The Devil's Game 1

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 Ayra.

Ferdinand's 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.

Ferdinand's eyes glinted 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.

Ayra didn't fully grasp the weight of what was happening. She did not know the why and when of how things came to be.

But the unease gnawing at Ayra's 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 was shaking with 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. It was Lucian Cyrus, the infamous Director.

Lucian's presence was faint but intense. He hadn't spoken a word since Ayra arrived, but his cold gaze had been on her the entire time-unreadable and calculating- He scared Ayra.

Ayra gathered all the courage she could muster to address him. "Could you give me a reason, Sir? What's the root cause of this?"

Lucian's finger traced the rim of his teacup, gentle but consistent. He stared at Ayra with a quiet sort of intensity that made her heart quiver and her insides lurch.

Lucian 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?"

Ayra's father cleared his throat with shame shown on his face. "The debt, Ayra. It's...complicated. 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.

Lucian's appearance was deceptively immaculate-perfectly tailored black suit, sharp jawline, dark hair slicked back with not a strand out of place.

Lucian looked like a businessman, not a man whose empire was built on blood and fear.

The coldness in Lucian's eyes told a different story. Ayra could not in good faith judge him as 'safe'.

Breathing deeply, Ayra gazed down at the contract in her hands. Half a minute later, she turned back to her father. Shock and disbelief ran through Ayra.

She desperately searched her father's face for some kind of explanation. "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?"

Ayra blinked. Her head swimming with the flood of words Ferdinand has been feeding her for weeks.

Ferdinand had painted the arranged marriage as the only solution-a way out of the financial pit he'd dragged them into.

Ferdinand had assured Ayra that she'd be secure, and comfortable. That it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

But none of that felt true now. Ayra 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."

Lisbeth's 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, Ayra had certainly seen the signs. Yet, she ignored them. But nothing could have prepared her for this.

Vaguely, she could make out her father speaking to Lucian. His voice almost in a whisper as he laid out the terms, but Ayra couldn't focus.

All Ayra could hear was the rush of her blood. The betrayal settling in her bones.

Ayra's 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, Ayra's fingers hovering over it but unable to make the final move.

"Just sign, Ayra," her father urged. His voice is 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.

Lucian's 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 Lucian. Ayra was a transaction.

Ayra's throat tightened. She swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic. She wanted to scream, run, rave and wake from this nightmare.

No one to help her. She was trapped by her father.

Ayra's 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 Ayra lifted the pen, Lucian reached forward and pulled the contract toward him.

Lucian's 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."

Ferdinand's shaking hands fumbled with the paper. His eyes darted nervously between the document and Lucian's impassive face.

Ferdinand hesitated for a second, glancing at Ayra as if to offer a silent apology. But it wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

Ferdinand scribbled his name at the bottom. With that one motion, Ayra's fate was sealed.

"Good," Lucian murmured. He slipped the papers into his briefcase with a finality that made her stomach twist.

"It's done. Your debt is paid," Lucian said to Ferdinand. "The deal is struck. Take care." Then, without another word Lucian stood to leave. He walked out of the office.

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

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

Ayra turned to look at her father and found him pulling out a thick cigar from his coat. His face was composed and showed little remorse.

Ayra put her face to the desk and broke into tears.

The days after blurred together into one long stretch of misery. During the next three days, Ayra caught no sight of either her sister or her father.

Ayra was secluded in her corner of their mansion.

The absence of Lisbeth she could deal with - her elder sister was not the most likable of people - but the fact that Ayra's father had all but abandoned her. Ayra twisted her insides in hate and loathing.

Occasionally, Ayra's thoughts turned to Lucian and her impending...wedding, as it were.

Ayra also couldn't stop replaying the cold certainty in his voice. Lucian had claimed her without a second thought.

It was as if Ayra's life was nothing more than another business deal to Lucian. This terrified Ayra more than she cared to admit.

While Ayra didn't hold much of an idealized view of her marriage, she did not want it to be.

Ayra spent hours upon hours poring over the contract. She studied every word and every clause futilely.

Ayra refused to sit on her ass and cry like a little girl.

