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 would come. At least then she could gladly insult her to her face and dare her to do her worst.
“You have always been impulsive,” he continued, his tone a mix of disappointment and resignation. “But this?
Running away from your responsibilities like some spoiled child?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I raised you better than this, Ayra.”
At that, her temper flared. Her head snapped toward him, eyes all but burning with anger. “You didn’t - ” she cut herself off, her voice trembling with fury. “You controlled me. This... this whole arrangement isn’t about responsibility. It’s about power. Your power. You practically sold me to him.”
Her father’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You signed the contract, Ayra. You agreed."
Ayra’s eyes blazed with anger. "You all but forced me to sign it! You might as well have tricked me! If you cared, you would let me run away and avoid this!"
“I secured your future, Ayra. Do you know how many people would kill for an alliance with someone like Lucian? And you think you’re above this? Above what your family needs from you?”
Ayra swallowed hard, her throat tight. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her skin prickling with frustration. “What about what I need? What do I want?” she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with desperation.
Oh, how she wanted him to just pull an April Fool's or something. She did not want to believe that her father had changed so much. “I don’t want this.”
“You have no choice,” he said sharply, his voice final and angry. “You will marry Lucian, and you will do what’s expected of you. You will stop these childish rebellions before you make things worse for yourself. The wedding will happen, and you will smile and play the part, like I raised you to do.”
Ayra looked away, tears running down her cheeks as she tried to hold back a sob.
"You didn't raise me," she said quietly, staring at him from out of the corner of her eye. She didn't know what pained her more - seeing her father wilt under the statement or knowing that she cared at all that he wilted.
“That’s enough, Ayra," he said, his voice resigned and low. "You’ll marry Lucian, and that's final. You won’t get another chance to run. Not from him.”
Ayra held back a small smirk. Oh, she would get another chance. Of that she was certain. Her plan was yet to be completed after all.
The car pulled up to the mansion gates, the iron doors creaking open as they approached.
.....
Lucian sat behind his desk, staring at a picture frame before him. His eyes shifted between the photo and the wedding planner standing nervously on the other side.
The woman’s voice was distant in his mind, a background hum he barely registered. His focus was elsewhere. In the far past, to be specific. When he had yet become the director the city of Divmas knew so well.
At a point his eyes remained fixed on the photograph, a finger rubbing the frame delicately.
The picture was faded with age, but there was no mistaking the resemblance between the teenage girl in it and Ayra.
They had the same eyes, the same fragile set to their lips - the type that made you want to let her cry on your shoulder for all eternity. There was a resemblance but that was all.
The girl in the photo was still in her teens; thirteen, perhaps fourteen years old. The difference between her and the fully grown Ayra was rather stark.
The wedding planner, a middle-aged woman, was going over last-minute details. "The ceremony will begin at sunset, just like you requested, Mr. Cyrus. The floral arch has white roses, and the seating—”
Lucian raised a hand, stopping her mid-sentence without even looking up. For a few seconds he didn't speak and the planner hesitated, clearly thrown off. No one wanted to mess up around Lucian. He knew, and he found it oddly amusing every time.
"No white roses," he said smoothly, his voice low and steady. He leaned back slightly, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo frame. "She doesn't like them. Make them pink."
The planner blinked, surprised, but nodded quickly. “Of course, Mr. Cyrus. I’ll have them changed immediately.”
Lucian’s fingers tapped lightly against the polished wood of the desk as he nodded, signaling to the planner to continue, though he barely listened to the specifics.
His thoughts drifted, his gaze still locked on the picture. There was something unresolved in his expression - something intense that was hidden beneath layers of control.
In more ways than one, his decision to give Ayra till the 28th was also for him to have the space to come to terms with what was happening.
Facing Ayra days prior had brought to the surface some inexplicable nervousness and anxiety that just continued to grow whenever he thought about the upcoming wedding.
Everything was not alright, he knew, and the investigations were not conclusive, but he dearly hoped it would be.
The door creaked open, and one of his men stepped inside. Nico, a rather burly man Lucian trusted. His presence meant something was up. But Lucian wasn’t the type to get rattled. Nico could interrupt without worrying too much.
Lucian’s gaze shifted from the photo to Nico, his expression questioning.
“Sir,” Nico began tension in his gravelly voice, “there’s something you need to know. It’s about Ayra.”
At her name, Lucian’s fingers paused over the frame. His grip tightened for just a second. He tilted his head, just slightly, curiosity sparking briefly under his calm exterior.
