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 in the wedding preparations - despite his express order for the opposite - and how sidelined she had been throughout the process.
“She was against this marriage from the start,” Lucian said, his voice heavy.
“And yet, you totally ignored her protests and practically made her miserable in her own home. Little wonder she ran, right?”
Ferdinand looked away, his expression troubled. “We thought we were doing what was best for her.”
The truth was that they were too busy trying to hold up the facade of her being Isa and preparing for other things that they'd had no time to try to ease her into things.
And to make matters worse, Lucian's people were STILL investigating Ayra like hound dogs on steroids. In a way, it was HIS fault they were not fully committed to finding Ayra.
“She’s not a pawn,” he said quietly, the words somehow heavier than his earlier shouts. He could not bear the thought of his Isa being treated that way.
“She’s a person. If you want her loyalty, you need to earn it, and right now, you’re doing the opposite.”
“She’s young,” Lisbeth said, her eyes cold but her tone more subdued. “She doesn’t know what’s good for her.”
Lucian let out a short, humorless laugh, his tone venomous.
“What she doesn’t know is how to trust any of you. You treat her like a piece on a chessboard, and you wonder why she ran?”
The Isa he knew was too strong - too independent, with just the right amount of a rebellious streak - to just simply let things proceed.
She wasn’t just scared. She was Isa.
He swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. No matter how much her actions reminded him of Isa, it didn’t excuse this mess. And it didn’t mean she was safe.
Lisbeth huffed, her arms tightening across her chest. “And what would you have done differently?”
“Everything,” Lucian replied without missing a beat.
....
Lucian’s steps echoed in the hallway as his mind churned.
He hated Ferdinand and Lisbeth for their incompetence, for treating Isa like some obligation they could control and force. But he hated himself more - for not seeing this coming.
Ayra - or Isa - was out there, outsmarting them all. A part of him admired her grit. The other part burned hotly with frustration.
Even worse, he had suspended an important negotiation to come over here but it could not be suspended indefinitely.
The Wendells were an impatient lot and perhaps he had three days to go before he had to fly back.
He clenched his fists. It didn’t matter. He’d find her.
Because beneath his carefully maintained exterior, a storm of emotions raged. Anger at Ferdinand and Lisbeth for their failures.
Frustration at Ayra for slipping through their grasp. And a deep, unshakable fear that he might lose Isa again.
He made a silent vow: he would find Ayra, no matter the cost. And when he did, he would ensure she never felt the need to run again.
.......
The cabin crouched deep in the forest, tucked among ancient trees like it had grown there, unknown and forgotten.
For Ayra, it was a rather shaky refuge; a quiet hiding place that barely kept the chaos at bay.
The first three days passed in a strange blur - half survival, half restless waiting, knowing that people would come for her.
But hoping beyond hope that they didn't, and praying that she would be able to get out of the city by the time things blew over.
She spent the first day cleaning, the task both grueling and somehow grounding.
Dust smothered every surface, cobwebs drooped like faded curtains, and the air had a damp, stale bite of neglect she found disconcerting.
She had tied a scarf around her face and dove in, scrubbing the floors until they gleamed, wiping the grime from countertops, and shaking out moth-eaten sheets despite wanting to just toss them away.
By sunset, the cabin was hers - or as much hers as it could be.
It wasn’t perfect, but the golden beams of sunlight streaming through newly washed windows almost made it feel like home.
Exhaustion hit like a freight train that night. Collapsing onto the lumpy couch, she stared at the flickering flames in the fireplace, her thoughts miles away.
No electricity because a fuse was blown. No noise except the crickets outside and the occasional eerie call of an owl. The quiet was suffocating and soothing all at once.
....
Day two dragged her into the forest. Yesterday had been about the cabin; today, she let herself breathe in the woods' stillness.
Every snap of a twig and rush of wind reminded her of summers long gone.
Her mother had loved this place, dragging Ayra here year after year to hike, pick berries, and watch stars glitter through the tree canopy.
Back then, Ayra had half-hated it - it was too slow, too quiet for a city girl. Now, every memory of those summers felt like a treasure she had failed to properly appreciate.
