Page 33 of All The Pretty Little Lies

As she leads me towards a makeshift office, I can’t help but marvel at the surreal nature of it all. Here I am about to sign papers as if I were buying a car or a house, not a human being.The absurdity of it all would be laughable if it weren't so damn terrifying.

Natasha's demeanor doesn't change as she slides the documents towards me. There's not even a flicker of emotion in her eyes as she points out where to sign. It's clear that for her, this is just another transaction, no different from selling a piece of jewelry or a rare painting.

"The payment is being processed as we speak," one of the guards informs us, his voice a low rumble. I force myself not to outwardly sigh in relief. Of all the accounts for Alex to skim, we’d gotten lucky it was one of Victor’s. The bastard had way too much money, but in this situation, it worked out in our favor.

I scan the documents before me, trying to absorb every detail without appearing too interested. The legalese is dense, filled with terms like "transfer of ownership”. There is a page of medical records as well.

“As you can see on her medical records, she has been given a long-lasting contraception injection prior to her sale. There is also a certified letter from her owner’s physician outlining her physical evaluation at the time of sale.” Natasha points to a line toward the top of the page that reads “confirmed intact hymen.”

“I’ll need you to sign here to accept your purchase as stated on the medical record.”

My stomach churns as I force myself to sign page after page, each signature feeling like a betrayal to everything I believe in, but at least, the name on her ownership papers isn’t my real name. That, I can live with.

As I flip through the stack, a name catches my eye: Johan Mikeal. I commit it to memory, along with a few others that stand out - names of shell companies and offshore accounts. Every bit of information could be crucial later.

Just as I'm about to sign the final page, a small addendum at the bottom catches my attention. "What's this?" I ask, tapping the paper with my index finger, trying to keep my tone casual.

Natasha leans over, her perfume - something expensive and cloying - invading my senses. "Ah, yes. That is a special breeding clause," she explains, her voice devoid of any emotion. "Miss Rossi's previous owners wish to maintain rights to her harvested eggs, and any living offspring she may produce."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I struggle to keep my face neutral, even as rage boils beneath the surface. "Breeding clause?" I repeat, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I wasn't aware this was part of the deal."

Natasha's lips curl into a cold smile. "It's a standard procedure for acquisitions of Miss Rossi's caliber. Her genetic makeup is quite valuable, you see. The clause ensures that her previous owners retain rights to any potential future progeny."

The longer she talks, the sicker it makes me feel. I knew that shit like this happened in our world, but seeing it first hand is another beast all together. The casual way she discusses Vesper's reproductive rights as if she were nothing more than a prized mare, makes me want to flip the table and burn this whole place to the ground. But I can't. Not yet. Not if I want to get Vesper out of here safely.

"I see," I manage, swallowing hard. "And what exactly does this entail for me, as her new...owner?"

"Oh, it's quite simple," Natasha replies, her manicured nails tapping against the document. "Should Miss Rossi become pregnant during your ownership, you would be required to notify her previous owners. They would then have first rights to any resulting children." Jesus fucking Christ. It’s as if I am buying a heifer for breeding stock.

My mind reels at the implications. This isn't just about Vesper anymore. It's about potential innocent lives, treated as nothing more than commodities before they're even conceived.

"And if I refuse to agree to this clause?" I ask, testing the waters.

Natasha's eyes harden, the first real emotion I've seen from her. "Then I'm afraid we cannot proceed with the sale. The breeding clause is non-negotiable."

I nod slowly, pretending to consider my options. In reality, I know I have no choice. If I want to get Vesper out of here, I have to play along, no matter how much it sickens me. With a heavy heart and a forced smile, I nod. "Very well. I understand."

I sign the final page, my signature feeling like a death sentence. The weight of what I've just agreed to settles on my shoulders like a lead blanket. But I can't dwell on it now. I have to stay focused.

"Excellent," Natasha purrs, gathering the documents with practiced efficiency. "Now, let's confirm the transfer of funds, shall we?"

We wait in tense silence as one of the guards makes a phone call. The minutes stretch like hours, each tick of the clock echoing in my ears. Finally, the guard nods, his face impassive.

"The funds have cleared, ma'am," he announces.

Relief floods through me, but I keep my expression neutral. "Wonderful," I say, infusing my voice with just the right amount of enthusiasm. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to see my purchase."

Natasha's lips curl into a cold smile. "Of course, Mr. Blackwood. Right this way."

She leads me down a narrow corridor, the click of her heels on the concrete floor echoing ominously. We stop in front of a nondescript door, and Natasha produces a key card, swiping it with practiced ease.

The door swings open, and my breath catches in my throat. There, in the center of the stark room, sits Vesper. She's perched on a simple metal chair, her posture rigid and uncomfortable. A black blindfold covers her eyes, and I can see the outline of bulky headphones beneath her cascade of blonde hair.

I want nothing more than to rush to her side, to rip away the blindfold and headphones, to tell her that everything will be okay. But I can't. Not with Natasha's piercing gaze boring into my back.

"Well?" Natasha prompts, her voice laced with amusement. "Aren't you going to inspect your purchase?"

I swallow hard, forcing myself to approach Vesper with calculated nonchalance. I circle her slowly, taking in every detail. The curve of her neck, the slight tremor in her hands, the way her chest rises and falls with each measured breath. She's scared, I realize, but she's doing her damnedest not to show it.

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