sat in the back of the car, her hands folded neatly in her lap as her father and Lisbeth exchanged words about things she had no knowledge about - nor did she particularly want to know about.
She turned them out, focusing instead on the world outside the window. Their presence was irksome enough. There was no need to have their faces annoy her eyes too.
The venue came into view at last, a breathtaking outdoor location nestled within a lush grove of trees.
The area was enclosed by tall wrought iron gates that shimmered faintly in the sunlight, giving the space an air of exclusivity.
Beyond the gates, a long cobblestone path wound its way to an expansive courtyard.
Elegant floral arrangements lined the walkway, their blooms vibrant shades of white, blush, and gold.
Perhaps in another place, another time, it would have been the ideal wedding venue but today, it wasn't.
Rows of white chairs were arranged in perfect symmetry, facing a large wooden arch adorned with cascading flowers in shades of cream and pink blush.
Beyond the seating area, a tented reception space glittered with chandeliers and golden accents, exuding a sense of wealth and power.
It was blatantly extravagant - and she hated the pink blush and cream flowers. In fact, she didn't quite like the color arrangement either.
But then again, while it was her wedding in all but name, no one had bothered to get her opinion on during the planning.
Ayra’s stomach churned as the car came to a stop.
The moment she stepped out, the overwhelming scent of fresh blooms hit her, mingling with the crisp air of the late morning.
The sound of birdsong was drowned out by the chatter of staff and the rustle of fabric as people hurried to and fro in a bid to finalize preparations.
“This way, miss,” a staff member said, gesturing toward a path that led to a small structure near the edge of the estate - a private dressing room set apart from the main event.
“This is where you’ll change into your wedding dress, Miss Ayra. The others will be along shortly to assist you.”
Ayra nodded and stepped inside. As soon as the door closed behind her, she let out a shaky breath.
The dressing room was a cozy space, furnished with a plush chaise lounge, a gilded mirror, and a rack of gowns.
In the corner stood the dress: an ornate, ivory creation with delicate lace detailing and a long, flowing train.
It hung from a gilded hook on the wall, its fabric shimmering faintly in the soft light.
Ayra barely spared it a glance. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving her alone for the first time since she had arrived.
She quickly slipped the earpiece into her ear and activated the burner phone strapped to her thigh, dialing Eleanor’s number with practiced precision.
The line connected on the first ring.
“Ayra,” Eleanor’s voice came through, calm and steady. “You’re at the venue?”
“Yes,” Ayra whispered, glancing nervously at the door. “I’m in the dressing room at the moment.”
“Good. Listen carefully,” Eleanor said. “Check the wardrobe against the wall. There’s a hidden compartment at the bottom. Inside, you’ll find a change of clothes. Switch into them now.”
Ayra moved quickly, crossing the room to the wardrobe. Her fingers fumbled as she searched the base of the structure, eventually finding a small latch hidden beneath a panel.
She opened it to reveal a bundle of dark clothing—a simple pair of black trousers and a plain blouse, along with a pair of sturdy boots and a face mask.
“Change into those quickly,” Eleanor continued. Whatever else she said faded into the background as Ayra felt around the hidden space.
She had expected something more - a small bag with essentials. Cash, fake ID, the works. There was none. With how meticulous aunt Eleanor was being, you would think she'd have those covered.
Something seemed off but there was no time to dwell on it.
“Once you’re dressed, you’ll need to slip out through the back door of the dressing room,” Eleanor continued.
“There’s a path that leads into -" the sound of discordant footfalls reached Ayra's ears and she panicked and pulled out the earpiece, shoving it into the wardrobe.
A gaggle of voices reached her ears and the door opened to let in a small group of servants.
They carried trays of sparkling jewelry, cosmetics, and other ornate wedding accessories, their faces a curious mix of focus and nerves.
“Miss Ayra, we need to prepare you now,” the woman Ayra suspected was a make-up artist said with a polite smile.
Ayra nodded stiffly, forcing herself to appear calm despite the adrenaline rushing through her veins.
Her eyes flicked briefly to the wardrobe where she had hidden the earpiece, praying no one would notice anything out of place.
