Page 14 of All The Pretty Little Lies

My mother's face contorts with a mixture of frustration and something that might be pity. "Happiness is a fleeting thing. Power, security, those are what truly matter."

"But at what cost?" I argue back, my voice rising despite my efforts to keep it down. "My freedom? My future? My very self? You may have allowed your father to force you to marry Father, and give up everything you had, but to put your own daughter through the same thing? You’re just as much of a monster as he is."

The slap comes out of nowhere, the crack of palm against cheek echoing in the small space. My head snaps to the side, the sting of the blow bringing tears to my eyes. I raise a trembling hand to my face, feeling the heat rising beneath my fingertips.

Shock ripples through me, followed quickly by a wave of humiliation as I realize the dressmaker has witnessed this entireexchange. The poor woman stands frozen, her mouth agape, pins still clutched uselessly in her hand.

My mother's voice is ice cold when she speaks again. "Go to your room, Vesper. We'll discuss your behavior when your father returns home."

I stand there for a moment, my cheek throbbing, torn between the urge to fight back and the crushing weight of defeat. In the end, it's the pity in the dressmaker's eyes that breaks me. Without another word, I turn and flee, leaving behind a trail of torn lace behind me.

I rush up the stairs, storming into my room, and slamming the door behind me. The moment the door clicks shut, I let out a shuddering breath, burying my face in my hands. Tears threaten to spill, but I furiously blink them back. Crying won't change anything. I need a plan. I need my brother.

I move until I reach my bedside table, where my phone lies untouched since I was dragged out of my bed at an ungodly hour for the fitting. My fingers tremble as I type out a message to Luca, praying that this time he’ll answer me.

Where are you? I need you.

The seconds tick by, each one feeling like an eternity. Then, miraculously, three dots appear on the screen. My heart leaps into my throat as I wait for his response.

It’s safer if you don’t know, Ves. One of the guards smuggled in a phone for me.

I frown, worry gnawing at my insides. What does he mean, it's not safe? Before I can ask, another message pops up.

How are you holding up?

Just had the final fitting. Mother thinks I need more padding in the bust and a smaller waist. Pretty sure she'd prefer it if I could just morph into a living doll. I might have lost my shit on her…she slapped me.

I wait for his reply, hoping for a hint of the sardonic humor we've always shared. Instead, his next message sends a chill down my spine.

Ves, I'm sorry. I can't stop what's coming. Father knows what I was trying to do.

How?

I don’t know, but he knows. If he catches you talking to me, we’re both dead. Delete these messages. Don't try to contact me again. I'm so sorry.

Tears blur my vision as I read his words over and over. The phone suddenly feels heavy in my hands, as if the weight of my brother's cryptic warnings has made it unbearably dense.

I want to scream, to demand answers, to beg him not to leave me alone. But I know better. If Luca says it's not safe, then it's not safe. He's always been the cautious one, the strategist. If he's telling me to stop communicating, it must be for a good reason.

With shaking hands, I delete our conversation, erasing all evidence of this brief exchange. As I set the phone aside, I catch sight of myself in the mirror once more. The girl staring back atme looks lost, afraid, but there's something else in her eyes now - a spark of determination.

Luca may not be able to help me, but his warning has made one thing clear: I'm on my own now. If I want to escape this fate, I'll have to find a way out myself. A knock startles me from my thoughts, and I shove my phone into the table drawer.

"Miss Vesper?" Sophia's gentle voice calls out. "Your mother asked me to bring you some tea."

I smooth down my slip and take a deep breath, schooling my features into a mask of calm. "Come in, Sophia."

As she enters with the tea tray, I force a smile onto my face. I mask indifference, but behind the facade my mind is racing. I have four days to figure this out. Sophia sets the tray down and disappears as quickly as she arrived, shutting the door behind her.

I sip the chamomile tea, its warmth spreading through my body, a stark contrast to the cold dread that has settled in my stomach. The delicate floral aroma wafts up, usually soothing, but now it seems cloying, almost oppressive. I watch the steam curl up from the porcelain cup, mesmerized by its dance in the soft light filtering through the curtains.

As I drain the last drops, a sudden wave of exhaustion washes over me. My limbs feel heavy, my eyelids drooping against my will. I struggle to focus on the intricate pattern of the wallpaper, the lines blurring and swirling before my eyes. This isn't right, I think hazily. I've never reacted to chamomile like this before.

I try to stand, but my legs wobble beneath me like a newborn fawn's. The room tilts and spins, and I barely manage to stumble to my bed before collapsing onto it. The silk sheets feel cool against my flushed skin, and I find myself sinking into their embrace. As my consciousness begins to slip away, a niggling thought persists something was in that tea.

I'm not sure how long I've been asleep when a soft buzzing rouses me. My head feels stuffed with cotton, my thoughts sluggish and disjointed. I fumble for my phone, squinting at the bright screen in the dimness of my room. An unknown number flashes across the display, followed by a cryptic message:

Have you considered the offer?

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