The legal jargon-wedding contract-wasn't particularly dense. Hence, a major in Liberal arts like Ayra could understand that Lucian did not only own her on paper.

Lucian and Ayra's marriage was mutually beneficial to both the Cyrus family and hers.

The marriage contract did little to secure Ayra's autonomy or rights in the sham of a marriage.

It would be a breach of the contract if Lucian and Aura divorced each other within twelve months.

Hells, Ayra had no right to serve Lucian divorce papers for whatever reason!

The document bound Ayra to Lucian-her life, her freedom, everything she had was now under his control.

Ayra combed through the fine print late at night for four days. Her eyes burning from lack of sleep, out of a lack of something to do.

Sitting still felt dumb and doing anything else felt like the height of unproductivity.

Every inch of Ayra being screamed at her to find a way out; to break free from the approaching gloom of a future that was becoming Lucian's plaything.

The 28th was coming far too quickly. The thought of what awaited Ayra on that day and after was enough to make her stomach churn in fear and revulsion.

She tossed the contract into a corner and ran a hand through her hair.

To God, she needed to sleep, but thoughts of marrying the Director sent shivers down her spine every few minutes.

Ayra had only slept intermittently in the past four days, her waking hours almost always heralded by tears.

"Jars," she called, her voice raspy from days of sobbing. "Play me some music."

The sound system in her room gave a small beep as it was booted on. The soothing melody of a sad blues song began to play from its speakers.

"Shuffle," Ayra commanded and the upbeat tune immediately replaced the previous song.

Ayra closed her eyes, trying to lull herself into sleep. When the lyrics of the song's chorus registered in her brain, she was jerked awake instantly.

~Chase me, Chase me~

~And I'll run to the world's end~

~Where the skies are blue and your eyes can't reach~

She shot to her feet, a sudden surge of adrenaline-boosting her. Ayra reached for the contract and read it in its entirety once more.

She was through in minutes - her version of the contract did not have many terms - but she read it once more, feverishly this time, just to make sure.

Five minutes later Ayra pumped her fists in the air. A cheerful cry of victory finding its way out of her throat.

"Yes! Yes! Damn yes!"

Ayra's father was gone, having all but abandoned her the moment she'd signed herself away.

Ayra was left with nothing but the sharp edge of betrayal and the weight of her bleak future.

But now-now there was a chance.

Ayra's pulse quickened as realization sank in. There was no explicit mention of confinement. No written obligation to stay until Lucian came for her.

Even better, there was no repercussion on the deal between the Cyrus family and hers-if she somehow fell off the face of the earth-It was a rather glaring loophole. How had he not noticed this?

No, how had her father not noticed it? He was easily the smartest man she knew.

Or, perhaps, had he known all along and simply expected her to be too terrified to act?

Ayra chuckled with schadenfreude. Oh, she was not afraid to run.

Even better, if she left now, she might be able to slip away before anyone even realized she was gone.

The thought sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins, the first spark of hope she'd felt in... days!

The 28th.

Six days.

He most certainly had not given her that deadline out of generosity.

But he had underestimated her. Or, perhaps, did not believe his 'property' could grow legs and run. She cackled to herself.

Ayra paced about her room, her mind spinning with possibilities. Where could she go? Who could she turn to?

The answers were bleak-she had no real connections, no friends who wouldn't ask questions, no... "family" willing to help.

Her father had made sure of that when he sold her off like some kind of asset. Like a fucking item.

Ayra clenched her fists at her thought, the jagged spikes of betrayal and hurt. This thought had been lodged in her heart fusing slowly into anger.

But Ayra took a deep breath and pushed the emotions aside. It was not the time for it quite yet.

She didn't need anyone. Not now. All she needed was to be smart, careful, and meticulous in her steps going forward.

Ayra shoved the contract into the briefcase it came with, her hands trembling, her mind racing. She needed a plan.

.....

Good plans didn't come easy, Ayra found out by the next morning. Good plans were a bitch to come up with.

She'd noticed that there had been an increase in the house guards in the past few weeks.

Now, Ayra suspected it was due to the deal between her father and Lucian.

Having been surrounded by security personnel her whole life. Ayra could spot more than one or two suspicious figures within the roster of people patrolling the mansion.

