“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 from Ayra’s face.
“That doesn’t make it right,” she murmured. “Lisbeth has always been... difficult, and she crosses the line sometimes.”
Ayra looked away, fighting back the tears and unwilling to admit that Lisbeth's animosity had hit where it hurt.
Sure, Lisbeth had always been intolerant of her existence but she had never been this blatant... this overt and hostile.
“I heard what happened,” Eleanor said softly, folding her hands in her lap. “I came as soon as I could. Ayra, I am so sorry.”
The simple, sincere apology cut through Ayra’s defenses. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to keep her composure.
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do this to me. Or do you have a hand in it too?”
“No, but I should have stepped in sooner,” Eleanor replied, her voice overflowing with regret.
“I should have realised it when they started planning this arrangement. I didn’t know... I didn’t realize how far it had gone.”
Ayra let out a hollow laugh. “You just stood by and watched.”
“That’s not fair,” Eleanor said gently, but firmly.
“You know I’ve always tried to help where I could. But there are limits, Ayra, always. Even for me.”
“Limits,” Ayra muttered, staring down at her hands.
“That’s all anyone ever talks about. Limits and choices and sacrifices. As if I didn’t lose my choices the moment they decided I wasn’t worth anything else.”
Eleanor reached out and placed a hand on Ayra’s knee, her touch light but grounding. “You’re worth more than this. Don’t let them make you believe otherwise.”
Ayra looked up at her aunt, searching her face for any sign of falsehood. But Eleanor’s eyes, a soft hazel that glimmered, held nothing but sincerity. Something... seemed off but Ayra couldn't quite place it.
At least she knew Eleanor was sincere. That was enough.
“They’ve taken everything,” Ayra whispered, her voice cracking.
“My freedom, my future... How am I supposed to believe I’m able to live when they’ve turned me into a bargaining chip?”
“Because you’re more than what they see,” Eleanor said, her voice steady.
“And because you still have something they can’t take away: your will. It’s what makes you different from them, Ayra. You can still fight.”
Ayra blinked rapidly, trying to stem the tears threatening to fall. She bit her lip and nodded, just once.
Eleanor leaned closer, lowering her voice to a near-whisper. “Listen to me. I don’t agree with what’s happening, and if—” She glanced at the door, her words trailing off.
When she looked back at Ayra, her expression had hardened with quiet resolve. “If it comes to it, I’ll help you. I’ll get you out of this. To run.”
Ayra’s breath hitched. She stared at her aunt, searching her face for confirmation. “You’d... you’d really help me?”
Eleanor’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I’m not entirely useless, you know. I’ve made my share of connections over the years. And I can be very resourceful when I need to be.”
“Why would you risk it?” Ayra asked, her voice barely audible.
“Because you’re my niece. And because no one else in this family seems to understand that you deserve better.”
Before Ayra could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Eleanor straightened, her face slipping back into its composed mask.
“Time’s up it seems,” she said softly, rising to her feet.
"I heard you already tried to flee. If you think you're up for another try, I would have someone contact you soon. You just need to respond positively and follow her instructions."
Ayra grabbed her hand, holding it tightly for a brief moment. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Eleanor gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling away. “Stay strong, Ayra. And remember - you’re not alone.”
As the door opened, Lisbeth appeared, her smirk firmly in place. “I hope you used your time wisely,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery and barely concealed hostility. "Though I doubt it."
Eleanor did not bother to give her a response. She cast one last glance at Ayra, her gaze filled with encouragement, before stepping past Lisbeth and disappearing down the hall.
Lisbeth stood at the doorway, arms crossed, watching her as she left. When Eleanor rounded the corner, she turned to Ayra and scrutinized her thoroughly. Ayra gave her a bland stare back.
Lisbeth scoffed and slammed the door shut as she left, rattling the window panes. Behind the door and put of Ayra's sight, she sighed, her shoulders dropping as she leaned against the wall.
Seconds later she roused herself, patted her cheeks, and muttered: "You have work to do, work to do. Don't worry about the little chipmunk. Not now."
With one last lingering look at the door, she strode down the corridor, her heels clicking against the floor sharply.