The maids began their work with a precision and care that Ayra didn't quite appreciate. They eased her into the elaborate wedding gown, securing the lace and silk against her frame.
The dress was heavier than it looked, its long train pooling around her like liquid ivory. The high neckline and intricate embroidery made her feel suffocated, but Ayra stood still, letting the women do their job.
As they tightened the corset, one of the younger maids whispered, “You look like a queen, Miss Ayra.”
Ayra managed a weak smile but said nothing.
The dress was heavy and cumbersome. The maids had to ease her into it layer by layer, tightening the corset until it was practically impossible to breathe.
Every movement felt restricted, every step a struggle as the voluminous fabric swished and dragged against the floor.
There was no fleeing with this abomination on her.
Next came the jewelry—a sparkling tiara, earrings that dangled like raindrops, and a heavy necklace that seemed to weigh down her very soul.
Ayra caught her reflection in the gilded mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back at her.
She hated everything about it - with the way it screamed extravagance, only Lisbeth could pull off actually looking good in it.
“Almost done,” the lead maid announced, stepping back to admire their work. “Do you need anything else, Miss Ayra?”
Ayra hesitated, then forced herself to speak. “Could I have a moment alone? Just... Just to gather myself before the ceremony.”
The maids exchanged hesitant glances. Ayra grit her teeth.
“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
Lucian leaned back in his chair, the weight of the negotiation pressing uncomfortably against his temples. Across him, Gregory Wendell, the eldest son of the Wendell family, sat with an - in his opinion - rather dumb smile etched into his face. The meeting was a vital one - a... rare moment of diplomacy between two families whose history for the past few years had no end of spite and betrayal.“The embargos benefits no one,” Gregory said, his tone calm and clipped. Lucian thought he was trying to appear serious. He only came across as slightly comical. “Resuming trade would strengthen both our sides.”Lucian’s fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the polished mahogany table. He kept his expression flat, and his voice sharp as he replied, “Strength isn’t gained by mere convenience. The terms must benefit me enough that I would lift it. The situation of the Wendells won’t sway me.”Truthfully, Lucian was annoyed at this. He was not meant to be here. He had a wedding waiting, damnit, a
The pale light of dawn crept into the study, weak and hesitant, brushing against the mess Lisbeth and Ferdinand had made of the room. Papers and maps were everywhere, with photos and frantic scrawls barely keeping track of their failed attempt to track Ayra.Ferdinand leaned back, rubbing at his temples like that would help him think any clearer. “She’s clever,” he muttered, his voice flat and tired. They had been awake all night, their frustration mounting as lead after lead fell apart and no other turned up. “Too clever,” Lisbeth shot back, pacing like a caged animal. Her hair was a mess, her face drawn and pale. It was quite unlike her. "This is insane. How does a kid with no backup, no cash, and no clue manage to stay ahead of us? How has she managed to just disappear?"At least she's not in Eleanor's hands. That would be a whole other problem were it so. Ferdinand sighed. “She’s clever. But we’re running out of time. If we don’t find her soon, Lucian -”A sharp knock interrup
Lucian sat down on the sofa without another word, leaving Lisbeth and Ferdinand in tense silence. Lucian’s men came and went from the room, bringing news while he went over their actions so far. It was contrary to Ferdinand's plans - they had not expected that Lucian would actually care so much about Ayra. As the hours passed, Lucian’s suspicions only deepened. The more he reviewed their efforts, the more he noticed gaps and inconsistencies. Certain areas hadn’t been thoroughly searched, and some key resources hadn’t been utilized.“You’ve been holding back,” Lucian said coldly. “Admit it.”“We did everything we could,” Lisbeth retorted, her voice more measured now that more time had passed. Lucian countered; “If you’d treated this with the urgency it deserved, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, don't you think?”As Lucian delved deeper into the situation, he had begun to piece together the events leading up to Ayra’s escape. He realized how little agency she’d been given i
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
To be fair, Ayra hated this.Hated how cruel and bothersome she had to be.But if Lucian refused to acknowledge her, then she had to force his attention. No matter how ugly it got.....When Ayra stepped into the grand foyer, the staff had already gathered. There were more of them than she had realized—over a dozen pairs of wary eyes turned toward her as she entered.She could feel their resentment like a thick fog in the air.She took her place on the marble staircase, gripping the banister tightly before speaking. “You all had a day to leave,” she began, her voice cold. “And yet, you’re still here.”The butler took a step forward, his face unreadable. “As we have stated, madam, we serve the master of the house. Not you.”Ayra let out a quiet breath. She had expected this.“Fine,” she said smoothly. “If you won’t leave willingly, then I’ll make you.”At her cue, the front doors swung open.A group of people stepped inside, dressed in crisp serving uniforms, their expressions neutral.