They were more heavily armed than the type Ayra was used to. Their eyes steely and steps more akin to professional thugs than bodyguards.

They looked just as likely to put a bullet in Ayra as they were to keep thieves out. She could easily infer that they would not simply let her waltz out of the house.

Ayra paced the length of her room. Her gaze flicking to the small bag in the corner of her room from time to time.

If Ayra was going to do this, it would have to be tonight. No waiting, no second-guessing.

Ayra ran a hand through her hair, pulling at it in frustration. She realised she couldn't do it alone.

Ayra needed someone to move her out. Public transport was off the table as her father could track her down too easily. And, Ayra didn't know how to drive.

There was no helping it. If she stayed, Lucian would come. And when he did, it would be too late.

Grabbing the bag, Ayra began tossing in essentials: clothes, toothbrush, some cash - anything she could carry that wouldn't weigh her down.

Ayra took a moment to buy a train ticket bound for a night journey to throw her father off. She backed up her important files and photos to her memory card and popped it out.

Ayra hesitated over the next part but eventually broke the phone and tossed it into the trash. It had cost a pretty penny. Now, she couldn't go back due to cold feet.

The plan took shape as Ayra moved around her room and she decided to move that very night.

Ayra felt the weight of her decision press down on her with every passing minute, the nagging doubt gnawing at her.

Running from someone like Lucian wasn't as simple as walking out the door and disappearing. He was the director of THE fucking Consortium.

Lucian had resources - people, connections - things that could track her down no matter where she went.

And, despite Ayra's father's recent pathetic showing, she knew he was terrifyingly smart. He would look for her.

And if she messed up even once, he would find her. But Ayra wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.

At exactly 9 pm that night Ayra slipped out the door-the hallway of the building eerily quiet.

The moon was not out that night, and the darkness outside felt like both a blessing and a curse.

As Ayra descended the stairs, her heart thudded louder with every step. This was it. Ayra was doing this. She was going to disappear.

Ayra walked boldly past the few guards she met within the house without bothering to explain herself.

Their gaze on Ayra was sharp and gauging, but she disregarded them and strode for the garden exit.

When the door leading to the garden came into view, she went down a side corridor. She jogged up the side stairs to the second floor.

Ayra came across a window with an overhang from the first floor-right beneath it as well as a hedge directly beneath.

She scanned the area and spotted a guard facing away from the house and towards the fence.

Ayra breathed out and stepped out the window, slid silently down the overhang, and dropped quietly behind the hedge.

The guard turned, alerted by the thump of her feet, and Ayra lay flat on the ground while his flashlight scanned the hedge.

Soon, the guard lost interest and Ayra got to her feet and crept forward.

Ayra knew the house like the back of her hand; she didn't believe she could avoid their eyes if she truly tried.

.....

The cool night air hit Ayra like a shock when she stepped outside. The city's pulse thrumming in the distance.

Ayra kept her head down, blending into the crowd of pedestrians moving down the sidewalk.

Her heart pounded fiercely in joy as she made her way down the street. Her lips threatening to split apart from the urge to smile.

Ayra had done it. She'd escaped. While a guard had seen her in the end, they hadn't been able to stop her before she scaled the wall.

But it was alright. The train ticket should throw her father off her tail for at least a day.

Ayra walked quickly and pushed her way into the first phone booth she found.

She had planned to walk until she found one, but with the weather being in the middle of winter, the night was far too cold for it.

Hence, Ayra had hailed a taxi and drove for almost an hour before getting to where she was.

Fingers trembling, she dialed the only person she felt she could trust. The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?" Sarah, Ayra's best friend answered.

"Hi. Sarah, it's Ayra calling."

"What? Ayra? Is everything okay?"

Ayra took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to get out of the city. Can you help me?"

"What? Wait, Why?"

"Just... I'll explain later. I just need your help."

"Alright, where are you? I'll come pick you up."

Ayra searched the street and found a sign not far from her.

"Winston Street. I'm in the phone booth right now."

"Alright. Just sit tight. I'll be there in... Thirty minutes tops."

"Thank you."

Ayra hung up and sighed.

Twenty minutes later, someone knocked on the booth.

