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?! Answer!”
"You said never to let her out of our sight," the maid murmured.
"And what did you do?! Oh, wait, don't tell me - you thought she was pitiful and a few minutes wouldn't matter anyway, right?!"
The maid’s lip quivered, but Lisbeth didn’t care. Her anger was on fire, and everyone around her was kindling.
Lisbeth hissed and stalked out the room.
Behind her, one of the guards hired by Lucian cautiously stepped forward. “Ma’am, the guests—”
“Forget the guests!" Lisbeth snapped, spinning sharply to glare at him. “Do I look like I care about the guests? Find Ayra! Now!”
The man nodded stiffly and backed out of the room, whispering orders into his radio. She had long since taught them that to fear her was the wiser choice.
Lisbeth remained rooted in place, her lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to suppress the storm brewing within her.
"Oh, aunt. Dear, sweet aunt. I really should have crippled you when I had the chance," she muttered.
She balled her hands into fists, her fingers digging deep into her palm as she fought to maintain control. Few people could make her lose control quite like Ayra could.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed a number with practiced ease. The line connected almost immediately.
“She’s gone,” Lisbeth said curtly. “I want a full lockdown on the estate. Nobody gets in or out without my permission. Double-check the cameras - every angle, every blind spot. She couldn’t have gotten far.”
....
Despite her outward calm, Lisbeth felt the threads of her control slipping, her mind fraying at the edges.
If she didn't catch Ayra before she escaped the premises, things could get very bad. Which Eleanor would find advantageous no doubt.
A sudden thought struck her, and she froze. Eleanor.
Lisbeth grabbed her phone again, dialing another number. “Pacho, put a tail on Eleanor. Discreetly. I want to know where she is and who she’s meeting.”
Her jaw tightened as she ended the call. She suspected as much but if Eleanor was truly involved, Lisbeth would deal with her. Personally.
Unable to simply sit and watch, Lisbeth stepped outside to oversee the search efforts. The mid morning air was cool, a sharp contrast to the fire raging within her. She moved quickly, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of her fleeing sister.
She passed by a group of guards combing through the nearby hedges and paused to give further instructions.
“Check the service areas and storage rooms. She might be hiding and waiting for the commotion to die down.”
Unbeknownst to Lisbeth, Ayra was closer than she realized, hidden behind a cluster of decorative shrubs mere feet away.
Ayra’s breath hitched as she caught sight of Lisbeth, her heart pounding in her chest.
Lisbeth’s eyes swept over the area, lingering for a moment on the bushes. Then she turned away, her attention drawn by a guard approaching with an update.
“She’s not on the premises, ma’am,” the guard reported. “We’ve checked every corner. She must have left already.”
Lisbeth’s expression darkened, her eyes narrowing. “Then expand the search. She couldn’t have gotten far.”
As the guards moved to comply, Lisbeth turned back toward the main venue. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more infuriating than the last.
She pulled out her phone once more, her fingers flying across the screen as she sent out a mass message to her network. “Find her,” the message read. “I don’t care how. Just find her.”
Lisbeth paused, staring at the screen for a moment before adding, “And bring her back. Unharmed.”
She blinked back tears.
The door to the lounge slammed open, rattling the crystal chandelier and startling the man seated at the polished oak desk.
Lisbeth stormed in, her eyes blazing and her posture rigid with barely contained fury. Her father looked up from his phone, his expression one of mild surprise.
“You should know why I’m here,” Lisbeth snapped, marching across the room to stand before him. “Ayra is gone.”
He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “Gone? What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she hissed, slamming her hands onto the desk, “your precious daughter, the bride, has run off! She’s nowhere to be found and it's all your fault! Shit!”
She ran a hand through her hair, breathing heavily as she fought to keep her temper in check.
Her father leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. “My fault?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “How exactly is this my fault, Lisbeth?”
“Because... Because... Fuck it, I don't know!"
Her father sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Lisbeth, sit down. Yelling isn’t going to solve anything.”
“I don’t WANT to sit down,” she snapped. “I want answers! I want to know how you’re planning to fix this... this...”