She'd loved them even back then, sure, but you would never get her to admit it.
By midday, the nostalgia faded under the weight of practicality.
Ayra rummaged through what little the cabin offered: a rusty knife, an ancient first aid kit, a jar of mysterious tea leaves, and a stack of dog-eared paperbacks, though some were new.
She remembered her mother reading some of them while she slept at night. Ayra hadn't understood the allure of a proper novel then - short videos were good enough for her.
She picked one of the books at random, curling up by the fire to read. The words barely registered, but the routine felt oddly grounding.
Meals were basic: sandwiches slapped together from her dwindling groceries, hard-boiled eggs, and cups of the old tea.
The isolation still felt like a relief—but cracks had begun to show.
.....
By day three, Ayra was pacing. The quiet that had been comforting turned sharp and heavy, pressing down on her.
Every snap of a branch outside made her heart race. Her gaze kept drifting to the forest road, half expecting—or dreading—someone to come for her.
Ferdinand and Lisbeth wouldn’t stop looking. She knew that much. But Lucian? That was harder to pin down.
Thinking about him brought a mix of guilt and fear she couldn’t shake. How deep was his hand in all of this? Could she trust him—or had she been wrong to hope?
Pushing the thought away, Ayra forced herself to focus on survival. Her food wouldn’t last much longer, and the well water tasted slightly metallic.
Sooner or later, she’d need to leave for supplies and to check out the general situation of the city.
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
Grabbing the rungs, she hauled herself up, her palms stinging against the cold, rusty metal.The men reached the base just as she scrambled onto the roof. “Keep going!” she heard one shout, his boots thudding against the ladder as he climbed.Ayra rolled over the edge of the roof just as bullets whizzed past her face and thudded into the chimney beside her. They were shooting at her, and now fear was truly solidifying in her belly. The rooftop offered a temporary reprieve, but it wasn’t enough. Ayra scanned her surroundings, her chest heaving. Another building loomed nearby, its rooftop within jumping distance - if she was lucky.Needless to say, Ayra did not feel lucky. Without giving herself time to second-guess, she sprinted and leapt. For a heart-stopping moment, she was weightless, suspended in the air. Then her feet hit solid ground, the impact jarring her knees.The men weren’t far behind. She could hear their voices, their footsteps, the scrape of their boots on the gravel
“Who the hell are these people?!” Ayra yelled, her voice raw with unfiltered panic. Lucian didn’t answer immediately, his focus on the cars chasing them. When he finally spoke, his words were clipped. "Funnily enough, I also want to know.” Her hands curled into fists. “They were after me before you showed up! Why?” Lucian glanced at her, his eyes dark, angry. But she felt he wasn't angry at her - at least not right now. “Why don’t you tell me?” The SUV pulled onto a highway, the speedometer climbing as the driver tried to put distance between them and their pursuers. Lucian’s jaw was tight, his knuckles white as he gripped his weapon.The SUV weaved through the traffic at an alarming pace, the hum of the engine growing louder as it accelerated further. Lucian leaned forward, his jaw clenched and his eyes scanning the road ahead. Ayra sat frozen in the backseat, gripping the edge of her seat tightly, the adrenaline coursing through her leaving her both terrified and acutely a
When they got away from the road, Lucian put Ayra on her feet. The dense foliage offered some respite from the open road, but Ayra’s lungs burned as she struggled to keep up with Lucian’s long strides. He slowed only slightly, his hand gripping her wrist to ensure she didn’t fall behind.After what felt like eternity they emerged onto a narrow dirt road. Ayra doubled over, gasping for breath, but Lucian didn’t let her rest for long.“We've arrived,” he said, pointing to a dilapidated gas station a short distance away. Its flickering neon sign cast an eerie glow over the otherwise desolate area.Ayra followed him silently, her legs trembling with exhaustion. He was all but carrying her once more, honestly. The gas station was quiet, fluorescent lights overhead casting a harsh glare over the aisles of dusty merchandise. Lucian led her toward the back, keeping a careful eye on the door.“You can sit,” he said, gesturing to a worn-out bench near the restrooms.Ayra sank onto the bench a
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