"That call was a bad choice. Not the call itself but who you called," the stranger said.

While Ayrs was unable to see the person clearly through the frosted glass, she would recognize the voice anywhere. It was her father.

The first plan is done.

She always knew Sarah was a bitch.

The sleek black car hummed quietly as it sped along the highway. The city lights casting fleeting shadows across Ayra's face.

Ayra sat stiffly in the backseat and her arms crossed tightly. Her eyes staring blankly out the window.

Ayra's father sat beside her, his face set in a stern, unreadable expression. For a while, neither of them spoke.

The silence between them was suffocating, thick with unspoken anger and confusion.

"I don't understand why you did this," her father finally broke the silence. His voice low and filled with disappointment.

"Do you have any idea what you've risked? What you've put at stake?"

Ayra didn't respond at first. She continued staring out of the window. Ayra's heart pounding as she tried to contain her emotions.

She clenched her fists in her lap. Her knuckles turning white as a mix of shame and frustration churned in her gut.

Getting caught was all part of her plan, yes, but confronting her father was still decidedly uncomfortable.

Ayra thought it would be Lisbeth who would come. At least then she could gladly insult her to her face and dare her to do her worst.

"You have always been impulsive," Ferdinand continued. His tone a mix of disappointment and resignation.

"But this?

Running away from your responsibilities like some spoiled child?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "I raised you better than this, Ayra."

At that, Ayra's temper flared. Her head snapped toward him, eyes all but burning with anger.

"You didn't - " she cut herself off, her voice trembling with fury. "You controlled me. This... this whole arrangement isn't about responsibility. It's about power. Your power. You practically sold me to him."

Her father's jaw clenched, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You signed the contract, Ayra. You agreed."

Ayra's eyes blazed with anger. "You all but forced me to sign it! You might as well have tricked me! If you cared, you would let me run away and avoid this!"

"I secured your future, Ayra. Do you know how many people would kill for an alliance with someone like Lucian? And you think you're above this? Above what your family needs from you?"

Ayra swallowed hard, her throat tight. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her skin prickling with frustration. "What about what I need? What do I want?" she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with desperation.

Oh, how Ayra wanted him to just pull an April Fool's or something. She did not want to believe that her father had changed so much. "I don't want this."

"You have no choice," Ferdinand said sharply, his voice final and angry.

"You will marry Lucian, and you will do what's expected of you. You will stop these childish rebellions before you make things worse for yourself. The wedding will happen, and you will smile and play the part, like I raised you to do."

Ayra looked away, tears running down her cheeks as she tried to hold back a sob.

"You didn't raise me," she said quietly, staring at him from out of the corner of her eye.

She didn't know what pained her more - seeing her father wilt under the statement or knowing that she cared at all that he wilted.

"That's enough, Ayra," he said, his voice resigned and low. "You'll marry Lucian, and that's final. You won't get another chance to run. Not from him."

Ayra held back a small smirk. Oh, she would get another chance. Of that she was certain. Her plan was yet to be completed after all.

The car pulled up to the mansion gates, the iron doors creaking open as they approached.

.....

Lucian sat behind his desk, staring at a picture frame before him. His eyes shifted between the photo and the wedding planner standing nervously on the other side.

The woman's voice was distant in his mind, a background hum he barely registered.

Lucian's focus was elsewhere. In the far past, to be specific. When he had yet become the director the city of Divmas knew so well.

At a point his eyes remained fixed on the photograph, a finger rubbing the frame delicately.

The picture was faded with age, but there was no mistaking the resemblance between the teenage girl in it and Ayra.

They had the same eyes, the same fragile set to their lips - the type that made you want to let her cry on your shoulder for all eternity. There was a resemblance but that was all.

The girl in the photo was still in her teens; thirteen, perhaps fourteen years old. The difference between her and the fully grown Ayra was rather stark.

The wedding planner, a middle-aged woman, was going over last-minute details.

"The ceremony will begin at sunset, just like you requested, Mr. Cyrus. The floral arch has white roses, and the seating..."

Lucian raised a hand, stopping her mid-sentence without even looking up. For a few seconds Lucian didn't speak and the planner hesitated, clearly thrown off.