Her father stood, his movements slow and deliberate as though he were trying to defuse a bomb.
He walked around the desk and rested a hand on her shoulder, his touch light but firm.
“Lisbeth,” he said softly, “you need to calm down. It isn’t the end of the world.”
She jerked away from him, her expression one of disbelief.
“Not the end of the world? Father, this marriage is everything we've worked for! Do you think Lucian’s people are going to sit idly by when they find out the bride has run away? Do you think the Wendells would sit by if this gets out?”
Her father sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “We’ll deal with it, Lizzie. There’s no need to escalate the situation unnecessarily.”
“Unnecessarily?” Lisbeth’s voice rose, her composure slipping. “This is already a crisis, and you’re acting like it’s just another one of Ayra’s tantrums! We expected it and yet she still managed to slip away!”
Lisbeth had a dreadful feeling that they would not be finding Ayra anytime soon. Ayra was clever. Much like their mother.
Ferdinand’s face darkened, his patience rather obviously wearing thin. “Do lower your voice, Lisbeth. I won’t have you shouting at me like a spoiled child.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped.
“That’s enough.” His voice was sharp now, cutting through her anger like a blade. “I won’t tolerate disrespect, not from you.”
Lisbeth seethed, glaring at him, then looked away.
However, she was not done.
“You’ve been too soft, Father. Especially with aunt Eleanor. She’s been meddling, hiding behind that annoying façade of the doting aunt while stirring up trouble. Had you dealt with her properly -”
Ferdinand raised a hand, his calm but firm gesture stopping her tirade. “Enough, Lisbeth. I already knew about Eleanor’s involvement. I knew she was scheming, and I allowed it.”
Lisbeth’s brow furrowed. “And yet you let her continue! You allowed her to manipulate Ayra. Ayra couldn't have gotten out of here on her own!”
Ferdinand’s lips curled into a faint smile.
"It is alright, Lisbeth. The car Eleanor intended to use to pick up Ayra? There’s someone on its tail as we speak. I had her driver flagged the moment I knew she’d gone to see Ayra that day.”
"Why? But we know her plan. We can guess what she wants to do with Ayra."
"Only vaguely, Lizzie. We're not certain. Plus, there could be a third player in the game. Our actions going forward would have to change if there is. I want to see who Eleanor is allied with."
Lisbeth’s breath hitched, her earlier anger now mingled with curiosity and a... begrudging respect. Say whatever you wanted about her father but he was hardly incompetent.
“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
One thing cinched the decision to head into the city for her - a letter from her mother. Late one afternoon, while rifling through an old storage box, Ayra stumbled on something that stopped her cold: her mother’s journal. Ayra had spent hours sorting through the contents of a rather obscure cupboard. There were boxes of old photographs, faded linens, and rusted tools her mother had stored away. It was amidst this clutter that she stumbled upon a plain wooden chest, tucked beneath a pile of moth-eaten blankets.The chest was unremarkable at first glance, but as Ayra opened it, a wave of memories flooded back. Inside lay a neatly folded scarf she recognized as her mother’s favorite, a collection of piddly trinkets, and a leather-bound journal.Ayra’s hands trembled as she pulled the dusty journal from its hiding place. The leather cover was worn but sturdy, its edges soft from years of handling. It smelled faintly of lavender despite the dust; her mother’s scent. As she opened it
An hour later, Ayra held a license plate in her hands, turning it over as though its weight could reveal her mother’s intentions. It was wrapped in a protective plastic sleeve, its edges pristine despite its apparent age.The numbers and letters were unfamiliar, but the very sight of it had Ayra marveling at how meticulously her mother had planned for everything eventuality. Every nook and cranny of the quaint cabin had something potentially useful to her stashed away. They had been detailed in her mother's journal, and the least of which was a veritable sack of cash wrapped in plastic. Simon's card was useless now. There was also a fake ID of a blonde haired, blue eyed version of herself, a blonde wig, and blue contacts. She glanced out the window of the cabin at the car she’d rented, its current license plate reflecting the midday sun. Her lips pressed into a firm line as she considered her next move. She wasn’t naive - her mother’s precautions were useful as far as she coul
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