Chapter 13 - No Wedding for Ayra Russo

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.