Page 110 of All The Pretty Little Lies

Zaire's warm hand cups my cheek, turning my face towards his. "Come back to me, Vesper," he whispers, before pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is gentle yet insistent, filled with a desperation that threatens to break through the fog enveloping my mind. I feel the warmth of his breath, taste the hint of whiskey on his tongue, but it's not enough to anchor me to reality.

A shadow falls across the room as Oscar appears in the doorway. The soft glow from the bedside lamp catches the crimson droplets on his hands, hands that had just ended a life with terrifying ease. His presence fills the room, a storm barely contained within human form.

"Vesper," Oscar's voice is low, controlled, but I can hear the undercurrent of worry. He approaches the bed, his movements measured and careful, as if afraid of startling me.

His blue eyes, usually so calm and calculating, now swirl with a tempest of emotions; anger, fear, and something deeper, more primal. He reaches out, his bloodstained hand hovering inches from my face, not quite touching.

The door creaks open once more, and Talon slips in. His usual easy grin is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a grim determination. He moves to the foot of the bed, his presence solid and reassuring.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Talon's voice is gentle, a stark contrast to his imposing frame. "You're scaring us a bit here. How about you come back to the land of the living, yeah?"

But their words wash over me like waves on a distant shore. I'm adrift in an ocean of pain and betrayal, the revelations of the day threatening to pull me under. My son, a living, breathing piece of me out there in the world.

Zaire's composure begins to crumble as he watches me, his eyes darting frantically between my face and the other men in the room. His breathing becomes ragged, chest heaving witheach labored inhale. The muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, a visible manifestation of his internal struggle.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters, running his hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands. "This isn't happening. This can't be fucking happening."

Oscar steps closer, placing a steadying hand on his brother's shoulder. "Z, you need to calm down. We can't help her if we're falling apart ourselves."

But Zaire shakes off Oscar's touch, whirling to face him. His eyes, usually a mirror image of his twin's, now blaze with a wild, almost feral intensity. The ring of blue in his eyes seems to glow in the dim light, giving him an otherworldly appearance.

"Calm down?" Zaire's voice rises, bordering on hysteria. "How the fuck am I supposed to calm down when she's like this?" He gestures wildly towards me, his movements jerky and uncontrolled. "It's worse than when we found her, Oz. At least then she was fighting, screaming, showing some sign of life. This...this is like she's gone. Like they've taken her away again, right in front of our eyes!"

Oscar's face pales at the comparison, his own composure slipping for a moment. He glances at me, and I see the fear flickering in his eyes. "You're right," he admits quietly, "but losing our shit isn't going to bring her back."

Talon moves closer, his imposing frame casting a shadow over the bed. "He's right, Z. We need to keep it together for Vesper."

But Zaire is beyond reason now. His control, always so tenuously maintained, finally snaps. With a roar of frustration and anguish, he slams his fist into the wall, leaving a sizable dent in the plaster. The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot.

In that moment of chaos, something shifts in Zaire's eyes. The wild panic recedes, replaced by a steely determination. Heturns back to me, leaning in close, his face mere inches from mine.

"Vesper," he growls, his voice low and commanding. It's not the voice of the man I've come to know, but something darker, more primal. "Put your fucking eyes on me. Now."

The force of his words cuts through the fog in my mind like a knife. I blink, once, twice, my gaze slowly focusing on his face. The world around me starts to come back – the worried faces of Oscar and Talon, the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the faint scent of Zaire's cologne.

"There you are, moya koroleva.”

They all sigh in relief as my eyes finally focus, the fog lifting from my mind like mist dissipating in the morning sun. Zaire kneels before me, his face a canvas of emotions; relief, fear, and an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.

"I thought I lost you," he whispers, his voice cracking with the weight of his words. "We all did."

His hand trembles as he reaches out to cup my face, his touch as gentle as a butterfly's wing against my skin. The contrast between this tenderness and the raw power he displayed moments ago sends a shiver down my spine.

Oscar moves closer, his presence solid and reassuring. The blood on his hands has dried to a rusty brown, a stark reminder of the violence that preceded this moment. His blue eyes, usually so guarded, now shine with a vulnerability that makes my heart ache.

Talon exhales loudly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The tension in his broad shoulders eases slightly, but his stance remains protective, as if expecting danger to burst through the door at any moment.

The room seems to come alive around me, details sharpening into focus. The intricate patterns on the wallpaper swirl anddance in the soft lamplight. The faint scent of sandalwood and leather fills my nostrils, a comforting reminder of where I am.

"Vesper," Oscar's voice is low, almost reverent. He kneels beside Zaire, his eyes searching mine. "Are you with us?"

I nod slowly, feeling as if I'm moving through molasses. My throat feels dry, words sticking like sand. But I force them out, needing to reassure them, to reassure myself.

"I'm here," I croak.

The relief that washes over their faces is palpable. Talon lets out a shaky laugh, the sound breaking the tension in the room.

"Christ, sweetheart," he says, moving closer. "You scared the living daylights out of us."

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