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 eight. Sedan,” he mumbled, already moving on to the next customer.
Ayra nodded and walked out, her hands gripping the keys tightly.
....
Ayra’s hands gripped the steering wheel of the rented sedan as she navigated the streets of the city.
The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the city. Ayra knew she had to act quickly, but she wished Simon would just take her card and keep using it.
Her next stop was a grocery store. She parked the car at the far end of the lot, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary - though what exactly she didn't know - before heading inside, a face cap over her head and her newly bought hoodie pulled up.
The store was relatively empty, which was a relief, but she noted the cameras and made sure to keep her face down as she moved about.
She grabbed a cart and moved briskly through the aisles, her list of priorities clear in her mind.
First, she picked up cleaning supplies: a mop, sponges, detergent, garbage bags, and a few cans of disinfectant spray.
She had a clear destination but had no idea what state the place would be in. It had been years after all.
Next, she moved to the food section. Ayra grabbed mostly non-perishable items - cans of soup, pasta, rice, and a few protein bars.
She added bottled water and a small carton of milk, just enough to get her through the next few days.
Fresh fruits and vegetables weren’t an option sadly; she didn’t know when she’d have refrigeration.
Finally, Ayra detoured to the personal care aisle and picked up some essentials: toothpaste, a toothbrush, and a comb.
Her cart was full enough to raise questions if someone were paying attention, but she doubted the disinterested cashier would care.
At the register, she forced a smile and handed over Simon’s card. The clerk barely glanced at her as the transaction went through.
A belated wave of relief washed over her as she grabbed her bags and wheeled the cart back to the car. She loaded everything into the trunk, returned the cart, and quickly drove away.
After that point was an ATM. She went to a place totally opposite of where she was actually headed and pulled out several wads of bills from Simon's account. Hard cash was best in her situation.
---
The city skyline gradually gave way to suburban sprawl and, eventually, to the countryside.
Ayra took the back roads, humming as she drove, avoiding major highways to stay off the radar. She drove for over an hour, the tension in her shoulders easing with each passing mile.
The landscape grew quieter, the hum of city life replaced by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of trees.
Finally, she reached the edge of the forest, the road narrowing to a dirt path lined with tall pines.
Memories of her mother flooded back. The cabin had been their sanctuary, a hidden retreat where they had spent countless weekends during school vacations.
Her mother had assured her that no one else knew about it - not Lisbeth, not her father, no one. Having stayed apart from them for the better part of ten years, it was easy to hide.
Ayra parked the car at the end of the path and stepped out, the crunch of gravel underfoot echoing in the stillness.
She grabbed a flashlight from the trunk and slung the grocery bags over her arms before heading toward the cabin.
The trail was overgrown, branches snagging at her sleeves, but the sight of the familiar wooden structure ahead filled her with a bittersweet sense of relief.
The cabin was small and weathered, its wooden walls darkened by time and exposure to the elements.
The front porch sagged slightly, and the windows were caked with dirt. Ayra set the bags down and fished a rusty key from her pocket.
It turned with some difficulty, the lock protesting after years of disuse, but the door eventually creaked open.
She stepped inside and flicked on the flashlight, the beam illuminating the dusty interior.
The cabin smelled of must and decay, and cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling. Furniture was covered with white sheets, which had yellowed over time.
Despite the state of disrepair, Ayra felt a sense of comfort. It was isolated, forgotten by the world, and, most importantly, safe.
---
She spent the next few hours cleaning. She stripped the sheets from the furniture, coughing as dust filled the air.
The mop and disinfectant spray proved invaluable as she scrubbed the wooden floors and wiped down the counters.
By the time she was done, the cabin looked livable, though it was far from perfect.
Ayra set up a small sleeping area in the corner of the main room, laying out a blanket and pillow she’d found in a closet.
She unpacked the groceries and placed them on the kitchen counter, then stored the cleaning supplies under the sink.
The milk and bottled water went into an old cooler she found, packed with ice from the nearby creek.
As she worked, memories of her mother surfaced. She could almost hear her mother’s laugh echoing through the cabin, feeling the warmth of her presence.
The thought brought a lump to her throat.
Ayra's mother had been the only person in her life who had truly cared for her, who had fought for her when no one else would.
Now, Ayra was fighting for herself.
She stood at the cabin window, staring out into the dark forest. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting eerie shadows on the ground.
Ayra’s mind raced with thoughts of what would come next. She had no illusions that this would be her permanent refuge. The cabin was a temporary solution, a place to regroup and plan her next move.
But for tonight, it was enough.
Ayra locked the door and wedged a chair under the handle for extra security. She sat on the makeshift bed, exhaustion settling over her.
For the first time in days, she allowed herself to breathe, to feel the weight of her escape lift, if only slightly.
As she lay down, the events of the past few days played through her mind like a relentless reel.
She didn’t know how long she could stay ahead of her father and Lisbeth, or what sacrifices she might have to make to keep her freedom.
Heck, she had no idea how to get out of the city quite yet but one thing was certain - she wasn’t going back.
An opportunity would come.
And in the quiet solitude of the cabin, she allowed herself to drift into a restless sleep, her dreams filled with flickering shadows and the sight of Lisbeth sitting in her room the night before her wedding.
