Chapter 51 - Strained Breakfast 

Lucian stepped through the grand entrance of his estate just as the first rays of dawn filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow over the marble floors. The house was silent, save for the distant hum of staff going about their morning tasks. His steps were unhurried as he walked inside, his mind already elsewhere.

Nico was waiting in the hallway, as always—efficient, sharp-eyed, and already aware that Lucian would want an update.

"Sir," Nico greeted with a slight nod. "Everything is in place. Your… whereabouts from last night have already begun making the rounds. The media is running with it."

Lucian removed his suit jacket, tossing it onto the nearby chair with little care. He rolled up his sleeves, nodding once. "Good. Make sure it reaches the right ears."

Nico barely blinked. "You're certain?"

Lucian gave a slow nod, shrugging off his jacket. "I want it everywhere by noon."

Nico hesitated only a fraction of a second, then inclined his head. "Understood."

Lucian walked past him, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. He had planned every step of this carefully. Ferdinand had manipulated him into this marriage. That much was certain. But how deeply had Ayra been involved? Was she a pawn? was she complicit? To what level? What was her stake in it?

He would have an idea soon enough.

Breakfast was the perfect test.

When Lucian entered the dining room, Ayra was already there.

She sat at the far end of the table, sipping a cup of tea, her posture effortlessly composed. 

She glanced up as he entered, her expression unreadable. She was dressed simply in a soft gray blouse and fitted trousers, her hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck.

"You're up early," he remarked as he poured himself a cup of black coffee.

Ayra hummed noncommittally. "Couldn't sleep."

Lucian studied her as she carefully set her teacup down. Was that a slip? Had she been restless because of the news?

He leaned back in his chair, watching her. "Something on your mind?"

A maid stepped forward, serving them breakfast—lightly buttered toast, eggs, fresh fruit, and coffee. The smell of it filled the space between them.

Lucian sipped his coffee, waiting.

For her anger.

For her hurt.

For anything.

But Ayra simply spread jam onto her toast, taking a slow bite before speaking. 

"You made headlines."

Ah. There it was. It was barely dawn and she already knew of his 'jaunt' at a love hotel. Now he was certain Ferdinand was feeding her info.

Lucian took a measured sip of his coffee, feigning indifference. "Did I?"

Ayra’s lips curled slightly—not a smile, not quite amusement. "Love hotel," she said, letting the words settle between them like a challenge.

Lucian didn’t react outwardly. He merely lifted his cup, taking another sip before setting it down with a soft clink. "Oh?"

Ayra met his gaze. "You were seen entering a love hotel with a woman on your arm. It's all over the news."

Lucian tilted his head, waiting for the emotion to crack through.

But she remained calm.

Too calm.

"And?" he prompted, carefully watching her every twitch, every flicker of emotion.

"It would be best if you kept your affairs more discreet. As much as I do not care one whit, having the media catch your tail in something like that is embarrassing."

Lucian paused. Ayra was shedding her previous persona it seemed. This seemed more like a Russo than the behavior she had displayed up to this point. 

"Is that all?"

Ayra shrugged. "Yes, pretty much. You’re free to do as you wish, afterall."

Lucian frowned slightly, a sudden cold irritation settling in his chest.

This wasn’t the reaction he had expected.

If she were truly innocent—if she weren’t involved in Ferdinand’s games—she should have been furious. At least to a point. 

Instead, she was detached, distant. 

She was hiding something. Her aim was something more than mere getting by. 

His grip on his cup tightened briefly before he forced himself to relax. 

"You don’t care." Lucian stated more than queried. 

Ayra let out a short, humorless laugh. "Should I?"

Lucian stared at her.

He had wanted her to react. To show her hand. Instead, she was handling it as if it were nothing.

Was she truly unaffected? Or was this just part of the act? It was frustratingly difficult to tell. The Russos were not big players but they were damn good at what they did. 

"You don’t seem surprised," he noted, his voice carefully neutral.

"I’m not," she said after a pause. She lifted her coffee cup, taking a slow sip before continuing, "I never had any illusions about what this marriage would be."

Lucian felt something in his chest tighten, but he ignored it.

"Is that so?"

She set her cup down, leveling him with a cool gaze. "If you're expecting me to break down over this, you’ll be waiting a long time."

There was no anger in her voice, no hurt. Just calm indifference.

And for the first time in years, Lucian felt something dangerously close to… disappointment.

He had expected her to be upset. To lash out. To care.

Instead, she was giving him nothing.

Nothing at all.

Something about that unsettled him in a way he didn’t like.

His gaze darkened. "You’re taking this well."

Ayra tilted her head slightly, as if amused. "Would it have pleased you if I screamed and cried?"

No.

Yes.

He didn’t know.

Lucian leaned back in his chair, studying her.

"I was merely curious about your reaction," he said finally.

"And now that you have it?"

Now that he had it, he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Instead of answering, he finished his coffee, setting the cup down with slow precision.

The silence stretched between them.

Ayra was the first to break it. "Are you done?"

He nodded once. "I am."

"Then I’ll take my leave."

She stood, gracefully pushing her chair back, her movements poised and unbothered. As if he were the insignificant one here.

Lucian watched as she walked away, something in his chest twisting uncomfortably.

He hated this.

He hated that he cared.

And he hated that for the first time in a long time, he felt as if he had lost.