Chapter 14 - No Wedding for Ayra Russo (2)

“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 for her wedding dress. 

By the time she finally stepped out of the ruined gown, she was breathless, her hair disheveled, her hands shaking. She quickly pulled on the trousers and blouse, slipping her feet into the boots in record time. 

She glanced at the pile of silk and lace on the floor then took it and stuffed it back into the compartment. 

Her heart pounded as she stuffed the earpiece back into her ear. “Eleanor,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “I’m ready.”

The response was immediate, calm and steady. “Good. Now listen carefully...”

Ayra peeped through the keyhole and found that the maids truly were waiting for her outside the door. She strode over to the window and looked out. 

The venue was slowly filling with guests, their chatter a low murmur that buzzed around her like static. 

Her heart raced as Eleanor’s voice crackled in her ear.

“Head out through the back door of the dressing room,” her aunt instructed, her tone urgent. “There’s a narrow path that runs behind the main event hall. Stay low and keep moving. I’ll guide you.”

"The backdoor is not viable," Ayra murmured. "Security over there."

"What?" Eleanor queried. The backdoor was not meant to be guarded tightly it seemed. 

"Don't worry, aunt. I'll figure a way out," Ayra assured her. 

She approached the second window cautiously, pulling back the heavy drapes to reveal a picturesque view of the sprawling venue grounds and a lake.

The house stood on the edge of a cliff, and the side she was looking out of was a sheer drop with a clear shot to the ground. She scanned the area for signs of security or a way down. 

There was little in the way of security, and thick vines clung to the stone walls supporting that part of the house, offering a risky but viable solution.

Convenient. 

Taking a stabilizing breath, Ayra unlocked the window and pushed it open, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges. 

Cool air rushed in, carrying the mingled scents of flowers and damp earth. She peeked out again, her fingers gripping the windowsill tightly.

The vines were thick and rigid despite the breeze, and she prayed they would hold her weight.

Ayra hoisted herself up, awkwardly clambering through the narrow frame. Her hands found purchase on the vines, the rough texture scraping against her palms. She tested them with a cautious tug before beginning her descent.

The sound of the dressing room door rattling reached her and her grip tightened as she pressed herself against the wall, her heart pounding so loudly she feared it would give her away. From within the room came Lisbeth’s voice, sharp and irritated.

“Where in the world is she?” her sister demanded, her tone dripping with impatience.

A muffled response followed, one of the maids stammering nervously.

“What do you mean she asked for time alone?!” Lisbeth snapped. “This is her wedding day, not a tea party. Move aside.”

The door creaked open, and Ayra’s breath hitched. She clung to the vines, her body trembling as she prayed Lisbeth wouldn’t glance toward the window. She could hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of footsteps pacing the room.

“She’s not here,” Lisbeth muttered, frustration evident in her voice. “Where in the world—”

Ayra’s foot slipped, dislodging a small chunk of ivy-covered stone. It tumbled downward, landing with a faint thud against the ground below. Ayra froze, her entire body tense as silence filled the air.

“What was that?” Lisbeth’s voice was sharp, suspicious. Her footsteps drew closer to the window.

Ayra spotted a window just below her and she scrabbled down the vines and threw herself through the window.  

"Aunt, I'm in a room. What do I do now?" She asked, pressing the earpiece against her ear. 

She heard her aunt snap at someone to pull up her location on a screen and mentally noted the fact that the burner phone was probably what was giving away her location. She would have to toss it aside later. 

“Alright. There should be a door to you left. Go now,” Eleanor urged.

Ayra stepped into the corridor, her steps cautious and quick. The smooth marble floors and ornate walls seemed to stretch endlessly. 

“Turn left. There’s a service exit about twenty meters ahead.”

Ayra obeyed, glancing around nervously. She could hear distant chatter from the wedding guests. 

“Careful,” Eleanor said suddenly. “Someone’s coming.”

Ayra froze, her breath catching in her throat. She pressed herself against the wall, flattening her body as much as possible. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, echoing in the narrow space.

It was one of Lucian's men. He walked briskly, a radio crackling in his hand. Ayra held her breath, her body rigid. 

The guard paused for a moment, glancing down the corridor where she stood. She ducked behind a decorative pillar, her heart beating, praying he wouldn’t come closer.

After what felt like an eternity, the guard continued on his way, disappearing around the corner.

“Move now,” Eleanor urged, her voice pulling Ayra out of her paralysis.

She darted forward, her footsteps light and silent. The service exit was just ahead, a heavy metal door slightly ajar. She pushed it open and slipped through.

“You are doing well,” Eleanor said. “Keep going. There's a small gate at the far end of the garden. That’s your exit.”

Ayra nodded to herself, her eyes scanning the area. Her pulse quickened when she heard voices nearby.

The sound of Lisbeth’s voice barking orders carried through the air, and she ducked behind a decorative hedge, peeking through the leaves to see her sister storming across the lawn, sharp, displeased eyes scanning the area.

Her gaze darted toward the service road leading away from the property. If only she could make it there without being seen. 

Lisbeth stood just a few feet away, speaking into her phone. She looked excessively annoyed, pacing back and forth in her elegant gown.

“I don’t care about the excuses,” Lisbeth snapped. “Find her. The wedding starts in less than an hour. Just bloody find her would you?”

Ayra’s blood ran cold. She shrank further into the shadows, her breaths shallow and quiet. She wished her sister would just simply go away. 

But Lisbeth’s pacing brought her closer, her sharp eyes scanning the garden. 

“Unbelievable,” Lisbeth muttered, lighting a cigarette. The scent of smoke wafted through the air, making Ayra’s nose twitch. 

She fought the urge to sneeze, her hands clenched tightly around the grass beneath her. "The things I do for that brat, really."

Lisbeth’s phone rang again, and she answered it with an irritated huff. “What now?”

The distraction gave Ayra the opportunity she needed. Moving as quietly as she could manage, she began crawling along the base of the hedge, putting more distance between herself and Lisbeth.

“Good,” Eleanor whispered. “Just a little farther.”

Ayra’s muscles ached from the effort, but she didn’t dare stop. Finally, she reached the end of the hedge and slipped around the corner, out of Lisbeth’s line of sight.

“Stand up and run,” Eleanor instructed. “You’re clear for now.”

A car idled near the edge of the property, beyond the gates, its driver leaning casually against the door. 

Ayra recognized him for what he was - someone working for her aunt most likely. Avoiding her aunt was always going to be the easy part.  

She tossed aside the phone and ripped out the earpiece. She scuffed her boots on the pavement, shoved her hands in her pockets, and walked past him. 

Ayra breathed. 

There would be no wedding for Ayra Russo.