Lucian didn’t tell her about Lisbeth.He sat across from Ayra in the softly lit lounge, the garden’s scent still clinging faintly to her as she sipped a steaming cup of tea. Her hair was loosely braided, her shoulders relaxed from the morning’s quiet. And yet, as he looked at her, all he could think about was how Lisbeth had vanished—abruptly, cleanly, just like Pedro.Tension coiled beneath his skin, but he masked it with a sip of wine.“We need to talk,” he said abruptly.Ayra tensed immediately. That phrase never meant anything good in this house.He didn’t sit. He stayed standing, watching her like she was something caged—and dangerous. Or maybe fragile. She wasn’t sure which he saw.“There’s a dinner tomorrow night,” he said smoothly. “High-ranking members of the Consortium - mostly the extended Cyrus family - will be attending. You’ll be there.”Ayra blinked. For a moment, she thought she misheard. “I’ll be where?”“At a dinner. Tomorrow night.”Her fingers tightened slightly on
It was a dusty afternoon, and a gentle breeze stirred through the greenhouse vents as she knelt beside the far bed, digging her fingers into warm earth. Something about the repetitive motion calmed her.Far across the estate, Lucian stood before the tall windows of his study, the same sunlight casting long slashes of gold across the room. Papers lay untouched on his desk. A whiskey glass sat half-full, forgotten beside a folder stamped with confidential seals.But Lucian wasn’t looking at any of it.He was staring at the garden path.His expression was unreadable. Not the cold sharp mask he wore in meetings. Not the subtle smirk he used to disarm rivals. This was something heavier.Ayra.He watched her through the glass, watching how her hair glinted in the sun, how she bent low to inspect a flower’s stem, how she brushed dirt from her fingers and pushed her sleeves back. She was free there in a way he didn’t quite understand. And he hated that he noticed. Hated that he found himself r
The garden had quickly become a place where silence turned soft, where tension dissolved into something gentler—something nearly peaceful.It started with breakfast.Lucian had never joined her before. For weeks, Ayra had eaten in the eastern wing’s solarium, a place soaked in morning light and perfumed with citrus trees. The table was always set. A guard always stationed at the door. She would sit with her tea, her fruit, her silence.Then one morning, he was there.Seated already, sipping dark coffee, poring over an old dossier. He looked up when she entered, his gaze unreadable."You’re late," he said. Not coldly. Not mockingly. Just… speaking.Ayra raised an eyebrow but took her seat across from him. She said nothing.They ate in silence.But the next day, he was there again. And the next.Eventually, they spoke—little things. The weather. A passing comment about the guards. A rare joke from Lucian that left her blinking, then chuckling softly. And he would smirk, looking away like
A hairpin might work, she thought, fingers going to her braid. She untangled a clip, twisted it into shape, and began fiddling with the lock. Her movements were precise—muscle memory from when she'd once been desperate enough to learn how to escape.The lock clicked halfway—"I could’ve just given you the key."Her head snapped up.Lucian stood in the shadow of a pillar, arms crossed. The late sun painted him in gold and crimson, casting harsh lines across his jaw. His voice was calm, but she could sense the tension lurking beneath it.Ayra rose slowly, brushing her skirt smooth. "I didn’t know you were back."He stepped closer, eyeing the half-jammed lock, then her makeshift pick. "Apparently, you didn’t know I locked that for a reason."Her brows furrowed. "Is it dangerous?"He glanced toward the greenhouse. "Not in the way you’re thinking."She followed his gaze. The gardenias had begun to shift gently in the breeze, catching the light. Their whiteness seemed almost ethereal. Ayra s
Ayra woke to the scent of citrus and sunlight.It took her a moment to register the difference. The sheets were softer. The bed was wider. The room—too still, too quiet—was not the one she’d fallen asleep in.Her eyes darted across unfamiliar surroundings: pale cream walls trimmed in gold, long velvet curtains fluttering in the morning breeze, and an open balcony that revealed an expansive sea view. A single vase of white orchids sat on a marble-topped table nearby. No machines. No flickering monitors. No hum of a generator or distant yelling of soldiers.This was not the medical tent.She sat up too quickly, her head pounding in response. A nurse—young, silent, efficient—appeared almost instantly from the side door and offered her water."You are safe," the girl said softly, as if trying not to spook her. "Mr. Lucian brought you here last night. This is his private coastal villa. You’re under his protection now."His villa?Ayra drank, the cool water soothing her throat but not her tu
Boris stepped into the office, expecting the usual dim lighting and quiet hum of screens—but stopped short when he saw Lucian seated behind the desk.Lucian rarely used this particular room, tucked deep in the east wing of the estate. It was a relic space, lined with books instead of monitors, maps instead of touchscreens. It had once belonged to their grandfather. A place for reflection, not war.Yet Lucian sat there now, back ramrod straight, fingers steepled, and his eyes—those glacial gray eyes—were fixed squarely on Boris."Close the door," Lucian said.The chill in his voice cut through the late afternoon warmth. Boris hesitated, then obeyed, the heavy oak clicking shut behind him. He straightened, adjusting his jacket. "You’re back early. I wasn’t informed—""You lied to me."Three words. Quiet. Deadly. Lucian didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.Boris didn’t flinch. He spread his hands in a show of calm. "Lucian, if this is about Ayra—""It is."Silence bloomed between th