Chapter 2

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 legal jargon wasn't particularly dense, hence a major in Liberal arts like she could understand that while Lucian did not own her on paper, and their marriage was mutually beneficial to both the Cyrus family and hers, it did little to secure her autonomy or rights in the sham of a marriage. 

It would be a breach of the contract if they divorced each other within twelve months - hells, she had no right to serve Lucian divorce papers for whatever reason!

The document bound her to him—her life, her freedom, everything she had was now under his control. 

She combed through the fine print late at night four days later, eyes burning from lack of sleep, out of a lack of something to do. Sitting still felt dumb and doing anything else felt like the height of unproductivity.

Every inch of her being screamed at her to find a way out; to break free from the approaching gloom of a future that was becoming Lucian’s plaything. 

The 28th was coming far too quickly and the thought of what awaited her on that day and after was enough to make her stomach churn in fear and revulsion.

She tossed the contract into a corner and ran a hand through her hair. To God, she needed to sleep, but thoughts of marrying the Director sent shivers down her spine every few minutes. She had only slept intermittently in the past four days, her waking hours almost always heralded by tears. 

"Jars," she called, her voice raspy from days of sobbing. "Play me some music."

The sound system in her room gave a small beep as it was booted on. The soothing melody of a sad blues song began to play from its speakers. 

"Shuffle," Ayra commanded and the upbeat tune immediately replaced the previous song.

Ayra closed her eyes, trying to lull herself into sleep when the lyrics of the song's chorus registered in her brain and she was jerked awake instantly.

~Chase me, Chase me~

~And I'll run to the world's end~

~Where the skies are blue and your eyes can't reach~

She shot to her feet, a sudden surge of adrenaline-boosting her as she reached for the contract and read it in its entirety once more. 

She was through in minutes - her version of the contract did not have many terms - but she read it once more, feverishly this time, just to make sure.

Five minutes later she pumped her fists in the air, a cheerful cry of victory finding its way out of her throat. 

"Yes! Yes! Damn yes!"

Her father was gone, having all but abandoned her the moment she’d signed herself away, and she was left with nothing but the sharp edge of betrayal and the weight of her bleak future.

But now—now there was a chance.

Ayra’s pulse quickened as realization sank in. There was no explicit mention of confinement, no written obligation to stay until Lucian came for her. 

Even better, there was no repercussion on the deal between the Cyrus family and hers if she somehow fell off the face of the earth. It was a rather glaring loophole. How had he not noticed this? 

No, how had her father not noticed it? He was easily the smartest man she knew. Or, perhaps, had he known all along and simply expected her to be too terrified to act? Ayra chuckled with schadenfreude. Oh, she was not afraid to run. 

Even better, if she left now, she might be able to slip away before anyone even realized she was gone. The thought sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins, the first spark of hope she’d felt in... days!

The 28th.

Six days.

He most certainly had not given her that deadline out of generosity. 

But he had underestimated her. Or, perhaps, did not believe his 'property' could grow legs and run. She cackled to herself. 

Ayra paced about her room, her mind spinning with possibilities. Where could she go? Who could she turn to? 

The answers were bleak—she had no real connections, no friends who wouldn’t ask questions, no... 'family' willing to help. 

Her father had made sure of that when he sold her off like some kind of asset. Like a fucking item.

She clenched her fists at the thought, the jagged spikes of betrayal and hurt that had been lodged in her heart fusing slowly into anger. 

But she took a deep breath and pushed the emotions aside. It was not the time for it quite yet. 

She didn’t need anyone. Not now. All she needed was to be smart, careful, and meticulous in her steps going forward. 

Ayra shoved the contract into the briefcase it came with, her hands trembling, her mind racing. She needed a plan. 

.....

Good plans didn't come easy, Ayra found out by the next morning. Good plans were a bitch to come up with. 

She'd noticed that there had been an increase in the house guards in the past few weeks, and now she suspected it was due to the deal between her father and Lucian. 

Having been surrounded by security personnel her whole life, she could spot more than one or two suspicious figures within the roster of people patrolling the mansion. 

They were more heavily armed than the type Ayra was used to, their eyes steely and steps more akin to professional thugs than bodyguards. 

