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. Father could never rely on you for anything important, could he?”
Ayra’s fists clenched at her sides. “So you decided to use me to fix the messes you and Father created. How convenient.”
Lisbeth leaned in, her smile cruel. “Exactly. And you know what’s funny? You’re so predictable, Ayra. Always resisting, always fighting when you should be smart enough to know it’s pointless. It’s almost... entertaining. Almost. Mostly you're just a frustrating little bugger.”
Ayra glared at her, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “You’re disgusting.”
“Perhaps,” Lisbeth replied with a shrug. “But at least I’m useful. What can you say for yourself? I do have a list of choice adjectives to describe you.”
For a moment, the room was thick with tension.
Ayra’s mind raced with a thousand things she wanted to say, but beyond the dozens that passed through her mind, one in particular jumped to the forefront.
"If mum were alive, what do you think she would say?"
Lisbeth rolled her eyes. "She would applaud me, obviously."
A second later Lisbeth’s smirk faltered, replaced by something more tame.
“Lucian,” she said slowly, as if testing the weight of his name. “He’s… well, let’s just say he’s not the type of man you cross.”
“What do you mean?” Ayra demanded, her voice rising with a mixture of anger and apprehension.
She had a feeling Lisbeth wasn't just talking about Lucian and his role as the Director.
Lisbeth’s eyes gleamed with a complex mix of emotions.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Just… don’t be stupid, Ayra. Whatever foolish ideas you have about escape or defiance? Drop them. If you think Father’s bad, you have no idea what Lucian is capable of.
On the other hand, perhaps the only way to restrain him is through blackmail. Though you'd struggle to find any blackmail material unless you love him.”
“You’re lying,” Ayra shot back, though the unease in her chest told her otherwise. But Ayra didn't want to submit.
Running away was her only chance at a relatively normal life. A life free from constant fear and tiptoeing around the people in her surroundings.
Lisbeth chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “Believe what you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. For once in your life, use your brain and play along. It’s the only way you’ll survive this. Like, seriously. I'm going out on a limb here and giving you actually useful advice for the first time ever.”
"Why are you and dad even doing this?!" Ayra yelled. "I refuse to believe it's just because of some 'debt' or whatnot!"
Lisbeth blinked, taken back, and the heat in her eyes cooled. She glanced down with a more somber expression, a wry smile gracing her lips and a chuckle leaving her throat.
"You're right, actually. It's not simply because of some debt." She gazed out the window, at the lake that shimmered under the morning sun.
"The reason is even more flimsy than that, if you would believe. But."
She turned back to Ayra, her eyes more intense than Ayra had ever seen them.
"Some things are simply worth it. Even though logic dictates otherwise." Lisbeth's eyes changed, returning to the mocking expression Ayra was more familiar with.
"The cost and profit are simply too skewed in our favour to give it up."
Ayra shook her head, disbelief mingling with anger. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” Lisbeth said again, her smirk returning. “But at least I know how to survive. You should try it sometime. It is refreshing.”
A knock came at the door and they both turned to it to find their aunt standing in the doorway looking at them.
"Sorry if I was interrupting something," the woman said.
Lisbeth snorted and left, shoving the woman out of the way as she did so.
"Ten minutes," she said. "You have just ten minutes with her. No more, no less."
"What?"
"Actually, make that five. I would suggest you time yourself if you don't want to be dragged out."
"Lisbeth," their aunt began but Lisbeth simply gave her a tight, mocking smile and left.
Ayra felt a bit surprised. When had things gotten bad between Lisbeth and their aunt? The both of them cherished their aunt as far as she was aware.
Their aunt disregarded her and stepped fully into the room, her features softening as she closed the door behind her.
Unlike Lisbeth’s sharp, cutting presence, her aunt exuded an air of quiet elegance. She was a striking woman, her age gracefully etched into the fine lines around her eyes.
Streaks of silver were threaded through her dark hair, the jewels providing a sharp contrast to her ebony tresses.
Her tall, slender frame was draped in a well-tailored navy suit, the understated sophistication a stark contrast to the cold luxury of the mansion around them.
Her name was Eleanor, and she was the only sister of her father. Half-sister to be specific, but Ayra loved her.
Ayra's heart squeezed with tension, wondering what she was here to say. She would be infinitely disappointed if she was here to convince her to simply accept the marriage.
Because now it was no longer just about her future happiness - Ayra now felt a burning need to know who was on her side.
If those she'd lived with for years actually knew her - if they actually cared. Because to be honest, at this point, she doubted they did.
If even her aunt was with them, she had literally no idea what she had lived her whole life for.
