Page 107 of All The Pretty Little Lies

I swallow hard, steeling myself against the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. Natasha looks so different from the composed, dangerous woman I've known – vulnerable, desperate, human.

"Please," she continues. “You have to help me.”

"Help you?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. The words taste bitter on my tongue, memories of betrayal and pain flooding my mind. "Like you helped me, Natasha?"

Her eyes widen, a flicker of shame crossing her battered features before desperation takes over again. "Vesper, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You have to understand, I didn't have a choice.”

I feel my jaw clench, anger and pity warring within me. The dim light of the basement casts long shadows across Natasha's face, emphasizing every cut and bruise. Her once-proud demeanor is shattered, replaced by a raw vulnerability that tugs at something deep inside me.

"There's always a choice," I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended. But even as I say them, I think of the impossible decisions I've faced, the moral gray areas I've had to navigate in this world of ours.

Natasha's eyes fill with tears, glinting in the harsh fluorescent light. "You're right," she whispers, her voice cracking. "And I'm making a choice now. Please, Vesper. Help me escape. Release me. I can disappear, I swear I'll never bother you or anyone else ever again."

I feel Alex's presence behind me, a silent reminder of the consequences of mercy in our world. But there's something in Natasha's plea that resonates with me, a desperation I understand all too well.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to do. "I will help you, Natasha," I say, watching hope bloom in her eyes. "But first, you have to do something for me."

"Anything," she breathes, relief evident in every line of her body.

I lean in closer, my voice low and intense. "Tell me the truth. All of it. Why did my uncle want my embryo? Only then will I even consider releasing you."

Natasha's eyes dart nervously to Alex, still lurking in the shadows, before returning to me. I can see the calculations running behind her eyes, weighing her options, considering how much to reveal.

"Vesper, I-" she starts, but I cut her off.

"No more lies, Natasha. No more half-truths or manipulations. If you want my help, I need complete honesty. This is your one chance."

The basement falls silent save for the soft hum of medical equipment and Natasha's ragged breathing. I can feel the weight of this moment, the potential consequences of what I'm offering. But I need answers, and I'm willing to take this risk to get them.

Natasha's voice trembles as she begins, her words barely above a whisper. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, Vesper. I was desperate."

I lean in closer, my heart pounding in my chest as I wait for the truth I've been seeking for so long.

"Your uncle and aunt," Natasha continues, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, "they wanted a child so badly. An heir. They tried for years, but miscarriage after miscarriage. It was destroying them."

I feel my breath catch in my throat, memories of hushed conversations and my aunt's tear-stained face flashing through my mind.

"Your uncle, he was obsessed. He couldn't accept that he might not have a biological heir to continue the family legacy. So, he reached out, used his connections to find an agency in Russia. That's where he found me."

Natasha's words paint a vivid picture in my mind. I can almost see it, the sterile clinic, the air thick with desperation and hope. My uncle, his face etched with determination, signing papers and making promises.

"I was young, naive," Natasha continues, her voice cracking. "The money they offered so much money. It was more than I could ever dream of. Enough to change my life, to help my family. All I had to do was carry a child for nine months."

I feel a chill run down my spine, the pieces starting to fall into place. "But something went wrong," I whisper, prompting her to continue.

Natasha nods, her eyes distant as if lost in the memory. "They had one chance left. One small, precious embryo. Their last hope for a biological child. The day of the transfer came, and I remember lying there, so nervous I could barely breathe."

Her words transport me to that moment, the cold exam table, the hum of medical equipment, the palpable tension in the air.

Natasha's words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of her confession. I feel my heart pounding in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears as I process the implications of what she's saying.

"The doctor's face," Natasha continues, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'll never forget it. The way his eyes widened, the color draining from his cheeks. He muttered something in Russian, his hands shaking as he turned to the nurse."

I can see it all so clearly in my mind's eye, the sterile room, the harsh fluorescent lights, the panic spreading like a virus through the medical staff.

"Stop the thaw!" Natasha's voice cracks as she reenacts the moment. "But it was too late. The embryo, your aunt and uncle's last hope, it was gone. Too late to preserve it, and no one they could implant it into."

My breath catches in my throat. I think of my cousin, no, not my cousin at all, the child I grew up with, played with, loved fiercely. The heir my uncle had pinned all his hopes and dreams on.

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