Page 17 of All The Pretty Little Lies

"Get dressed and come to your father's study. Immediately." The sharp click of her heels fade down the hallway, leaving me in a whirlwind of confusion and dread.

My hands shake as I pull on a pair of tailored trousers and a crisp white blouse. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror - my blonde hair a wild mess, my green eyes wide with apprehension. I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself. If Oscar and Zaire’s warning is right, their uncle issued his ultimatum. I needed to play along. I have to make them believe in this facade.

The house feels different as I make my way to Father's study. The usual hum of activity is muted, replaced by a tense silence that seems to cling to the walls. As I approach the heavymahogany door, I can hear my father's voice, low and dangerous like a gathering thunderstorm.

"...absolutely unacceptable. That Russian bastard thinks he can dictate terms to me? In my own house?"

I pause, my hand hovering over the doorknob. My father rarely loses his composure like this. Whatever's happening, it's bad.

I push open the door, and the scene before me freezes my blood. Father stands behind his massive desk, his face flushed with rage. Mother perches on the edge of a leather armchair, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the upholstery.

Father's eyes lock onto me the moment I enter. "Vesper," he growls, "pack your bags. You're getting on a plane to Moscow today."

The world tilts beneath my feet with the confirmation that they were right. Oscar and Zaire weren’t lying to me. "What? But I thought-"

"Victor Petrov," Father spits the name like a curse, "is demanding your presence, immediately. He says that if you're not there by tonight, the deal's off." He slams his fist on the desk, making me flinch. "This is your brother’s fault. Those nephews of his must have spun quite the story.”

I stand frozen, my mind reeling as I try to school my reactions.Play your part, Vesper. They can’t know.

"Antonio, this is absurd! What about the wedding?" My mother rises from her seat, her perfectly coiffed hair bouncing slightly with the sudden movement. I watch as she paces the room, her designer heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Her hands gesticulate wildly, a rare display of emotion from a woman who prides herself on composure. "The expense alone is staggering. Do you have any idea how much we've already invested in this affair?"

Father's face darkens further if that's even possible. "You think I don't know that, Elizaveta? You think I'm happy about this?" He runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, a gesture I've seen a thousand times when he's trying to maintain control. "But we don't have a choice. If we want this alliance to hold, we play by their rules."

I find my voice at last, though it comes out as barely more than a whisper. "And what about what I want?"

Both of my parents turn to look at me as if they'd forgotten I was even in the room. Mother's expression softens slightly. "Oh, darling," she sighs, "You know better than to think you had a choice in this matter. This last minute change is an inconvenience, but it doesn’t change anything.”

"Inconvenient?" I interrupt, my voice growing stronger. "This isn't just an inconvenience, Mother. This is my life we're talking about!"

Father's gaze hardens. "Your life, Vesper, has always been about more than just you. You've known this since you were a child. The family comes first."

I feel a surge of anger rising within me, hot and fierce. A surge I cannot stamp down. This may be my last chance to say my peace. I can’t die on this hill now without a little push back. "The family comes first? Is that why you're shipping me off like some bargaining chip?"

Father's eyes flash dangerously. "Watch your tone, young lady. This isn't up for discussion."

But I'm too far gone now, the words spilling out of me like a dam breaking. "It never is, is it? Not when it comes to what I want. Not when it comes to my future."

Mother steps between us, her hands raised placatingly. "Please, let's all calm down." She turns to Father, her accent thickening as it always does when she's upset. "Antonio, maybe I could speak with Victor. My family has known the Petrovsfor generations. Surely he would listen to reason and allow this alliance to precede as planned."

Instead, his expression twists into something ugly. "Your family?" he sneers. "You mean those vodka-soaked has-beens who couldn't keep control of their own territory? The ones who came crawling to me for protection when the Petrovs started muscling in?" He shakes his head dismissively. "No, Elizaveta. Your connections are useless. They'd probably make things worse.”

I watch as Mother recoils as if she's been slapped, her usually impeccable composure crumbling. "How dare you," she whispers, her voice trembling with hurt and anger. "My family may have fallen on hard times, but they were once respected. They had honor."

Father scoffs. "Honor doesn't mean shit when you're bleeding money and influence. The Petrovs saw weakness, and they pounced. That's how this world works. Victor has the upper hand right now because your fuck up of a son couldn’t control himself for a fucking week."

“You were the one who insisted that our son…,” she spits back before my father cuts her off. They trade barbs back and forth, aiming to cut each other down. I stand there, caught between my warring parents, feeling like a child again.

"Stop it!" I shout, surprising even myself with the force of my voice. Both of them turn to look at me, startled. "Just stop. This isn't helping anyone."

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. I think of Oscar's message, of the escape plan we've been crafting. I think of the life I could have, free from all of this.

"I'll go," I say finally, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'll go to Moscow."

I turn on my heel and march out of the study, not waiting for my father's dismissal. The heavy mahogany door slams behindme, muffling the renewed argument between my parents. Their voices fade as I climb the grand staircase, my fingers trailing along the polished banister.

I return to my room, looking around my gilded cage for the last time. Whether or not Oscar’s plan works, I will not be returning here. With a sigh, I walk to my closet and find my suitcase. The one my mother had given to me as a Christmas present years ago. The leather is soft and supple beneath my fingers. It's monogrammed with my name- Vesper Rossi- a constant reminder of the weight of my family name.

I begin to pack, selecting clothes that will be suitable for Moscow's weather. Each item I place in the suitcase feels like another brick in the wall of my prison. Designer labels and luxury fabrics, the wardrobe staples for a mafia princess bound for marriage. As I fold a cashmere sweater, my mind wanders to Oscar and Zaire. Are they watching the house, waiting for their moment? Will they be able to get me out before I'm whisked away to Russia? The uncertainty gnaws at me, making my hands shake as I continue to pack.

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