Ayra sat at the breakfast table, untouched tea growing cold before her. The silence in the house had become suffocating. No matter what she did, no matter how much she tried to stir the waters, Lucian remained utterly indifferent. He ignored her tantrums, her disruptions, her passive-aggressive antics. He had locked her in this gilded cage and simply left her to rot, acting as if she didn’t exist.Fine.She set her cup down with deliberate care and rose to her feet. Without hesitation, she strode out of the dining room, her silk robe flowing behind her. The butler was walking past.“Stop,” she commanded.The butler paused, turning to her with polite detachment. “Madam?”Ayra folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin slightly. “I want you to inform the staff that they are all fired.”The butler’s expression didn’t shift, but his silence stretched for a moment too long.“They have until the end of the day to pack their things and leave,” she continued. “I don’t want to see a si
Two days later Ayra lay sprawled on the plush velvet chaise lounge in her room, her fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest. The air in the house had grown heavier over the past two weeks. The polished floors gleamed, the scent of fresh flowers filled the halls, and every detail of the house was maintained to perfection—yet it felt like a lifeless shell. The staff worked diligently, moving about as if on eggshells around her, but no matter what Ayra did, they remained unwavering. Frustrated and angry, yes, but unwavering. Perhaps Lucian paid them more to put up with her antics. She wasn’t going to be ignored. If Lucian refused to engage, if the staff refused to react, then she would create a situation that could not be brushed aside.There came in Pedro.He was one of the few people from her mother’s past that Ayra had ever met. He was an old acquaintance, someone who she'd known since she was little. He wasn’t exactly a friend, but he had been there, lingering in the backgroun
This became a pattern for a brief while.Lunch? Too cold.Dinner? Not what she wanted anymore.Snacks? She changed her mind after they were made.She sent dishes back multiple times a day, forcing the kitchen staff to remake meals repeatedly before she would eat just enough to keep them from outright rebelling.Within days, the tension in the household thickened. The butler was visibly on edge, the chef was snapping at the assistants, and the maids were whispering amongst themselves in frustration.By the fifth day, the head butler had had enough.Ayra was lounging in the parlor, flipping through a book she had no intention of reading, when he approached. His posture was stiff, his jaw tight—yet he remained respectful.“Madam, forgive my boldness, but may I ask if something is troubling you?”Ayra looked up, feigning innocence. “Troubling me? Not at all.”The butler’s eyes twitched ever so slightly. “Then may I ask why the staff has had to remake your breakfast four times this morning?
It started with breakfast.The chef prepared the usual—a beautifully plated meal of toast, eggs, and fruit, presented with meticulous care. But as soon as the plate was placed in front of her, Ayra wrinkled her nose.“This isn’t what I wanted,” she said casually, pushing the plate away.The maid hesitated. “Madam, this is what you requested yesterday.”“Did I?” Ayra tilted her head, frowning. “I don’t remember. But I’m not in the mood for this today. Make me something else.”The staff exchanged glances, but after a slight hesitation, the maid nodded. “Of course.”Twenty minutes later, a fresh plate of food was brought to her. She picked at it, took a single bite, and sighed. “This is too salty. Can you make it again?”The chef’s patience visibly thinned, but they couldn’t refuse her. She was Lucian’s wife, after all, and despite the slight disregard they had for her, their orders had been to serve her and make her comfortable.But Ayra was just getting started. Breakfast the next day