The view from the high-rise office should have been breathtaking. The sprawling city bathed in the golden glow of sunset, endless skyscrapers reaching for the heavens and a russet color smeared across the sky.
But all Ayra Russo could feel was the tightening grip of dread in her chest, threatening to suffocate her. The pristine glass windows felt like a cage, trapping her in a decision she didn’t fully understand.
Despite the warm air spilling from the conditioning unit, the room was cold - far too cold.
Her father sat across the table, his hands trembling slightly as he pushed a crisp sheet of paper toward her. His voice wavered as he spoke. “It... is for the best, Ayra. You’ll be taken care of. This... this is your chance at a better life.”
Ayra felt tears sting at the corners of her eyes and clutched the hem of her coat tightly.
She scanned her father's face for any shred of remorse - any sign that he regretted what he was doing - but his face was stoic and stern, his eyes glinting with a mix of emotions but none that resembled guilt.
Ayra has never known her father to be such an unfeeling man.
She fingered the pen, hesitant, her heart racing. She had trusted him all her life - her father had never led her astray. Yet something about this felt wrong.
She didn’t fully grasp the weight of what was happening, did not know the why and when of how things came to be, but the unease gnawing at her insides told her she was teetering on the edge of something irreversible. Something far bigger than her.
“I don’t understand why I have to sign this,” she murmured, her voice shaking, tears threatening to fall.
Her father’s eyes darted away from hers, focusing on the papers again. "It is complicated, Ayra. But this is for the best."
She threw a glance along the length of the polished mahogany table to the man sitting silently at the furthest end. Lucian Cyrus, the infamous Director.
His presence was faint but intense - if that made any sense. He hadn’t spoken a word since she arrived, but his cold gaze had been on her the entire time, unreadable, calculating. He scared Ayra.
She gathered all the courage she could muster to address him. "Could you give me a reason, sir? The root cause of this?"
His finger traced the rim of his teacup, gentle but consistent, and he stared at Ayra with a quiet sort of intensity that made her heart quiver and her insides lurch. He seemed very much the broody type and Ayra doubted he would give her an answer.
"I told you, it's complicated, Ayra. I..." Her father butted in.
"He is in debt," Lucian interrupted. "One that runs into millions with an atrocious interest rate. Does that satisfy you?"
Ayra's gaze snapped to her father.
"Debt?" She whispered harshly. "How? When?"
He cleared his throat, shame having but a second to make itself known on his face. “The debt, Ayra. It’s... complicated. But this is the only way forward. You’ll be safe with him.”
She glanced back at Lucian who was now sizing up her father with a ponderous gaze.
His appearance was deceptively immaculate—perfectly tailored black suit, sharp jawline, dark hair slicked back with not a strand out of place.
He looked like a businessman, not a man whose empire was built on blood and fear. The coldness in his eyes told a different story. Ayra could not in good faith judge him as 'safe'.
Breathing deeply, she gazed down at the contract in her hands. Half a minute later she turned back to her father, desperately searching his face for some kind of explanation while shock and disbelief ran through her. “You’re selling me off like a piece of property.”
“Don’t say it like that,” her father snapped, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. “You’re not being sold. This is... this is for you too. And the family. Or what? Do you expect not to sacrifice some things for the family after enjoying so much from us?"
She blinked, her head swimming with the flood of words he had been feeding her for weeks.
He had painted this as the only solution, a way out of the financial pit he’d dragged them into.
He had assured her that she’d be secure, and comfortable. That it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.
But none of that felt true now. She blinked back tears, her throat fighting down a sob as she remembered her elder sister's words to her that very morning.
"All you do is take and take without caring and ounce where it comes from," Lisbeth had said. "But there is no need to worry. Today you give back. Tenfold."
Her smile had been less than friendly - downright concerning.
Ayra shut her eyes as she sought to ground herself. She should have known this was coming. She should have seen the signs. No, she had certainly seen the signs. She had just ignored them.
But nothing could have prepared her for this.
Vaguely, she could make out her father speaking to Lucian, his voice almost a whisper as he laid out the terms, but Ayra couldn’t focus. All she could hear was the rush of her blood, the betrayal settling in her bones.
Her gaze slid back to the contract, noting the thick black ink of her name already at the top.
All she had to do was sign at the bottom, and she would all but belong to Lucian. It felt like the pen weighed a thousand pounds, her fingers hovering over it but unable to make the final move.