“Go on,” Lucian said, his voice soft but dangerous.
Nico cleared his throat, glancing at the wedding planner. He wasn’t sure if he should continue in front of her, but Lucian gave a small nod. Permission granted.
“She tried to run away last night,” Nico said. “Our people within the Russo mansion security confirmed that she had managed to do so before Ferdinand brought her back.”
Lucian didn’t react right away. The room felt heavier and quieter. The wedding planner stood there, frozen, completely out of place. Lucian’s gaze returned to the photo. His mind worked through the information, calculating.
“Is she at the mansion right now?” he asked, his tone light like Nico had just given him an update on the weather.
“Yes, sir. But she’s arguing with Ferdinand and asking a lot of questions. I don’t think she’s planning to stay put.”
Lucian exhaled, leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping the armrest. He glanced briefly at the wedding planner.
“You can go,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. She didn’t hesitate, hurrying out of the room like her life depended on it.
Once the door shut behind her, Lucian’s demeanor shifted. His calm turned sharper, more focused. He stood up, adjusting his suit jacket, and moved around the desk.
“She’s testing her limits,” he said, mostly to himself, staring out the window at the city skyline. It stretched out in front of him like his personal empire.
“Do you want us to do something, boss?” Nico asked.
Lucian’s lips curled into a thin, cold smile. “No need. Let her think she’s in control. Most people see Isabella and think her dumb. Pliant.” He scoffed.
His eyes drifted back to the photo of the girl who looked so much like Ayra. He traced the edge of the frame with his thumb, lost in thought. “She won’t leave me,” he said softly, but there was no doubt in his voice.
A buzz from his phone pulled his attention back. He glanced at the screen. A reminder from his lawyer: the final clauses of the marriage contract would be signed tomorrow.
He blinked, the gears of his mind grinding.
"How goes the investigations?" He asked.
"Nothing new," Nico replied. "The detectives are still hammering away at it."
“Make sure the mansion is secure,” Lucian ordered all business again. “No one gets in or out without my say. Not even Ferdinand.”
His fingers tapped a rhythm along the edge of the photo frame, the old picture staring back at him with memories that should have been buried. “She may try to run again,” he said softly, almost to himself.
He sat back down, his expression now cold and unreadable, eyes drifting back to the photograph. “But if she does,” he added, his voice turning steel-hard, “I want everyone to be ready.”
Nico nodded and left the room, leaving Lucian alone with his thoughts. He reached for the photograph, picked it up and held it closer to his face.
His thumb brushed over the girl's features - features that echoed in Ayra’s face now, whether she realized it or not.
“You were just as stubborn,” he murmured to the photo, his voice low and nostalgic. "Isa.”
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 hours slipped by like sand through her fingers. Her isolation was suffocating as always, yet she clung to the small lifeline Eleanor had given her. Her aunt’s messages arrived sporadically, their delivery concealed in the meticulous work of the maid. A folded napkin, a hollowed-out bread roll, a ribbon tied too tightly around a gift - her messages came in the details, as it were, and Ayra simply had to admire the woman's level of innovation. Eleanor’s plans for the escape were detailed and intricate in their design. She had secured a safehouse - somewhere Ayra could be hidden for a while once she made her escape. It was an ostentatious villa in the middle of the city, but Eleanor and Ayra both agreed that it was best to hide right beneath their noses until Ayra could leave the city entirely. The city’s roads were mapped, the hidden back alleys and lesser-known paths highlighted on a series of papers Eleanor had sent. Ayra had made sure to burn them all - they were just there
Ferdinand leaned on the balcony, staring out at the setting sun, a lit cigar between his fingers. The door behind him opened and his sister stepped through. She observed him for a while before coming to rest her elbows on the railing too. Ferdinand offered her a cigar pack and she picked out a stick. "Light me," she requested and her brother flicked open a lighter and lit the cigar for her. "Congrats Ferdy," Eleanor said, her lips working around the cigar in her mouth. "Ayra is getting married in two days."Ferdinand sighed and took a drag."My little girl," he whispered. "To get her together with The Director himself, Ferdy, I wonder how you did it.""We all have our ways," Ferdinand said with a chuckle. "You have an idea of what you are doing to her, don't you?""Wouldn't you do the same?" Ferdinand asked. "No, I wouldn't," Eleanor answered. Her brother chuckled. "That is why you would never have children, Eleanor.""Don't need them. They're a hassle to take care of."Ferdina
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