"Seriously, fuck aunt Eleanor," she muttered under her breath. "I think father trusts her far too much.
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
Minutes earlier...Lisbeth’s reaction was immediate as well as rather explosive. The moment she realized Ayra had slipped away, a cold, simmering rage bubbled beneath her skin. She'd known this would happen. It still didn't stop her from being annoyed when it did. The room was quiet, save for the faint murmur of guests outside the venue. Lisbeth’s sharp gaze swept over the scene, her mind racing to piece together what had happened. HOW it had happened. She came up with nothing. “You lot,” she called sharply, turning to the gaggle of servants at the door. “Tell me; who was the last person in this room before she disappeared?”The maid stammered, her face pale. “J-just the team helping her dress, ma’am. I don’t know what happened after that. She asked for some time alone, and, well, we -”“Time alone?” Lisbeth spat. “And what? None of you dimwits thought to question that? Of course she needed time alone - time to escape! What did I tell you?! Weren't my instructions clear enough?! An
Ayra’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, jolting her out of her quiet thoughts. For a moment, she considered ignoring it—it was probably another useless notification. Nothing important.But curiosity got the better of her, and she reached for the phone, unlocking the screen to reveal a message from an unfamiliar number.Unknown: Still awake?Her brows knit together as she stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the screen. After a moment’s hesitation, she typed back.Ayra: Who’s this?The reply was almost immediate.Unknown: Lucian.Her heart skipped a beat. She blinked at the screen before carefully typing her response.Ayra: I am. Awake, that is. What do you want?Lucian: That’s not very friendly. Can’t a guy check in on you?Ayra rolled her eyes, unable to suppress her irritation.Ayra: You’re not exactly my favorite person.Lucian: Oh, but I should be.A scoff escaped her lips before she could stop it. She could practically hear the smugness in his tone.Ayra: Bold of you to
Marcus’s smirk faltered for just a second. When he finally spoke, his tone was resigned. "Fine. You want to know who hired me?"The detective leaned in, watching him closely.“It wasn’t the Wendells,” Marcus said, his words slow and deliberate. His eyes narrowed, calculating. “It was Madam Eleanor.”Lucian’s gaze darkened, the name catching him off guard. Eleanor. Not what he’d been expecting.The detective was just as thrown. “Eleanor Wendell? Since when do the Wendells have an Eleanor?”“No,” Marcus said, shaking his head slightly. “Eleanor Russo.”Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. Lucian’s jaw tightened as the name sank in. Eleanor Russo. The kind of name that came wrapped in its own web of trouble and danger.Of course, it wasn’t surprising. No one in Isa’s family was simple.“What does Eleanor want with Ayra?” the detective asked, his voice sharper now.Marcus shrugged, unbothered. “She didn’t exactly give me her life story. Just said she wanted the girl brought bac
Ferdinand's face darkened, his shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she thought she’d gone too far. But he didn't lash out. “Your mother made her choices,” he said evenly. “Just as you’re making yours. And she paid the price.”The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating her. She stared at his back, a mix of rage and despair swirling in her chest."I'm not mum," she said quietly."No," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. "You're not. But if you keep down this path, you'll end up just like her-forgotten and a dozen feet under. Get some sleep, Ayra. You'll feel better in the morning."With that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Ayra standing, shaking with anger and sorrow. The glass of milk she had set down some time ago now felt like some sort of judgment against her, and she fought the urge to throw it against the wall.She sat there for a very long period of time, staring at the half-full glass of milk on the counter. For the very first time in her li
The only sound in the kitchen was the humming of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of the glass Ayra placed on the counter. The cold milk she had poured only moments before seemed suddenly not so appealing; her appetite had vanished in the tornado of feelings whirling within her. Ayra gazed into the pale liquid, her mind running over and over Lisbeth's behavior.She couldn't shake off this feeling that her family was floating further and further away from her, and that they really didn't care. Unfortunately, no matter how much she liked to pretend otherwise, she was the only one who cared. The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Ayra looked up just as Ferdinand entered the kitchen.He was casually dressed. His shirt sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the confident, driven man she had admired as a child. He paused mid-step as he noticed her."Ayra," he said as a wide smile broke across his face. "What are you doing up at this hour?""I couldn't sleep," she replied,