“Just sign, Ayra,” her father urged, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Please, trust me. It is the best option.”
Ayra bit her lip, the pressure building inside her chest. She trusted him—he was her father. But why did this feel like a betrayal? Why did it suddenly seem like everything she knew about him was a lie?
A voice broke the silence. Lucian's.
"I don't have all day."
His voice was low, deep, almost a whisper, with a quiet authority that sent a shiver down her spine.
His eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, Ayra couldn’t look away. There was no compassion in his gaze, no warmth - only cold calculation.
This was a transaction to him. She was a transaction.
Ayra's throat tightened. She swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic. She wanted to scream, to run, to scream and rave and wake from this nightmare. No one to help her. She was trapped.
By her father.
Her hand shook as she finally grabbed the pen, her sister's voice echoing in her mind: 'You have taken from the family. A little sacrifice is nothing.'
She was right, Ayra tried to tell herself. It was just a little sacrifice.
The sound of the pen scratching across the paper felt like the final nail in her coffin.
When she lifted the pen, Lucian reached forward and pulled the contract toward him. His fingers brushed the paper, and for a brief second, their eyes met again.
There was a flicker of something warm in his eyes - satisfaction, perhaps - but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Sign the contract on your end, Mr. Russo,” Lucian said, eyes shifting back to her father. “You’ve delayed me enough for one day.”
Her father’s shaking hands fumbled with the paper, his eyes darting nervously between the document and Lucian's impassive face.
He hesitated for a second, glancing at Ayra as if to offer a silent apology. But it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. He scribbled his name at the bottom, and with that one motion, her fate was sealed.
“Good,” he murmured, slipping the papers into his briefcase with a finality that made her stomach twist. “It’s done. Your debt is paid,” he said to her father. "And the deal is struck. Take care."
Then, without another word he stood to leave, walking out of the office.
"I'd be picking her up on the twenty-eighth," he said as the door clicked shut behind him.
For a brief, foolish second, she stayed rooted to her seat. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. What had she done?
She turned to look at her father and found him pulling out a thick cigar from his coat, his face composed and showing little remorse. Ayra put her face to the desk and broke into tears.
The days after blurred together into one long stretch of misery. Ayra caught no sight of either her sister or her father during the next three days, secluded as she was in her corner of their mansion. The absence of Lisbeth she could deal with - her elder sister was not the most likable of people - but the fact that her father had all but abandoned her twisted her insides in hate and loathing.Occasionally her thoughts turned to Lucian and her impending... Wedding, as it were. She also couldn’t stop replaying the cold certainty in his voice, the way he had claimed her without a second thought, as if her life was nothing more than another business deal to him. It terrified her more than she cared to admit, and while she didn't hold much of an idealized view of her marriage, she did not want it to be... This. She'd spent hours upon hours poring over the contract, studying every word, every clause futilely, just because she refused to sit on her ass and cry like a little girl. The le
The sleek black car hummed quietly as it sped along the highway, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across Ayra’s face. She sat stiffly in the backseat, her arms crossed tightly, eyes staring blankly out the window. Her father sat beside her, his face set in a stern, unreadable expression.For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was suffocating, thick with unspoken anger and confusion. “I don’t understand why you did this,” her father finally broke the silence, his voice low and filled with disappointment. “Do you have any idea what you’ve risked? What you’ve put at stake?”Ayra didn’t respond at first. She continued staring out of the window, her heart pounding as she tried to contain her emotions. She clenched her fists in her lap, her knuckles turning white as a mix of shame and frustration churned in her gut. Getting caught was all part of her plan, yes, but confronting her father was still decidedly uncomfortable. She thought it would be Lisbeth who
The cold hit Ayra hard as she was dragged back into the mansion, but it was nothing compared to the chill in her chest.Her father’s iron grip on her arm, his men trailing like shadows, and the oppressive silence, crushed her.She didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. She wanted them to believe she'd spent all her fight in her escape attempt. Now she was a shell of the determination she once carried. The mansion loomed in the dark like a silent judge. Its halls, so familiar, felt foreign and sterile.She barely registered her father’s clipped, furious whispers to the guards. All she could feel was the weight pressing down on her. Oh, she knew the escape attempt would have failed - she had planned for it to fail, after all, as her father was simply too cunning a fox that a singular attempt would see her free - but perhaps deep down inside her, she had wished he would have let her go. Just... turned a blind eye. The days blurred into a suffocating haze of monotony. Ayra’s room was no longer her
