Chapter 3

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.”