As the sound of Lisbeth’s footsteps faded, Ayra sank back onto the bed, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself together. The room felt suffocatingly quiet now, the echoes of their argument still ringing in her ears.Her hands shook as she rubbed her face, trying to steady her breathing. Every word Lisbeth had said replayed in her mind, cutting deeper with each repetition.For the first time, Ayra felt a burning hatred toward her sister. It wasn’t just anger or frustration - it was something darker, something more final.She thought of her mother. Of the quiet strength and teachings she’d tried to pass on to Ayra; of the way she’d always managed to keep her safe even when everything was falling apart.She thought of her mother's death. Her cold, stiff corpse lying forlornly on the asphalt, blood pooling beneath her.And now Lisbeth had trampled all over her memory, reducing her to nothing more than a failure.And Ayra found within herself a rapidly blooming hatred and d
No one had been around when Ayra stepped through the doors to her house. One of two servants were within the estate grounds but avoided Ayra like the plague.Hours passed with neither her father nor Lisbeth coming back and so she decided to simply go to bed. It was better than staying awake to be tormented by the dread of confronting the two. ....Ayra stirred from her sleep and the very next second, the sound of the door slamming against the wall jolted her awake. The warm cocoon of dreams shattered, leaving her blinking in confusion as the harsh light from the hallway poured into the room.Ayra shot up in bed, her heart racing, disoriented by the sudden intrusion. She squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of the figure standing in the doorway. It was Lisbeth."Ayra!" Lisbeth’s voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness like a whip.Ayra blinked, still groggy from sleep, and rubbed her eyes, trying to shake the remnants of her dreams. She sat up slowly, feeling the co
The car hummed softly as it cut through the quiet, winding roads. The early morning sunlight danced across the sleek hood of the vehicle. It glinted like liquid gold as they sped past rolling fields and sparse woodlands. Ayra glanced out the passenger window, the world beyond passing by in a blur. She felt oddly relaxed.Lucian was focused, his hands steady on the wheel. He hadn’t said much since they left the safehouse, which wasn’t unusual for him, and it wasn’t like it was uncomfortable either. Lucian had this way of making silence seem less awkward and more deliberate. Like it wasn’t just an absence of words but a space to breathe.Ayra wasn't sure how that worked or why those words popped into her head either. She stole a glance at him, taking in his sharp profile. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but there was a calmness to him that she hadn’t noticed before. He looked... almost at peace.“Do you ever talk while you drive, or is this some kind of meditative thing
Lucian abandoned the whiskey entirely, pushing the glass away and capping the bottle with an air of finality. It had tasted wrong anyway. Instead, he paced the small kitchenette, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and plans. What came next? How could he ensure her safety without scaring her off? How could he make her see that he wasn’t the enemy she thought him to be?Lucian paced the small kitchenette, his hands restless. Memories of Isa kept flashing in his mind and they were overwhelming. The way her eyes used to light up when she smiled, the way she always managed to keep him grounded when his world threatened to spiral out of control. She had been his anchor; more than he'd realized. Losing her had felt like losing a part of himself.Isa had been what made him human. He stopped pacing and leaned heavily against the counter, his head bowed. He didn’t realize his hands were trembling until he looked down and saw them. He clenched them and reached into his pocket for a pack of c
Lucian left Ayra’s room with his hands tucked in his pockets and let the door click shut behind him. He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, exhaling a long, shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Relief coursed through him like a drug. He took a deep breath, and his shoulders sagged as if he had been holding himself upright through sheer willpower for days. Which he had been, in a way. The relief coursing through him was almost palpable. He had finally found her - or at least, someone he was now convinced was Isa.There was no one thing that convinced him, and perhaps he had rushed to a conclusion, but heaven knows he believed it with all his heart. His lips quirked upward in a rare, unguarded smile - small, almost imperceptible, but simply happy. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back as his thoughts raced. Every moment they’d just shared replayed in his mind like a precious memory he wanted to hoard.Ayra was so much like Isa it wasn't e