Lisbeth leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed in that haughty way Ayra had come to despise.She looked immaculate, of course, her dress tailored to perfection, every strand of hair in its rightful place.Ayra, in her hastily thrown on clothes and with an aura of depression she couldn’t shake, felt a fresh wave of resentment.Lisbeth had always been good at making her feel small without even trying - or maybe she was trying, all the time.Anyway, the point stood; Ayra did not like Lisbeth one bit.“I see captivity hasn’t done much for your style, little sis,” Lisbeth began, her tone dripping with mock sympathy."Honestly, I thought you’d at least attempt to look presentable. But I suppose it’s hard to care when you're only so so.”Ayra clenched her fists, the nails biting into her palms. Don’t react, she chanted within her mind. Don’t give her anything. She’s waiting for you to snap. As she always did. But Lisbeth wasn’t one to settle for silence. She pushed off the doorframe
Ayra’s heart sank. “You... what?”“Oh, come on,” Lisbeth rolled her eyes. “It’s not that shocking. And I simply must tell you, Lucian was a dream to work with. A man like that? He saw the opportunity right away. All I had to do was paint you as someone who could be… easily shaped.”"Lisbeth, I..." Ayra struggled to find words. "Do you truly hate me so much?"“Of course,” Lisbeth said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “And by the way, someone had to make the hard decisions around here, and we all know you weren’t going to. Honestly, you should be thanking me. If it weren’t for my little nudges, you’d still be floundering around with absolutely no direction in life.”“Direction?” Ayra spat. “You mean being sold off like some business asset? That’s your idea of a direction?”Lisbeth waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. No one sold you off. Don't make it sound so horrible.It’s securing the family’s future. And let’s face it—you were always the weak link.
“Five minutes,” Eleanor said with a faint sigh, shaking her head as she glanced at the closed door. “Lisbeth hasn’t changed, has she? Always in control, always the gatekeeper.”Ayra snorted, bitterness lacing her voice. “Control seems to be her motto, isn’t it?”Eleanor gave her a small, wry smile and walked toward the bed where Ayra sat. She perched lightly on the edge, smoothing out her skirt. Her perfume was subtle, a blend of lavender and cedarwood that reminded Ayra of gentler times. Times when her mother was still alive. “You look pale, darling,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Lisbeth’s words have a way of doing that to people, don’t they?”Ayra let out a bitter laugh, sitting back down on the edge of her bed. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.” Unstated was the fact that it still stung, and her visit had both demoralised Ayra and left her emotionally vulnerable. Eleanor sighed. The bed dipped slightly under her weight, and she reached out to brush a stray strand of hair
The door closed with a dull thud, and the room felt suffocatingly silent once more. Ayra sat still on the edge of the bed, her hands resting limply in her lap. Her aunt's words replayed in her mind, looping endlessly like a haunting melody. Perhaps her aunt's offer should have sparked something in her - a flicker of hope, a glimmer of possibility. But instead, it only left her feeling heavier, like another impossible choice had been laid at her feet. She didn't feel brave. She didn't feel clever. Because she knew that compared to either Lisbeth or their father, she fell far short. The thought of escape was a tantalizing fantasy, but every time she tried to imagine it, the walls of her reality closed tighter. Even if Eleanor could provide a way out, Ayra doubted her own ability to take it. She was constantly watched, her every move scrutinized by Lucians guards or her fathers spies. There was no privacy, no freedom, not even a single moment to breathe without feeling the weight o
The dinner table was quiet. Her father hadn’t joined her tonight, an absence she welcomed with relief. Recently he had insisted on having at least one meal at the dining room and Ayra has designated that time to dinner. Usually, it was a silent and uncomfortable affair but tonight both he and Lisbeth were blessedly absent. Lucian’s men, stationed in the shadows of the room, observed her silently as she picked at her meal. Her appetite was gone, the tension in her chest rendering the savory dishes bland and lifeless.Her hand brushed against the paper hidden in her pocket. She had carried it all day, its weight more mental than physical. She knew she needed help, but was reluctant to accept it. The serving maid entered quietly - a different girl from the one that afternoon - her presence going disregarded by anyone else. Ayra glanced up and caught her eye. The woman hardly reacted and placed a fresh plate on the table, a thin layer of steam curling from the baked dessert in its c
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