The pale light of dawn crept into the study, weak and hesitant, brushing against the mess Lisbeth and Ferdinand had made of the room.
Papers and maps were everywhere, with photos and frantic scrawls barely keeping track of their failed attempt to track Ayra.
Ferdinand leaned back, rubbing at his temples like that would help him think any clearer. “She’s clever,” he muttered, his voice flat and tired.
They had been awake all night, their frustration mounting as lead after lead fell apart and no other turned up.
“Too clever,” Lisbeth shot back, pacing like a caged animal. Her hair was a mess, her face drawn and pale.
It was quite unlike her. "This is insane. How does a kid with no backup, no cash, and no clue manage to stay ahead of us? How has she managed to just disappear?"
At least she's not in Eleanor's hands. That would be a whole other problem were it so.
Ferdinand sighed. “She’s clever. But we’re running out of time. If we don’t find her soon, Lucian -”
A sharp knock interrupted him, and before either could respond, the door swung open. Lucian strode in quickly.
He was dressed impeccably as always, though the lines of tension on his face betrayed the long hours of travel he'd just been through.
“Lucian,” Ferdinand began cautiously, rising from his chair, hiding his shock. “This is... unexpected.”
“Where is she?” Lucian’s tone was icy, his gaze intense and cutting through the father and daughter pair.
Ferdinand hesitated, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. “We’re... still narrowing it down. She’s been -”
“What? Careful?” Lucian interrupted, his voice dangerous. “Or smarter than the two of you combined?”
Lucian’s cold gaze swept across the room.
“Unexpected for you, perhaps. For me, my presence here was inevitable. I was informed of Ayra’s escape, and I’m here to ensure this situation is rectified.”
Lisbeth glared at him through narrow eyes, her anger visibly mounting as she spat:
“We’ve been working all night -”
“Not hard enough, clearly,” Lucian cut her off, his voice cutting. “If you had been truly committed to finding her, I most certainly would not be here.”
Ferdinand sighed. Lisbeth always got too emotional for her own good when it comes to Ayra.
“Lucian,” Lisbeth said through gritted teeth, trying, and failing, to force calm into her voice, “we’re doing everything we can—”
“Clearly, that’s not much,” Lucian shot back, his control beginning to crack.
"Did you truly throw everything you have into finding her, or was this just a half-baked effort? I fail to believe that with all the resources available to the Russo family you are yet to find a single girl.”
Her temper flared instantly. “Do you think I’ve slept? Eaten? Breathed anything but... THIS for the last nineteen hours?! We’ve done everything possible.”
“Then why is she still out there?!” Lucian snapped at them. His usually calm demeanor cracked, revealing the storm of emotions beneath.
It was the first time Ferdinand had seen the Director so off-put and angry and it was scary in a way. “You’ve had hours to locate her. HOURS! And yet, here you are, still fumbling in the dark.”
Ferdinand stepped forward, tone placating and borderline placating. “Lucian, we’ve deployed significant resources -”
“Significant my foot,” Lucian interrupted. He turned to Ferdinand, his gaze piercing.
“Tell me, Ferdinand, have you prioritized her capture? Or have you been holding back, waiting for her to make a mistake so you can pounce at your convenience?”
Lisbeth’s cheeks flushed with anger. “That’s absurd!”
"Is it?!"
Ferdinand found the sight of the two usually composed individuals shouting at each other because of one girl kind of funny. It was unreal.
Lisbeth glared at him, her composure cracking. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“Maybe not,” Lucian said hotly. “But if I find out that you’ve been withholding resources or sabotaging this search in any way, you... Will regret it. A lot.”
Without waiting for their response, he moved to the table, his sharp gaze scanning the map and scrawls. “Where was she last seen?”
Ferdinand pointed with a finger, the other busy lighting a cigar he had pulled from somewhere. “Here. Groceries. And before that, Foxlane street.”
Lucian traced the lines between the marks, muttering under his breath. “Have you tracked her credit card?”
"Yes, but that just led us to a dead end. She most likely swapped it with someone else's so we're getting wrong readings."
Lucian nodded coldly and pulled out his phone. “I’m taking over. You’ve wasted enough time.”
Lisbeth opened her mouth to argue, but Ferdinand stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Let him,” he said quietly. Lisbeth gritted her teeth and let up begrudgingly.
The tension in the room was palpable as Lucian turned and began contacting his personal team of informants and trackers.
Within minutes, he had mobilized a network of resources far beyond what Ferdinand and Lisbeth had been able to pull together.
Watching him work, Ferdinand and Lisbeth exchanged uneasy glances. There was no denying Lucian’s intensity - or his growing mistrust of them, and it put their whole plan in jeopardy.
“I want every exit route from the city on lockdown and a city- wide search. Focus on rural areas—cabins, empty properties, anything out of the way. I want every car matching her rental’s description flagged immediately.”
Ferdinand watched, vaguely uneasy with the intensity of Lucian's actions. “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”
He had pulled off a dozen plus schemes and scams but none with someone of the stature of the Director of the Consortium as the sucker.
That was scary already in and of itself but the intensity of his emotions - the sheer seriousness in his features - told Ferdinand that he may be making a rather persistent enemy of the Director. Not an enemy he would like to have.
Lucian finished his last call, slipping the phone into his pocket before turning to Ferdinand. His gaze was cool but threatening. “You have no idea.”
