Page 12 of All The Pretty Little Lies

"You should go," I say, my voice steady and devoid of emotion. "If you're caught here, it will only make things worse for everyone."

Oscar doesn't move immediately. He stands there, his dark eyes searching my face as if trying to decipher some hidden message in my expression. For a fleeting moment, I see something flicker in his gaze – hurt, perhaps, or frustration. Butit's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a hardness that mirrors my own.

"You're right," he says finally, his tone matching mine in its detachment. "I shouldn't have come. It was impulsive."

He moves towards the balcony railing, preparing to make his descent. But before he swings his leg over, he pauses and turns back to me.

"Vesper," he says, his voice softer now. "I know you have no reason to trust me. But I meant what I said. If you change your mind, if you decide you want out, I’ll be there. No strings attached."

I say nothing, maintaining my stony facade. Oscar nods once, accepting my silence as an answer. With the same feline grace he displayed in his ascent, he begins to climb down the trellis.

As I watch him disappear into the shadows of the garden, I feel a pang of something. Regret? Longing? I push the feeling aside, burying it deep where it can't touch me. I can't afford such weakness, not now.

I turn back to my room, closing the balcony doors behind me. The opulent space suddenly feels suffocating, every gilded surface and silk drape a reminder of the cage I'm trapped in. I move to my vanity, catching sight of my reflection in the ornate mirror.

The woman staring back at me looks composed, regal even. But I can see the cracks in the facade, the fear and uncertainty lurking just beneath the surface. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come.

As I prepare for bed, my mind races with thoughts of Luca, of the impending marriage, of Oscar's offer. But I push them all aside. I can't afford to dwell on what-ifs and maybes. I need to focus on the reality of my situation, on finding a way to navigate this treacherous path without losing myself in the process.

Tomorrow, I'll begin preparations for my new life as Dmitri Petrov's wife. I'll play the role expected of me, the dutiful daughter cementing a powerful alliance. But beneath it all, I'll be watching, waiting, looking for any opportunity to assert control over my own destiny.

As I slip under the silk sheets of my bed, I whisper a quiet promise to myself. "This isn't over. I won't let them dictate my fate. One way or another...I'll find a way out of this all on my own."

As I lay in bed, sleep eludes me. My mind keeps replaying Oscar's visit, his words echoing in my head. Despite my outward rejection, a tiny part of me wonders if I've made a mistake in dismissing his offer so quickly. But no, I can't afford to entertain such dangerous thoughts.

The soft buzz of my newly returned phone startles me from my ruminations. I reach for it, half expecting to see a message from Oscar. Instead, it's an unknown number. My heart races as I open the text:

I'm okay. Don't worry. Stay strong. - L

Luca. Relief washes over me, followed quickly by a surge of questions. Where is he? How did he get this number? Is he truly safe?

I type out a rapid response:

Where are you? Are you hurt?

Minutes pass with no reply. I stare at the screen, willing another message to appear. Nothing comes.

Frustrated, I toss the phone aside and sink back into my pillows. At least I know Luca's alive. It's not much, but it'ssomething to hold onto in the chaos of uncertainty surrounding me.

VESPER

I standon the pedestal in my mother’s expansive closet, surrounded by mirrors that reflect my discontent from every angle. The white gown clings to my body like a straitjacket, its intricate lace and beading a poor disguise for the prison it represents. My mother circles me like a vulture, her critical gaze dissecting every curve and line of my figure.

"The waist needs to be taken in further," she instructs the harried dressmaker, who nods obediently, pins clenched between her teeth. "And see if you can add some padding to the bust. We can't have her looking like a boy on her wedding day."

I bite my tongue, tasting the metallic hint of blood as I force back the retort that threatens to escape. Two days have passed since my father’s decision to remove me from school, and I feel as if I'm sinking further into some surreal nightmare. The groom, the dress, the venue, the guest list - all of it decided without my input or consent. I am merely a puppet, strings pulled taut by the expectations of two powerful families.

The dressmaker's hands flutter around me, adjusting and pinning, as my mother continues her litany of critiques. "Perhaps we should consider a corset. Vesper, darling, you really should have watched your diet more closely these past months. What will the Petrovs think?"

I meet my own gaze in the mirror, green eyes blazing with a defiance I dare not voice. The reflection staring back at me is a stranger - a porcelain doll version of myself, stripped of agency and dressed up for display. The delicate veil cascades down my back, its gossamer threads a mockery of the web I'm entangled in.

As the fitting drags on, I let my mind wander, searching for any possible escape from this gilded cage. But the Rossi name is both my legacy and my burden, and I know that the tentacles of family obligation reach far and wide. Even as I stand here, being molded into someone else's vision of a perfect bride, I can feel the walls closing in.

The dressmaker steps back, admiring her handiwork with a satisfied smile. "There, Mrs. Rossi. I think we've achieved the perfect silhouette."

My mother claps her hands together, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Oh, it's magnificent! Vesper, you'll be the most stunning bride the families have ever seen."

I force my lips into a semblance of a smile, the effort making my cheeks ache. "Thank you, Mother," I manage, the lie leaves a sour aftertaste in my mouth. As I step down from the pedestal,my legs wobble beneath the weight of the gown. The layers of tulle and satin swirl around my ankles, creating a treacherous landscape of fabric. I try to take a careful step forward, but my foot catches on the hem, and I lurch forward, arms flailing wildly as I struggle to maintain my balance.

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