“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 you book it?” Lisbeth repeated, her voice rising.
"No, I didn't, just like you asked."
Lisbeth's mind raced. Marcy had called her earlier that day so it was easy to figure out that Ayra was setting up decoys.
"Book them now and send the details to her. Send them to me too," Lisbeth said. There was no need to scare Ayra just yet.
Ayra's three escape routes were firmly in their hands and if one suddenly disappeared, she would try to replace it, potentially slipping from their grasp.
"Alright." Sarah ended the call.
Lisbeth looked at her father.
"Ayra's left the venue it seems," she said.
Ferdinand leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.
“What about Marcy?” he prompted. “Ayra had spoken to her as well this morning, hadn't she?”
Lisbeth nodded, her fingers flying over her phone and pulling up Marcy’s number. When the call connected, she didn’t bother with any greetings. “Marcy, where are you?”
Marcy’s voice came through the line, clear and chipper. “I’m at that little cafe Ayra told me about. You know, the one out near the old mill road.”
Lisbeth exchanged a concerned look with Ferdinand. “Has she shown up yet?”
“No,” Marcy replied, her tone turning curious. “I’ve been waiting for a while, but she hasn’t called or texted to say she’s on her way. Is everything alright?”
Lisbeth forced a smile into her voice. “Everything’s fine. Just stay there and keep an eye out, will you, sweety? Let me know the moment you see her.”
She ended the call and turned back to Ferdinand.
Her father didn’t say a word. Instead, he picked up his phone and dialed a number. He held the phone to his ear, his face calm and unreadable.
“It’s me,” he said after a moment. “Has there been any sign of Ayra?”
The person on the other end answered immediately. “No, sir. The driver has been at the rendezvous point for over an hour. Ayra hasn’t shown up.”
Ferdinand pressed his lips into a thin line. “Stay on him. If she makes contact, let me know immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
He ended the call and looked at Lisbeth. “She’s avoiding Eleanor entirely. That much is clear.”
Lisbeth exhaled sharply, her frustration mounting. “If she’s not there, then she’s already in the city and moving. Question is - where? If Eleanor's a dud, that leaves Sarah and Marcy.”
Lisbeth ran a hand through her hair. “She’s playing games with us. Anyway, there are three routes she can take - train tickets, Marcy, and Eleanor’s car—it’s impossible to tell which is real."
"The train tickets are a dud too. She knows that Sarah was the one who leaked her location the first time she ran away. It is obvious she would expect for her to leak it again."
Lisbeth shook her head.
"Ayra knows that. She would expect you to dismiss it so she can safely get on. On the other hand, she may want us to look for her there instead of at Marcy's, banking on the fact that you know she expects us to dismiss it and so we won't. So there's no saying if it is a dud or not."
"Then we simply close down that route," Ferdinand said. "We can't mobilize much people on such short notice so we better block her at the station and drive her toward Marcy. At the very least Marcy is on our side."
Lisbeth nodded reluctantly, her mind already racing with possibilities. Things were coming together neatly but she still could not shake the feeling that they were missing something.
....
Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache threatening to form as she leaned back in her chair, frustration bubbling within her.
The tiny screen before her displayed the real-time location of the burner phone she had oh so carefully provided Ayra.
Its signal hadn’t moved for over twenty minutes, hovering stubbornly just a few meters from her hired driver.
She pressed her phone harder against her ear, her tone clipped. “You’re telling me there’s no one there, and yet the signal shows that she's right in front of you. What are you? Blind?”
The driver’s voice crackled through the line, defensive and uncertain.
“Ma’am, I swear, I’ve checked more than thrice already. There’s nobody here, just the same stretch of road and a bit of overgrown brush. No girls, no Ayra, no nothing.”
Eleanor’s jaw tightened, her free hand drumming a rhythm on the table. “Look again. If she dropped the phone, it could be nearby, but I highly doubt she vanished without a trace.”
The driver sighed audibly, muttering curses under his breath before the faint sound of his boots crunching on gravel filtered through the phone.
Eleanor waited in tense silence, her sharp eyes glued to the blinking dot on her laptop screen.
“Found it,” the driver said after a moment, his voice tinged with surprise. “The phone’s here on the ground, face down. But there’s no sign of the girl.”
Eleanor’s frustration boiled over. “You mean to tell me she dropped the only means I had to track her? How does that even happen? Did you see anyone nearby? Hear anything unusual?”
“No, ma’am,” the driver replied, sounding a bit nervous now. “It’s quiet out here. Too quiet, to be honest. She must’ve ditched the phone on purpose.”
Eleanor clenched her teeth, her mind racing as she tried to piece together what had gone wrong. From Ayra she had expected hesitation, panic even, but not... This.
“Bring me the phone,” Eleanor said finally, her tone clipped. “And stay where you are for now. Keep your eyes open.”
The driver murmured his acknowledgment before the line went dead, leaving Eleanor in silence save for the faint hum of her laptop.
She stared at the blinking dot on the screen, now utterly useless. Ayra had outmaneuvered her, and that realization gnawed at her.
Her brother and Lisbeth were bad enough and now even AYRA was out to thwart her? Ridiculous.
“She’s playing a dangerous game,” Eleanor said to herself, her voice low and bitter. “But two can play.”
Ayra was still on the run, slipping through everyone’s grasp like smoke.
Picking up her phone again, Eleanor dialed another number, her patience fraying.
“Any news?” she asked.
"None."
Eleanor tapped her fingers against the desk, her frustration mounting. “Keep an eye on all major routes out of the city and don't forget the airport too. She might be trying to blend in with the crowd.”
The voice on the other end hesitated. “Do you think she’s going off-grid completely? If so, it’s going to be harder to track her.”
Eleanor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She doesn’t have the resources for that. She’ll need help eventually, and when she does, I’ll be there.”
Quite a few people were interested in Ayra. She could not run.
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
Ayra hesitated for a long moment before entering the office building. The air felt heavier, the weight of the last few days pressing down on her shoulders. Her nerves acting up while she did her damnedest to calm herself. She adjusted her blond wig, tugged her scarf tighter around her neck, and smoothed her borrowed coat. Her mother’s letter had led her here, but doubt gnawed at her. Would Mr. Landor even remember her mother? Would he even be willing to help her?“Hi,” Ayra greeted, keeping her voice carefully polite. “I need to speak with Mr. Landor. It is urgent.”The young woman behind the desk barely glanced up at her, engrossed as she was in a book as she asked; “Do you have an appointment?”“No, but it’s about a more... personal matter. Please, do tell him it’s from an old friend,” Ayra replied, leaning forward slightly.The receptionist frowned, but perhaps there was something in Ayra’s tone that convinced her to pick up the phone and phone the man's office. After a brief co
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