The dinner had sunk into a lull—the sharp clinking of glasses giving way to the low murmur of calculated conversation. Candlelight flickered from iron sconces fixed to the ancient stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like spirits summoned from the cathedral’s forgotten days. High above, ribbed vaults arched like the spine of some slumbering beast, and stained-glass windows filtered moonlight into strange, holy colors—crimson, gold, violet. The place still smelled faintly of incense and old dust, as though it remembered the prayers of a century ago and resented their silence now.Ayra stood near one of the darkened alcoves, her fingers resting on the stem of a half-finished glass of wine she had no intention of drinking. Her heels ached. Her dress, sleek and black, clung like a second skin. Her throat felt raw from smiling too much at people she didn’t trust.And then—“Darling, would you spare a moment for an old woman?”Ayra turned to find herself looking into the face of L
Lucian didn’t tell her about Lisbeth.He sat across from Ayra in the softly lit lounge, the garden’s scent still clinging faintly to her as she sipped a steaming cup of tea. Her hair was loosely braided, her shoulders relaxed from the morning’s quiet. And yet, as he looked at her, all he could think about was how Lisbeth had vanished—abruptly, cleanly, just like Pedro.Tension coiled beneath his skin, but he masked it with a sip of wine.“We need to talk,” he said abruptly.Ayra tensed immediately. That phrase never meant anything good in this house.He didn’t sit. He stayed standing, watching her like she was something caged—and dangerous. Or maybe fragile. She wasn’t sure which he saw.“There’s a dinner tomorrow night,” he said smoothly. “High-ranking members of the Consortium - mostly the extended Cyrus family - will be attending. You’ll be there.”Ayra blinked. For a moment, she thought she misheard. “I’ll be where?”“At a dinner. Tomorrow night.”Her fingers tightened slightly on
It was a dusty afternoon, and a gentle breeze stirred through the greenhouse vents as she knelt beside the far bed, digging her fingers into warm earth. Something about the repetitive motion calmed her.Far across the estate, Lucian stood before the tall windows of his study, the same sunlight casting long slashes of gold across the room. Papers lay untouched on his desk. A whiskey glass sat half-full, forgotten beside a folder stamped with confidential seals.But Lucian wasn’t looking at any of it.He was staring at the garden path.His expression was unreadable. Not the cold sharp mask he wore in meetings. Not the subtle smirk he used to disarm rivals. This was something heavier.Ayra.He watched her through the glass, watching how her hair glinted in the sun, how she bent low to inspect a flower’s stem, how she brushed dirt from her fingers and pushed her sleeves back. She was free there in a way he didn’t quite understand. And he hated that he noticed. Hated that he found himself r
The garden had quickly become a place where silence turned soft, where tension dissolved into something gentler—something nearly peaceful.It started with breakfast.Lucian had never joined her before. For weeks, Ayra had eaten in the eastern wing’s solarium, a place soaked in morning light and perfumed with citrus trees. The table was always set. A guard always stationed at the door. She would sit with her tea, her fruit, her silence.Then one morning, he was there.Seated already, sipping dark coffee, poring over an old dossier. He looked up when she entered, his gaze unreadable."You’re late," he said. Not coldly. Not mockingly. Just… speaking.Ayra raised an eyebrow but took her seat across from him. She said nothing.They ate in silence.But the next day, he was there again. And the next.Eventually, they spoke—little things. The weather. A passing comment about the guards. A rare joke from Lucian that left her blinking, then chuckling softly. And he would smirk, looking away like
A hairpin might work, she thought, fingers going to her braid. She untangled a clip, twisted it into shape, and began fiddling with the lock. Her movements were precise—muscle memory from when she'd once been desperate enough to learn how to escape.The lock clicked halfway—"I could’ve just given you the key."Her head snapped up.Lucian stood in the shadow of a pillar, arms crossed. The late sun painted him in gold and crimson, casting harsh lines across his jaw. His voice was calm, but she could sense the tension lurking beneath it.Ayra rose slowly, brushing her skirt smooth. "I didn’t know you were back."He stepped closer, eyeing the half-jammed lock, then her makeshift pick. "Apparently, you didn’t know I locked that for a reason."Her brows furrowed. "Is it dangerous?"He glanced toward the greenhouse. "Not in the way you’re thinking."She followed his gaze. The gardenias had begun to shift gently in the breeze, catching the light. Their whiteness seemed almost ethereal. Ayra s
Ayra woke to the scent of citrus and sunlight.It took her a moment to register the difference. The sheets were softer. The bed was wider. The room—too still, too quiet—was not the one she’d fallen asleep in.Her eyes darted across unfamiliar surroundings: pale cream walls trimmed in gold, long velvet curtains fluttering in the morning breeze, and an open balcony that revealed an expansive sea view. A single vase of white orchids sat on a marble-topped table nearby. No machines. No flickering monitors. No hum of a generator or distant yelling of soldiers.This was not the medical tent.She sat up too quickly, her head pounding in response. A nurse—young, silent, efficient—appeared almost instantly from the side door and offered her water."You are safe," the girl said softly, as if trying not to spook her. "Mr. Lucian brought you here last night. This is his private coastal villa. You’re under his protection now."His villa?Ayra drank, the cool water soothing her throat but not her tu