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 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
Ayra’s heart pounded in her chest as she walked briskly down the street, the cold wind biting at her face. The encounter with Mr. Landor had left her both frustrated and disappointed. She clutched her coat tighter around herself, her thoughts spiraling.Seeing the veritable lockdown the city was in just to find her, she felt Lucian's determination not to let her slip through his fingers.She had a sinking feeling that her original idea to first lay low and then slip away would not work. Her mother had led her here, but the man she had pinned her hopes on was unwilling to help. Her disguise itched against her scalp, yet she didn’t dare to remove it just yet. She kept her head down, blending into the crowd as best she could, each step toward her car feeling heavier than the last.Every passing figure seemed to glance her way. Every shadow stretched just a little too far for comfort; the hustle and bustle of the street should have been reassuring, but it felt suffocating instead. She
An uneasy sensation prickled at the back of her neck. An unsettling, creeping awareness that she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder and her breath caught. A man in a dark jacket leaned casually against a lamppost, his face partially obscured by a baseball cap. He looked away when her eyes met his.Ayra’s stomach churned. She tried to tell herself it was paranoia. A side effect of the stress and the high stakes. It didn't work. As she turned another corner, she noticed someone else. Another man, this one in a hoodie, lingering by a newsstand. His gaze followed her for just a moment too long before he pretended to look at a newspaper.Her heart began to race. She quickened her pace, the heels of her boots clicking sharply against the pavement. Her legs carried her toward the parking lot almost on autopilot and as she neared her car, her instincts screamed at her to stop and look. Four men stood by the entrance to the lot, their postures too casual, their eyes too ale
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