Page 44 of All The Pretty Little Lies

“My father would never do that. Never,” I fire back. My mind reels, images of my father flashing before my eyes. His stern face, his rare smiles, the weight of his expectations always heavy on my shoulders. I think I loved him once, but that fleeting moment was gone a long time ago. Just like him now. “That can’t be true.”

“We doubt that it is the truth, but we have no way of verifying it.”

"And...and my mother?" I ask.

“She fled as soon as your father died. The last we heard, she went back to her family in Russia.”

The room spins, and I grip the wooden back, my knuckles turning white as I struggle to process this new information. My mother is gone. Fled back to Russia, leaving behind the remnants of our shattered family. The thought pierces my heart like a shard of ice, cold and sharp.

The words hit me like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep me away. "She abandoned me?" I whisper, my voice cracking with disbelief.

Talon steps forward, his warm brown eyes filled with sympathy. "Vesper," he says gently, "the entire world thought you were dead. Your parents...they even held a memorial service for you not long before your father died. We were there."

A memorial service. They had mourned me, buried an empty casket, and moved on with their lives while I was still out there, still fighting, still hoping for rescue. Tears well up in my eyes, hot and stinging. I try to blink them away, but they spill over, coursing down my cheeks in silent rivers. My chest heaves with silent sobs as the full weight of my loss crashes down upon me.

My family, the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally, to move heaven and earth to find me hadsimply accepted my death and moved on. While I was trapped in a living nightmare, they had continued with their lives, leaving me behind like a discarded memory.

But these four men - Oscar, Zaire, Talon, and Alex - they had never stopped searching. For two years, they had fought for me when my own flesh and blood had not. The realization is both comforting and devastating. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces of my shattered world together.

A thought hits me. “My engagement to Dmitri…”

“You don’t need to worry about him right now.”

I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I flinch. Zaire recalls his hand immediately. “Shit, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I mutter. “The last two years…the only time someone touched me was to take something away from me. I don’t know how to process touch as anything else.”

“Can I try something?”

I hesitate, my heart pounding. Every instinct screams at me to run, to hide, to protect myself. But Zaire's eyes are soft, concerned. Not like theirs. I nod, barely a movement.

Zaire reaches out slowly, telegraphing his intentions. His hand hovers over my shoulder, giving me time to pull away. I don't. I can't. I'm frozen, caught between terror and a desperate longing for gentle human contact.

His fingertips brush my skin, and I gasp. My body goes rigid, muscles clenching, preparing for pain. Memories flash through my mind—rough hands, cruel grips, bruising force. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the flashbacks away.

But Zaire's touch remains light, warm. He doesn't grab, doesn't hurt. Just rests his palm on my shoulder, a steady presence. Seconds tick by, each one an eternity. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the tension in my body begins to ebb.

I focus on my breathing, on the soft fabric of my shirt beneath his hand, on the faint scent of pine that clings to him.The present slowly reasserts itself, pushing back the shadows of the past.

My eyes flutter open. Zaire is still there, patient and calm. His thumb moves in small, soothing circles. The motion should be terrifying, but instead, it's...comforting. A tear slips down my cheek as I realize it's the first time in two years that touch hasn't meant pain.

"You're safe," Zaire murmurs. "I've got you."

And for the first time in a long time, I start to believe it might be true.

VESPER

After an embarrassingly longtime of Zaire touching my shoulder, testing my limits of touch, I excuse myself and step out onto the weathered porch, the old boards creaking beneath my feet like a mournful lament. The midday sun beats down, harsh and unforgiving, much like the truths I've just been forced to swallow. I sink onto the rickety swing, its rusted chains groaning in protest, and let my gaze wander over the overgrown yard.

Wildflowers push through cracks in the concrete path, their vibrant petals a stark contrast to the gray paint of the beachhouse. It's a far cry from the opulent Rossi mansion I once called home, yet at this moment, it feels more real than anything I've known in the past two years.

Two years. The words echo in my mind, each repetition a fresh wound. Two fucking years of my life gone. Gone, like my family now. Father’s dead. Mother is God knows where. Luca is still missing.

A terrifying thought sinks into my mind. What if Luca was with The Shadow Man, too? What if they were…the thought of my brother enduring what I had makes my stomach retch. I barely make it to the edge of the porch before I can’t hold it back. The acrid taste of bile burns my throat as I heave into the overgrown bushes, their leaves trembling with each violent spasm. My fingers grip the splintered wood of the porch railing, knuckles white with strain. The sound of retching must have carried because suddenly the screen door slams open behind me. Oscar's footsteps thunder across the porch, and I feel his warm hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles. I stiffen under his touch, and he withdraws his hand.

"Vesper, are you alright?" His voice is laced with concern, but it only makes me feel worse.

I straighten up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I'm fine," I snap, hating how weak I sound and how helpless I feel.

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