They looked just as likely to put a bullet in Ayra as they were to keep thieves out. She could easily infer that they would not simply let her waltz out of the house. 

She paced the length of her room, her gaze flicking to the small bag in the corner of her room from time to time. If she was going to do this, it would have to be tonight. No waiting, no second-guessing. 

She ran a hand through her hair, pulling at it in frustration as she realised she couldn't do it alone. She needed someone to move her out; public transport was off the table as her father could track her down too easily, and she didn't know how to drive.  

There was no helping it. If she stayed, Lucian would come, and when he did, it would be too late. 

Grabbing the bag, she began tossing in essentials: clothes, toothbrush, some cash - anything she could carry that wouldn’t weigh her down. 

She took a moment to buy a train ticket bound for a night journey to throw her father off, backed up her important files and photos to her memory card and popped it out. 

She hesitated over the next part but eventually broke the phone and tossed it into the trash. It had cost a pretty penny. Now she couldn't go back due to cold feet. 

The plan took shape as Ayra moved around her room and she decided to move that very night. 

She felt the weight of her decision press down on her with every passing minute, the nagging doubt gnawing at her. 

Running from someone like Lucian wasn’t as simple as walking out the door and disappearing. He was the director of THE fucking Consortium. He had resources - people, connections - things that could track her down no matter where she went. 

And, despite her father's recent pathetic showing, she knew he was terrifyingly smart. He would look for her. And if she messed up even once, he would find her. 

But Ayra wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

At exactly 9 pm that night she slipped out the door, the hallway of the building eerily quiet. The moon was not out that night, and the darkness outside felt like both a blessing and a curse. 

As she descended the stairs, her heart thudded louder with every step. This was it. She was doing this. She was going to disappear.

She walked boldly past the few guards she met within the house without bothering to explain herself. Their gaze on her was sharp and gauging, but Ayra disregarded them and strode for the garden exit. 

When the door leading to the garden came into view, she went down a side corridor and jogged up the side stairs to the second floor. She came across a window with an overhang from the first floor right beneath it as well as a hedge directly beneath. 

She scanned the area and spotted a guard facing away from the house and towards the fence. Ayra breathed out and stepped out the window, slid silently down the overhang, and dropped quietly behind the hedge. 

The guard turned, alerted by the thump of her feet, and she lay flat on the ground while his flashlight scanned dialleddge. Soon he lost interest and she got to her feet and crept forward. 

She knew the house like the back of her hand; she didn't believe she could avoid their eyes if she truly tried. 

.....

The cool night air hit her like a shock when she stepped outside, the city’s pulse thrumming in the distance. She kept her head down, blending into the crowd of pedestrians moving down the sidewalk. 

Her heart pounded fiercely in joy as she made her way down the street, her lips threatening to split apart from the urge to smile. 

She had done it. She'd escaped. While a guard had seen her in the end, they hadn't been able to stop her before she scaled the wall. But it was alright. The train ticket should throw her father off her tail for at least a day. 

She walked quickly and pushed her way into the first phone booth she found. 

She had planned to walk until she found one, but with the weather being in the middle of winter, the night was far too cold for it, hence she had hailed a taxi and drove for almost an hour before getting to where she was. 

Fingers trembling, she dialed the only person she felt she could trust. The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?" Sarah, her best friend, answered. 

"Hi. Sarah, it's Ayra calling."

“What? Ayra? Is everything okay?” 

Ayra took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to get out of the city. Can you help me?”

"What? Wait, Why?"

"Just... I'll explain later. I just need your help."

"Alright, where are you? I'll come pick you up."

Ayra searched the street and found a sign not far from her. 

"Winston Street. I'm in the phone booth right now."

"Alright. Just sit tight. I'll be there in... Thirty minutes tops."

"Thank you." 

Ayra hung up and sighed. 

Twenty minutes later, someone knocked on the booth. 

"That call was a bad choice. Not the call itself but who you called," the stranger said. 

While she was unable to see the person clearly through the frosted glass, she would recognize the voice anywhere. It was her father.  

The first plan is done. 

She always knew Sarah was a bitch.