Page 38 of All The Pretty Little Lies

His words hit me like a physical blow, and I recoil. "How dare you?—"

"How dare I?" Oscar's voice rises, his carefully controlled facade cracking. "How dare you! I told you to stay outside. To let me handle it.”

“You call her screaming about missing babies handling it, Oz?”

“I had it under control.”

“Didn’t seem that way to me,” I fire back.

Oscar's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. I can see the storm brewing in his eyes, the tension coiling in his shoulders. But I'm not backing down. Not this time.

"You're not seeing the truth of the situation, Oz," I spit out, my voice low and harsh. "Whoever had her? They didn't just break her body. They shattered her mind."

The hallway seems to shrink around us, the air thick with unspoken accusations and simmering rage. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears and feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"She's better off a ghost," I continue. "A memory. Not this empty shell of her, screaming about babies that don't exist."

The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I've crossed a line. Oscar's eyes widen, then narrow dangerously. In an instant, his carefully controlled facade shatters completely.

"You son of a bitch," he growls, and then his fist connects with my jaw.

Pain explodes across my face, but I don't stagger. Instead, I let the familiar rush of violence wash over me, welcoming it likean old friend. I lunge forward, tackling Oscar to the ground. We hit the floor hard, the impact jarring my bones.

Fists fly in a flurry of movement. I catch him with an elbow to the ribs and hear the satisfying whoosh of air leaving his lungs. But Oz gives as good as he gets, his knuckles splitting my lip, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.

We roll across the floor, a tangle of limbs and fury. Picture frames rattle on the walls, a vase topples and shatters to the ground. In the back of my mind, I know we're making too much noise, and that someone will come to investigate. But I can't bring myself to care.

"You don't get to decide that!" Oscar roars, pinning me to the ground. His eyes are wild, his perfectly styled hair a mess. "You don't get to write her off like that!"

I buck my hips, throwing him off balance, and reverse our positions. My hands find his throat, not squeezing, just holding. A warning.

"And you don't get to play hero," I snarl back. "Open your eyes, Oz!" I shout, pinning him there. "This isn't a fairy tale. There's no happily ever after here. The sooner you accept that, the better off we'll all be."

For a moment, we're frozen like that, chests heaving, blood dripping onto the carpet beneath us. The air crackles with tension, with unspoken words and shared history.

Then, from behind the closed door, we hear a muffled whimper. Vesper's voice, small and frightened, calling out for help that isn't coming.

The fight drains out of me in an instant. I release Oscar's throat, rolling off him and onto my back. I stare at the ceiling, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. The taste of blood lingers on my tongue, and I can feel a bruise blooming on my jaw where Oscar's fist connected. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, broken only by the soft sounds of ourlabored breathing and Vesper's muffled whimpers from behind the closed door.

Suddenly, footsteps echo down the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. I turn my head, wincing at the movement, to see Alex and Talon rounding the corner. They stop short at the sight of us sprawled on the floor, surrounded by the debris of our fight.

Talon's eyebrows shoot up, his lips quirking into a sardonic smile. "Having a nice chat, are we?" he drawls, his British accent more pronounced than usual.

I grunt in response, pushing myself up to a sitting position. Oscar follows suit, his movements stiff and pained. The fury in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a weariness that makes him look older than his years.

"Zaire drugged her," Oscar says, his voice hoarse. "Again."

Talon's smile fades, his expression growing serious. He runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair, loosening it from its man bun. "I see," he says, his tone carefully neutral.

I brace myself for another lecture, another round of accusations. But to my surprise, Talon doesn't immediately condemn my actions. Instead, he sighs heavily, leaning against the wall.

"Look," he says, his eyes darting between Oscar and me. "I'm not saying I agree with what Zaire did, but she's been through a lot. She needs time."

Oscar opens his mouth to argue, but Alex cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "We need to discuss this," he says, his voice low and urgent. "All of us. But not here in the hallway."

As if on cue, another whimper filters through the door. I see Oscar flinch, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"What about the babies she keeps mentioning?" I ask, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. "Are we just going to ignore that?"

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