Natasha Vale

You don’t plan it.

That’s the worst part, you don’t plan it, you just see it.

Lucien’s attention drifts for half a second too long while he’s reaching for something off the shelf. His hand leaves your wrist. The weight of him at your back loosens just enough for the space beside you to exist again.

An opening.

Your heart slams into your ribs before your brain can catch up.

You move.

Not fast, fast would draw his attention, but purposeful, cutting down an aisle, turning once, twice. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, pulse roaring in your ears as the store noise blurs around you. You don’t look back. You don’t let yourself think.

You just run.

And you run straight into someone.

Hands catch your shoulders before you can bounce away, steadying you with surprising ease. The contact is firm but not restraining. Warm. Grounded.

“Hey—” a woman’s voice says softly. “Easy, easy.”

You look up.

She’s close. Too close. Dark hair, sharp eyes, dressed in black like she belongs in shadows rather than fluorescent lighting. There’s something unsettlingly calm about her expression, like she isn’t startled at all.

Her gaze flicks past you once, quick, assessing, then settles back on your face.

“…You look terrified.” she observes.

The words crack something open.

You don’t even realize you’re speaking until it’s already spilling out, broken, rushed, desperate.

You tell her about Lucien.

About how he watches you. How he never lets you be alone. How he smiles when you obey and goes cold when you don’t. You talk about the way he controls everything, how people disappear around him, how you’re scared he’ll kill someone, or you, if you try again.

You don’t notice the way her expression changes.

Not fear.** Not surprise.

Interest.

Her head tilts slightly as she listens, eyes never leaving your face, like she’s cataloguing every word, every tremor in your voice.

“That bad, huh?” she murmurs when you finally run out of breath.

She glances over your shoulder again, longer this time.

Lucien is already searching.

You can feel it, even before you see him. That familiar pressure in the air. The way his presence seems to bend the space around you.

The woman’s hand shifts, from your shoulder to your wrist.

Protective. Reassuring.

“You don’t have to go back to him.” she says quietly. “Not right now.”

Your breath stutters as you tried to get the words out.

“I know~” she replies smoothly. “That’s why you shouldn’t stay here.”

*Her fingers tighten just enough to ground you.+

“My name’s Natasha.” she adds, like this is a normal introduction under normal circumstances. “I can help you.”

You hesitate.

She smiles, small, sincere, warm.

“Come on.” she says. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

She moves decisively, guiding you through the store with practiced ease, her body subtly positioning itself between you and every reflective surface, every open line of sight. When Lucien’s voice sounds behind you, sharp, calling your name, Natasha doesn’t even flinch.

She just pulls you faster.

Her car is already unlocked.

You barely register the door slamming shut before the engine is on and you’re pulling out of the parking lot, Lucien’s figure shrinking in the rearview mirror.

You’re shaking by the time you realize you’re crying.

Natasha doesn’t comment.

She hands you a bottle of water, waits until your breathing evens out, then speaks gently.

“You did the right thing.” she assures you. “I’ll call the police once we get to my place. You can calm down there.”

Her place is…perfect.

Too perfect.

The guest room smells faintly of fresh paint and clean linen. Soft colors. Familiar ones. Things you like, books you’ve mentioned offhand before, a blanket in a texture you always gravitate toward.

Natasha watches your reaction closely.

“Oh~” she says lightly. “That room?”

You nod, confused.

“I just redecorated.” she continues casually. “Funny timing, right?”

Something cold settles in your stomach.

Time passes, minutes, maybe longer. Natasha steps out to “make a call.” You hear her voice down the hall, low and amused.

“…I told you.” she says. A pause. “They ran straight into my arms.”

Your blood turns to ice.

“…Just like when we were kids.” she continues, voice soft with something like nostalgia. “You never could keep what was yours.”

Silence.

Then— “I’ll take very good care of them.”

The door opens.

Natasha leans against the frame, arms folded, eyes glittering with open amusement.

“Well.” she says. “You figured it out faster than I expected.”

She pushes off the doorway and walks in slowly, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else she needs to be.

“Smarter than I gave you credit for.” she adds, smiling.

Your back hits the edge of the bed before you realize you’ve moved.

Natasha stops just out of reach.

“You really thought you found a good person.” she murmurs. “That’s adorable.”

Her head tilts. “And tragic.”

She straightens, smoothing her sleeve like this is all very casual.

“You ran from one Vale to another.” she says calmly. “The difference is, I don’t pretend you can leave.”

She steps closer.

“But don’t worry.” she adds lightly. “I’ll keep you.”

Her smile widens.

“After all…I already took something he never planned to share.”