The Devil's Game

The view from the high-rise office should have been breathtaking. The sprawling city bathed in the golden glow of sunset, endless skyscrapers reaching for the heavens and a russet color smeared across the sky. 

But all Ayra Russo could feel was the tightening grip of dread in her chest, threatening to suffocate her. The pristine glass windows felt like a cage, trapping her in a decision she didn’t fully understand.

Despite the warm air spilling from the conditioning unit, the room was cold - far too cold.

Her father sat across the table, his hands trembling slightly as he pushed a crisp sheet of paper toward her. His voice wavered as he spoke. “It... is for the best, Ayra. You’ll be taken care of. This... this is your chance at a better life.”

Ayra felt tears sting at the corners of her eyes and clutched the hem of her coat tightly.

She scanned her father's face for any shred of remorse - any sign that he regretted what he was doing - but his face was stoic and stern, his eyes glinting with a mix of emotions but none that resembled guilt.

Ayra has never known her father to be such an unfeeling man. 

She fingered the pen, hesitant, her heart racing. She had trusted him all her life - her father had never led her astray. Yet something about this felt wrong. 

She didn’t fully grasp the weight of what was happening, did not know the why and when of how things came to be, but the unease gnawing at her insides told her she was teetering on the edge of something irreversible. Something far bigger than her. 

“I don’t understand why I have to sign this,” she murmured, her voice shaking, tears threatening to fall.

Her father’s eyes darted away from hers, focusing on the papers again. "It is complicated, Ayra. But this is for the best."

She threw a glance along the length of the polished mahogany table to the man sitting silently at the furthest end. Lucian Cyrus, the infamous Director.

His presence was faint but intense - if that made any sense. He hadn’t spoken a word since she arrived, but his cold gaze had been on her the entire time, unreadable, calculating. He scared Ayra.

She gathered all the courage she could muster to address him. "Could you give me a reason, sir? The root cause of this?"

His finger traced the rim of his teacup, gentle but consistent, and he stared at Ayra with a quiet sort of intensity that made her heart quiver and her insides lurch. He seemed very much the broody type and Ayra doubted he would give her an answer. 

"I told you, it's complicated, Ayra. I..." Her father butted in.

"He is in debt," Lucian interrupted. "One that runs into millions with an atrocious interest rate. Does that satisfy you?"

Ayra's gaze snapped to her father.

"Debt?" She whispered harshly. "How? When?"

He cleared his throat, shame having but a second to make itself known on his face. “The debt, Ayra. It’s... complicated. But this is the only way forward. You’ll be safe with him.”

She glanced back at Lucian who was now sizing up her father with a ponderous gaze.

His appearance was deceptively immaculate—perfectly tailored black suit, sharp jawline, dark hair slicked back with not a strand out of place.

He looked like a businessman, not a man whose empire was built on blood and fear. The coldness in his eyes told a different story. Ayra could not in good faith judge him as 'safe'.

Breathing deeply, she gazed down at the contract in her hands. Half a minute later she turned back to her father, desperately searching his face for some kind of explanation while shock and disbelief ran through her. “You’re selling me off like a piece of property.”

“Don’t say it like that,” her father snapped, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. “You’re not being sold. This is... this is for you too. And the family. Or what? Do you expect not to sacrifice some things for the family after enjoying so much from us?"

She blinked, her head swimming with the flood of words he had been feeding her for weeks.

He had painted this as the only solution, a way out of the financial pit he’d dragged them into.

He had assured her that she’d be secure, and comfortable. That it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

But none of that felt true now. She blinked back tears, her throat fighting down a sob as she remembered her elder sister's words to her that very morning. 

"All you do is take and take without caring and ounce where it comes from," Lisbeth had said. "But there is no need to worry. Today you give back. Tenfold." 

Her smile had been less than friendly - downright concerning. 

Ayra shut her eyes as she sought to ground herself. She should have known this was coming. She should have seen the signs. No, she had certainly seen the signs. She had just ignored them.

But nothing could have prepared her for this.

Vaguely, she could make out her father speaking to Lucian, his voice almost a whisper as he laid out the terms, but Ayra couldn’t focus. All she could hear was the rush of her blood, the betrayal settling in her bones. 

Her gaze slid back to the contract, noting the thick black ink of her name already at the top.

All she had to do was sign at the bottom, and she would all but belong to Lucian. It felt like the pen weighed a thousand pounds, her fingers hovering over it but unable to make the final move.

“Just sign, Ayra,” her father urged, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Please, trust me. It is the best option.”

Ayra bit her lip, the pressure building inside her chest. She trusted him—he was her father. But why did this feel like a betrayal? Why did it suddenly seem like everything she knew about him was a lie?

A voice broke the silence. Lucian's.

"I don't have all day."

His voice was low, deep, almost a whisper, with a quiet authority that sent a shiver down her spine.

His eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, Ayra couldn’t look away. There was no compassion in his gaze, no warmth - only cold calculation.

This was a transaction to him. She was a transaction.

Ayra's throat tightened. She swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic. She wanted to scream, to run, to scream and rave and wake from this nightmare. No one to help her. She was trapped.

By her father.

Her hand shook as she finally grabbed the pen, her sister's voice echoing in her mind: 'You have taken from the family. A little sacrifice is nothing.' 

She was right, Ayra tried to tell herself. It was just a little sacrifice. 

The sound of the pen scratching across the paper felt like the final nail in her coffin.

When she lifted the pen, Lucian reached forward and pulled the contract toward him. His fingers brushed the paper, and for a brief second, their eyes met again.

There was a flicker of something warm in his eyes - satisfaction, perhaps - but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Sign the contract on your end, Mr. Russo,” Lucian said, eyes shifting back to her father. “You’ve delayed me enough for one day.”

Her father’s shaking hands fumbled with the paper, his eyes darting nervously between the document and Lucian's impassive face.

He hesitated for a second, glancing at Ayra as if to offer a silent apology. But it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. He scribbled his name at the bottom, and with that one motion, her fate was sealed.

“Good,” he murmured, slipping the papers into his briefcase with a finality that made her stomach twist. “It’s done. Your debt is paid,” he said to her father. "And the deal is struck. Take care."

Then, without another word he stood to leave, walking out of the office.

"I'd be picking her up on the twenty-eighth," he said as the door clicked shut behind him. 

For a brief, foolish second, she stayed rooted to her seat. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. What had she done?

She turned to look at her father and found him pulling out a thick cigar from his coat, his face composed and showing little remorse. Ayra put her face to the desk and broke into tears.