Chapter 25 - A Third Party? (3)

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 adjusted the wig and scarf again, nerves tingling for no reason, and her steps quickened as she approached the parking spot where she'd left her car.

Her breath fogged in the crisp afternoon air as the sun struggled to pierce through the perversive clouds. 

The scarce lighting of the sun casting long, dark shadows across the streets, making the city feel like it was closing in on her. 

She wrapped her coat tightly around herself and shoved her hands deep into her pockets, hoping against hope to disappear into the anonymity of the bustling urban sprawl.

It was doomed to fail. 

......

Lucian paced the expansive bedroom, the curtains drawn tight to block out the mocking brilliance of the mid-morning sun. 

Three days had passed since Ayra's disappearance, and every lead, every strategy he and Ferdinand devised, had yielded nothing but dead ends - every single one of them! 

The air in the room was thick with his frustration. 

The occasional sharp crack of his knuckles breaking the silence as he clenched and unclenched his fists in a bid to do SOMETHING, but knowing that he was doing quite a lot already.

The desk before him was cluttered with maps, reports, and photographs, all evidence of the frantic search that had ensued when he returned. 

A half-full glass of whiskey sat next to its bottle, untouched for hours.

Lucian ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tightening at the roots as if the physical sensation could distract him from the gnawing despair.... The unending frustration of it. 

How could she vanish so completely? 

Isa was clever, and all those things that he had always praised her for - but she was supposed to be HIS, goddammit. 

The thought stung in ways he couldn’t even admit aloud, his despair and longing colliding in a toxic storm.

“Sir?”

Lucian turned sharply at the interruption, and found his man standing at the door, hesitant.

“What is it?” His tone was sharp, laced with the frustration he could no longer contain.

The man cleared his throat. “We’ve reviewed all the footage from the train stations and bus depots, but there was nothing. Either she’s avoiding public transportation, or -”

“Or what?” Lucian snapped, his voice a low growl.

“Or, perhaps, she’s outsmarted us,” the man finished, his tone careful and cautious. He had rarely seen Lucian angry, and an angry Lucian terrified him. 

Lucian’s jaw tightened. Outsmarted. The word cut deeper than it should have. 

He wanted to admire Isa's cunning, her ability to stay a step ahead. But admiration warred with anger and resentment as he again went over the questions he'd gone over for ages and ages. 

Why did she run? Why didn’t she trust him? Was it Ferdinand’s fault - or his?

He exhaled heavily and turned away, his gaze falling to the suitcase half-packed on the low leather sofa. 

He was due for a flight in a few hours - he had suspended the meeting with the Wendells abruptly, and needed to return.

He had expected to find Ayra within a day, take her from Ferdinand and Lisbeth, and then leave the next. 

But how could he focus when Ayra was missing? When the person he suspected was Isa - his Isa - was slipping further and further out of reach?

He crossed the room, yanking the suitcase open. Shirts and ties, carefully folded by his staff, were tossed aside as he rifled through, looking for the file he needed for the trip. 

His movements were jerky, his usually meticulous demeanor replaced by agitation.

He'd leave the city, but double the efforts here. Ferdinand and Lisbeth have proven incompetent; they’ll answer for this when he returned.

With Ayra potentially lost, the two would be perfect to appease his anger on. 

Lucian paused suddenly, staring with intensity at his reflection in the mirror across him. 

The man looking back at him was practically a stranger. Disheveled, with faint dark circles under his eyes. 

He slammed the suitcase shut with more force than necessary, the sound echoing hauntingly in the quiet room.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, annoyed beyond measure. “She is just one woman. She can't hide forever.”

Yet still, even as he said it, doubt crept in uninvited. Ayra had proven her resourcefulness time and again. 

From the way she’d slipped out of the wedding venue, leaving practically no trace except for a ruined dress and a trail of misdirection. It was simply brilliant. 

A part of him whispered that maybe - just maybe - she didn’t want to be found. The thought was unbearable, not unlike a knife twisting in his chest. 

If Ayra truly was Isa - as the investigator’s 90% certainty suggested - then her escape didn’t make sense. Isa would have known him, trusted him. 

She wouldn’t have run.

Unless she didn’t remember him.

Or, worse, she didn’t care.

He didn't like the thought of either so he continued to believe that her fleeing simply made no sense. 

A quiet knock at the door snapped Lucian out of his thoughts.

“The car is ready, sir,” the servant announced.

Lucian gave a curt nod, grabbed the suitcase, and swept past the servant without another word, heading down the grand staircase and out to the waiting car.

Unsurprisingly, the ride to the airport was silent, the tension in the vehicle palpable.

Soon the car pulled up to the private terminal, and Lucian stepped out, his expression hard and unreadable.

Just then his phone rang and he picked it. 

"Sir, we've got sight of her," a man's voice buzzed through. 

Lucian's features changed immediately and his heart settled. 

"Alright. Just tail her - don't spook her! I repeat, don't spook her! Leave her alone till I return." The meeting with the Wendells was too crucial to put off now. 

"But... There's a problem, sir. We've spotted some of Wendell's dogs. They seem to be after her. "

Lucian's heart hardened and he spun on his heels on the spot, striding back to his car, his meeting forgotten. 

"Address."

"She's at Chavlone Street, headed toward North Street."

Lucian cut the call and placed a call to George immediately. 

"Hey, Lucian -" George began.

"George, why are some of your family dogs in my city?" Lucian spat. 

"What are you -"

"They're after a girl, George. She's mine. Call them off pronto or you would regret it."

He cut the call and slipped back into the car. 

"Chavlone Street. As fast as possible. Disregard the speed limits," he commanded.