No one wanted to mess up around Lucian. He knew, and he found it oddly amusing every time.

"No white roses," Lucian said smoothly, his voice low and steady. He leaned back slightly, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo frame. "She doesn't like them. Make them pink."

The planner blinked, surprised, but nodded quickly. "Of course, Mr. Cyrus. I'll have them changed immediately."

Lucian's fingers tapped lightly against the polished wood of the desk as he nodded. He signaled to the planner to continue, though he barely listened to the specifics.

Lucian's thoughts drifted, his gaze still locked on the picture. There was something unresolved in his expression - something intense that was hidden beneath layers of control.

In more ways than one, Lucian's decision to give Ayra till the 28th was also for him to have the space. The space to come to terms with what was happening.

Facing Ayra, days prior had brought to the surface some inexplicable nervousness and anxiety. It continued to grow whenever Lucian thought about the upcoming wedding.

Everything was not alright, he knew, and the investigations were not conclusive, but he dearly hoped it would be.

The door creaked open, and one of his men stepped inside. Nico, a rather burly man Lucian trusted.

Nico's presence meant something was up. But Lucian wasn't the type to get rattled. Nico could interrupt without worrying too much.

Lucian's gaze shifted from the photo to Nico, his expression questioning.

"Sir," Nico began with tension in his gravelly voice. "There's something you need to know. It's about Ayra."

At her name, Lucian's fingers paused over the frame. His grip tightened for just a second. He tilted his head, just slightly. Curiosity sparked briefly under his calm exterior.

"Go on," Lucian said, his voice soft but dangerous.

Nico cleared his throat, glancing at the wedding planner. He wasn't sure if he should continue in front of her, but Lucian gave a small nod. Permission granted.

"She tried to run away last night," Nico said. "Our people within the Russo mansion security confirmed that she had managed to do so. This was before Ferdinand brought her back."

Lucian didn't react right away. The room felt heavier and quieter. The wedding planner stood there, frozen, completely out of place.

Lucian's gaze returned to the photo. His mind worked through the information, calculating.

"Is she at the mansion right now?" Lucian asked. His tone light like Nico had just given him an update on the weather.

"Yes, Sir. But she's arguing with Ferdinand and asking a lot of questions. I don't think she's planning to stay put."

Lucian exhaled, leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping the armrest. He glanced briefly at the wedding planner.

"You can go," Lucian said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. She didn't hesitate, hurrying out of the room like her life depended on it.

Once the door shut behind her, Lucian's demeanor shifted. His calm turned sharper, more focused.

Lucian stood up, adjusting his suit jacket, and moved around the desk.

"She's testing her limits," Lucian said, mostly to himself. He stared out the window at the city skyline. The window stretched out in front of him like his personal empire.

"Do you want us to do something, boss?" Nico asked.

Lucian's lips curled into a thin, cold smile. "No need. Let her think she's in control. Most people see Isabella and think her dumb. Pliant." He scoffed.

His eyes drifted back to the photo of the girl who looked so much like Ayra. He traced the edge of the frame with his thumb, lost in thought.

"She won't leave me," he said softly, but there was no doubt in his voice.

A buzz from his phone pulled his attention back. He glanced at the screen. A reminder from his lawyer: the final clauses of the marriage contract would be signed tomorrow.

He blinked, the gears of his mind grinding.

"How goes the investigations?" He asked.

"Nothing new," Nico replied. "The detectives are still hammering away at it."

"Make sure the mansion is secure," Lucian ordered all business again. "No one gets in or out without my say. Not even Ferdinand."

His fingers tapped a rhythm along the edge of the photo frame. The old picture staring back at him with memories that should have been buried.

"She may try to run again," he said softly, almost to himself.

Lucian sat back down, his expression now cold and unreadable. His eyes drifting back to the photograph.

"But if she does," he added, his voice turning steel-hard, "I want everyone to be ready."

Nico nodded and left the room, leaving Lucian alone with his thoughts. He reached for the photograph, picked it up and held it closer to his face.

His thumb brushed over the girl's features - features that echoed in Ayra's face now, whether she realized it or not.

"You were just as stubborn," he murmured to the photo, his voice low and nostalgic. "Isa."