“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 morning sunlight filtered through the heavy drapes of Ayra’s room, bathing the space in a dull, golden glow. The first rays of dawn painted the sky in muted gold and pink, but, unsurprisingly, the beauty of the morning was lost on Ayra. She awoke with a knot in her stomach, the weight of what lay ahead pressing heavily on her chest. Today was her wedding day.She had thought it would be more... Joyful. Oh, she certainly was shivering, but not from anticipation or joy - she was nervous. So very nervous. Although she couldn’t afford to falter now, the nerves were just part of the day. See, Ayra had spent sleepless nights piecing together a plan, but all those nights had served to tell her that there was very little she could do to manage how things panned out. She was going to have to go with the flow and improvise on the fly - which she absolutely DREADED - and now, with her escape just hours away, there was no turning back.And there was also Lisbeth's visit last night plagui
The sunlight poured through the mansion's grand windows, casting a pale glow across the marble floors. The day had arrived, and the house thrummed with activity while Ayra whiled away the time in her room. Not quite the scenario she'd pictured for her wedding. The knock calling her out came sooner than she expected.“Miss Ayra, it’s time,” someone announced from the other side of the door.Ayra opened it to find a familiar face - the woman who had been working as Eleanor’s contact. The woman’s gaze flicked briefly to the hallway behind her before she stepped inside and shut the door.“Miss Ayra,” the maid whispered, her voice low but steady. “We need to act quickly. Please sit down.”Ayra obeyed, sitting on the edge of her bed as the maid knelt before her.From under her apron, she pulled out a roll of beige fabric and a small black case. She motioned for Ayra to lift the sheer silk gown she wore.Ayra hesitated but complied, her heart hammering in her chest as the maid efficiently
“It won’t take long,” she added, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within her.“Very well,” the lead maid said after a pause. “We’ll wait just outside. Let us know when you’re ready.”The group filed out, leaving Ayra alone in the dressing room. The door clicked shut, and she let out a shaky breath.She didn’t have much time.She turned quickly to the wardrobe, her fingers trembling as she unlatched the hidden compartment. Ayra pulled out the plain blouse and trousers Eleanor had mentioned and tossed it onto the chair alongside the earpiece. The first attempt to remove the wedding dress was futile; the corset was too tight, the layers of fabric tangled and unyielding. Frustration surged through her as she yanked at the delicate stitching, tearing through the lace with sharp, deliberate movements.“Damn this dress,” she hissed under her breath, the ripping sounds oddly satisfying. She hated the dumb color scheme anyway. Icy whitish blue and gold was her preferred color
The silence gnawed at Ayra.For all her careful orchestration—for the balcony appearances with tousled hair and artful smudges of lipstick, for the planted photographs handed to Nico, for the media blitz that followed—Lucian had yet to respond. No message. No confrontation. No fury.No presence.Ayra wandered through the silent halls of the manor like a ghost in her own haunting. It had been two days since she fed the flames of the scandal herself, tipping the scales and watching Lucian’s pristine, untouchable image buckle under the weight of betrayal. It had spread like wildfire—first, the hushed reveal of their secret marriage, then the carefully timed photos of her supposed affair with Leon. The media had eaten it up, ravenous for every scandalous morsel.The silence that followed was not relief.It was strange, like waiting for an earthquake after watching the ground crack beneath her feet. She expected retaliation, the burn of his fury, maybe even for Lucian to return and demand
He set the envelope down, fingers tightening against the edges. "You’re playing a dangerous game," he murmured.Ayra tilted her head. "Am I?"He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back, assessing her with a careful, measured look. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?"She smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. "That’s for Lucian to figure out, isn’t it?"A beat of silence. Then:"You want me to do something with this."Ayra reached for her wine glass again, swirling the liquid absently. "I want it to be known," she said simply. "I want the world to talk."Nico exhaled, setting the envelope down as if it were something poisonous. "You do realize that if I take this to him, you’ll regret it?"Ayra’s gaze sharpened."I’ll regret nothing," she said quietly.Another silence stretched between them.Finally, Nico let out a slow, resigned breath. "You really don’t care if he burns everything down over this, do you? And by the way, it's practically impossible for him
She told herself it was necessary, what she was doing.But in the past few days, something inside her twisted in ways she couldn’t quite name.It was easy enough to play the role, to smirk when she needed to, to let her fingers trail over the stem of a wine glass as if she had all the time in the world. But every time she stepped onto that balcony, feigning the remnants of an intimate encounter, a part of her coiled tight in discomfort.Lucian had done nothing but let her fester in silence, leaving her with no choice but to force his hand. She needed him to react—to do something. If he wanted to play the game of indifference, she would break that facade piece by piece.And yet, she hated that it had come to this.That she had to use someone else just to make herself seen.At night, when the estate was quiet, she would stand by the mirror in her room, staring at her own reflection as if it held the answers.What did she expect Lucian to do?What did she want him to do?She wasn’t sure a
Ayra led Leon into her chambers with steady steps, her fingers brushing against his arm in a way that suggested intimacy. Yet as she stepped over the threshold, a quiet revulsion coiled deep in her stomach.The thought of him here—of his presence in this space—left a bitter taste in her mouth.Still, she had to see this through.She glanced at the walls, at the high corners of the ceiling. She suspected Lucian had placed surveillance somewhere in the house. That would explain his silence—his patience. He’s waiting for proof. Waiting to see if she would really go through with it.Fine.If he needed proof, she would give it to him.Leon, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her, exhaled a slow breath as he stepped into the room. "You know," he murmured, turning to face her, "I wasn’t expecting this tonight."She forced a small smile. "Change of plans."He studied her for a moment, his gaze dark, his amusement barely concealed. "And here I thought you enjoyed the chase.""I do." She cros
The game unfolded slowly, piece by piece, each move carefully placed on the board.It started with simple meetings—casual, almost meaningless to an outsider. Ayra and Leon continued their rendezvous in high-end cafés, lounges with dim lighting, and restaurants tucked away in discreet corners of the city. They never once met at the same place twice. That alone was enough to stir whispers among those who paid attention.She ensured Lucian’s men saw them. She played her part well, letting moments linger, leaning in a fraction closer than necessary despite the roiling in her gut, letting a smirk or a laugh escape at the right moments. There was no real intimacy, but to anyone watching, it didn’t matter. The illusion had begun to take root.And then, she took the next step.She invited Leon to the house.It was a slow escalation, deliberate in every way.The game unfolded over two weeks, methodical and deliberate. Ayra knew the power of suggestion, the weight of unspoken words, and the way
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