A woman's scream shattered the chatter. Someone dropped a plate. On pure instinct, Sophie ran to the railing, dress clinging to her legs, heart racing. All she could see was the whirlpool of water closing over where Alex Grant had just been.
On deck, the world seemed to stop. The guests rushed out, crowding the rail, the wind holding the collective breath of the yacht. Sophie didn't hesitate. She dove in, slicing through the cold water with the skill of someone familiar with the abyss. She swam hard, muscles tight, dress tangling around her legs, but none of it mattered: she found Alex beneath the surface, arms splayed, hair floating like seaweed. She pulled him up just as two life rings hit the water nearby, thrown by panicked hands above. A professional lifeguard was already diving in, reaching them as Sophie kept Alex afloat, both of them hanging onto the life rings amid the smell of gasoline and salt.
They were hauled back onto the deck. Alex's face was drained of all color; the crowd murmured, some filming, others wringing their hands in silent panic. Without a pause, Sophie knelt beside him, hair plastered to her face, and started mouth-to-mouth. Time warped, tense, until Alex choked out water and coughed, life jerking back into him. Relief rippled across the yacht.
But before the silence could break, Alex—still catching his breath—pushed Sophie gently aside, chest heaving. He got up slowly, with help from the crew, and his eyes swept over the crowd of guests—wealthy, golden, scared, their social masks slipping at the scandal.
"I hope," his voice was rough, but full of authority, "everyone here understands exactly what happened today."
He fixed his gaze on one man still clutching his phone, each word hitting like a warning.
"If any of you breathe a word about this—especially to Veronica, or the press—if even a single detail leaks, I'll deal with it myself. And I promise, it won't be pleasant for anyone."
His tone silenced even the wind.
"You were invited to a private event, in private waters. What happened here stays here."
There was a collective sigh. Phones disappeared into pockets and purses. No one even looked at Sophie, who was helping Alex to his feet, his arm heavy across her shoulders.
A crew member cleared a path, and together—Sophie, Alex, and the sailor—headed to the yacht's main suite, their steps echoing on the polished wood as, behind them, the guests stared at each other, stunned, caught between fear, fascination, and the awkwardness of having witnessed the wreck of a reputation.
At the suite door, Alex hesitated, turning to Sophie:
"Thank you. For everything."
Sophie, wiping her forehead with a tissue, didn't acknowledge the thanks.
"What the hell was that, huh?" she snapped, her voice low, thick with fear and anger. "Did you even think about anyone but yourself? If I couldn't swim, you'd have dragged me down too! And if there weren't witnesses? I could've gone to jail, Alex! You nearly ruined my life—one way or another!"
Alex tried to smile, but his lips quivered.
"I… I'm sorry. I just… I'm hurting so much, Sophie. I didn't know how to keep going…"
"Hurting?" she let out a bitter laugh. "You're a millionaire, Alex. You don't know what hurting is. You ever had to sell yourself out, humiliate yourself, do whatever it takes to pay for your own kid's treatment? You ever had to watch your son be raised by your sister because you can't even admit you're his mom, all because you're scared his father—a dangerous man—might do something horrible to him? That's suffering, Alex."
Silence stretched between them, the yacht swaying gently, their breathing filling the space. Alex closed his eyes, taking it in. When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper:
"Your sister's pretending your son is hers?"
Sophie nodded, exhausted.
He stayed silent for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, then straightened as a new idea hit him.
"What if… what if you pretended to be my long-lost daughter? A kid from some old affair of mine, from way back. Just so I could get back at my wife, make her feel a little of what she put me through. I'll pay you—enough to cover your son's treatment—and all you have to do is act like you're my daughter. Nothing else."
Sophie, still breathless, stood frozen for a moment, feeling the weight of his proposal settle over them. There, between the salt air and the shadows of the suite, she knew her life would never be the same.
Accepting that proposal meant selling not only her presence, but her very identity. And the price of such a sacrifice was impossible to predict.