Chapter 54 - A Plan in motion

This became a pattern for a brief while.

Lunch? Too cold.

Dinner? Not what she wanted anymore.

Snacks? She changed her mind after they were made.

She sent dishes back multiple times a day, forcing the kitchen staff to remake meals repeatedly before she would eat just enough to keep them from outright rebelling.

Within days, the tension in the household thickened. The butler was visibly on edge, the chef was snapping at the assistants, and the maids were whispering amongst themselves in frustration.

By the fifth day, the head butler had had enough.

Ayra was lounging in the parlor, flipping through a book she had no intention of reading, when he approached. His posture was stiff, his jaw tight—yet he remained respectful.

“Madam, forgive my boldness, but may I ask if something is troubling you?”

Ayra looked up, feigning innocence. “Troubling me? Not at all.”

The butler’s eyes twitched ever so slightly. “Then may I ask why the staff has had to remake your breakfast four times this morning?”

Ayra smiled. “Because they keep getting it wrong.”

“They have followed your instructions to the letter.”

She tilted her head. “Then perhaps my tastes have changed. Am I not allowed to change my mind?”

The butler inhaled slowly, clearly reigning in his irritation.

Ayra shut her book and stood, stepping closer to him. “Would you like to pass a complaint to Lucian on my behalf? That this house is simply not accommodating enough?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. She could tell he wanted to say something—perhaps that she was the problem, not the house—but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded stiffly.

“I will… inform Mr. Cyrus.”

She smiled, sweet but smug. “Please do.”

Ayra did not quite outright disrespected the staff—but she made sure they were always occupied.

First she needed tea. Then a different kind of tea. Then water—but not from the tap, bottled.

She wanted a book from Lucian’s personal collection, even though she wasn’t allowed in his study. Though she suspected the man hadn't been back for days. She was growing more and more certain that Lucian had shuffled her off into an erstwhile unused house. 

She “accidentally” spilled perfume on the silk curtains and demanded they be replaced immediately.

She asked for the same dress to be ironed three times, only to decide she didn’t want to wear it anymore.

Every hour, there was a new demand, a new complaint, a new inconvenience.

The staff couldn’t keep up.

But Ayra was not satisfied. 

....

By the end of the week, the entire staff was at its limit.

The kitchen dreaded meal times. The maids feared another wardrobe crisis. The butler looked ready to retire out of sheer exhaustion.

And Ayra?

She simply sat back and enjoyed the chaos.

She wasn’t being mistreated. She wasn’t being locked away or neglected like a prisoner. But Lucian hadn’t made a place for her in his life, so she would force one for herself. She was NOT going to just shut up and endure. 

Her patience had limits.

.....

Ayra sat in the sitting room, a cup of tea in her hands, her fingers tracing the edge of the porcelain cup absentmindedly. It had been two weeks since she had begun her subtle rebellion, and the days were starting to stretch on in a way that felt like endless waiting. 

She could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, a rather poignant reminder that, for all her moves and subtle provocations, Lucian had yet to respond.

The staff had endured her antics in a quiet, controlled manner, doing their best to conceal their frustration. But Lucian? He hadn't come to reprimand her. Not once.

Ayra stared out the window of her temporary house, watching the sunlight begin to fade. The evening sky was bathed in shades of orange and pink, beautiful as always, but her mood had long since soured. 

It was supposed to be a victory, wasn’t it? She had wanted him to crack, to show some kind of emotion—anger, frustration, anything. But now, after all these days, Ayra was beginning to question whether this game was worth the energy it consumed.

It had started small and was petty, childish even, but it gave her a sense of control, and a measure of control was something Ayra desperately needed.

But it didn’t have the desired effect. Lucian never confronted her. He had not even bothered to how his face. 

Her frustration boiled over as she stood, walking aimlessly through the grand house. The echo of her heels against the marble floor was the only sound, a constant reminder of how alone she truly was. 

Ayra had spent countless hours trying to fill the silence, attempting to read books that had once intrigued her, only to find that they no longer held her attention. She had tried to speak to the staff, but their conversations always felt short and formal, leaving her feeling just as isolated as before.

It was then that she found herself at the grand staircase, looking down at the empty foyer below. The silence was suffocating, a reminder of how cold and sterile this life had become. She leaned against the railing, gazing out the front doors at the garden beyond. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the manicured grounds.

A sigh escaped her lips.

Ayra had wanted Lucian to react. She had expected him to come barging through the door, demanding an explanation for her behavior.

As the night stretched on, Ayra retreated to her room, curling up on the bed with a book she had long abandoned. She barely registered the words on the pages as she turned them, her mind consumed by the same thoughts. 

Lucian’s indifference weighed heavily on her. She had been prepared for him to lash out, to confront her with anger, but he had chosen to remain silent. And now, that silence was beginning to feel like an accusation.

She put the book down, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. The cold, distant atmosphere of the house seemed to settle deeper within her bones.

But then, as she lay there, staring at the ceiling, a thought crossed her mind.

What if this was Lucian’s strategy all along? What if he was waiting for her to break? What if he was trying to push her to the point where she would give in, where she would fall into line, just like everyone else in his life?

Ayra’s eyes narrowed. The idea wasn’t entirely new. She had considered it before and she had a counter ready.

She had played this little game long enough, she thought. If Lucian wasn’t going to take the bait, then she would have to up her game. 

Ayra reached for her phone and opened up her contacts. Her eyes fell upon a single name. Pedro. 

She hummed and dropped the phone. 

One day. She would give Lucian one more day. She did not particularly like tormenting the servants.