Chapter 39 - Quiet Acceptance

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 back. Shooting her in the legs seemed like the quickest way to make that happen.”

The detective frowned, clearly not satisfied. “And you’re just telling us this out of the goodness of your heart?”

Marcus gave a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s just say I’m tired of being blamed for things I didn’t do. Besides, I figured you’d find out sooner or later. Might as well save you the trouble.”

Lucian flipped the switch, cutting off the audio feed. He’d heard enough.

---

Ayra stayed at her father’s estate for the next two days. It wasn’t like any kind of imprisonment she’d imagined—no locks, no chains, no guards stationed outside her door. 

Her phone had even been returned. She could walk the halls, sit in the gardens, do whatever she wanted. Well, almost. The unspoken rule was clear: she wasn’t to leave.

This freedom felt like a cruel joke. Physically, she wasn’t bound. But emotionally and mentally? She might as well have been shackled.

She spent most of her time in her room. Once her refuge, it now felt stifling, the walls too close, the bed too cold. 

She’d sit by the window for hours, her eyes following birds darting through the trees or the wind shaking the leaves. The thought of escaping teased her constantly, only to dissolve into bitter doubt.

What was the point? Running had gotten her nowhere. Her one attempt ended in failure, and she was certain neither her father nor Lucian would give her the opportunity to pull off another. 

She could still feel the bruises from her last effort, the ache in her muscles a reminder of how hard she’d tried. And failed.

Her first day back passed in a haze. She woke late, too drained to care about much of anything. The memory of Lisbeth’s tirade still stung as did her father’s unpleasant remarks. 

Yet, even with all the anger bubbling inside her, she didn’t feel like rebelling. Not this time.

Instead, she curled up by the window, staring out at the estate she’d grown up in. The same halls, the same gardens. Only now, they felt more like a gilded cage.

Lucian drifted into her thoughts more often than she liked. She replayed everything—his rescue, the car chase, the way he hadn’t once lashed out at her. 

He’d been... different. Not the cold, calculating figure Lisbeth had described. Sure, he wasn’t warm exactly, but he wasn’t the monster she’d imagined either.

It didn’t mean she was falling for him—not even close. Ayra knew what love felt like, and this wasn’t it. But the idea of marrying him didn’t seem as impossible as it had before. 

Maybe, just maybe, she could make it work. If she could get him to meet her halfway, to agree to some kind of compromise because, no matter what, Ayra had her knight. And it wasn't Lucian. 

By the second day, she ventured out of her room. Not far, though. The library became her refuge. A place where she could lose herself in the weight of old books, even if the words blurred together and her mind wandered often.

Her phone, to be honest, is a tempting lifeline. But every time she thought about calling someone, she hesitated. 

Who would she even call? Who could help her now? The life she’d left behind felt too far away, a distant memory she couldn’t quite reach.

Some time by midday, she found herself in the garden, sitting on a stone bench beneath the shade of an ancient oak. 

The breeze carried on it the scent of flowers; it was cool and soothing against her skin, and she closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift.

She kept circling back to Lucian. His actions didn’t fit the image she’d built of him. Was he really as kind as he’d seemed? Or was it all part of some elaborate game? 

Either way, she couldn’t ignore the truth: that the world outside was far more dangerous than she’d realized.

Her recent escapade also brought forth an uncomfortable realization. Running away might not have been the best decision after all. The world outside was dangerous, filled with enemies she hadn’t even known existed. 

Perhaps staying within Lucian’s sphere of influence was the lesser of two evils. At least with him, she knew where she stood - or so she told herself.

And while she couldn’t ignore the power dynamics at play, she found herself wondering if it might not be so terrible to go along with his plans - for now at least. 

That realization terrified her. She didn’t want to lose herself, to become complacent. But she was so tired. 

Tired of running, of fighting battles she couldn’t win, of carrying the weight of rebelling against The Director all on her own.

By the second night, Ayra found herself staring at the ceiling, her mind a chaotic swirl of emotions. 

She hated the estate, hated her family, hated the life she’d been thrust into. Yet, for all her anger, she couldn’t summon the will to fight anymore.

The fire that had driven her to escape had burned out, leaving only ashes in its wake.

Lucian’s unexpected kindness had done more to erode her resolve than any threat could. He had shown her a path forward, one that didn’t involve constant fear and uncertainty. It wasn’t the life she wanted, but it was a life nonetheless.

As she drifted off to sleep, Ayra made a quiet, unspoken decision. She would stop fighting, at least for now. 

Running was no longer an option, and she couldn’t face another failure - the next may as well take her life. 

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to see where this new path led.

After all, as she had learned, there was no running from the Director.