I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 89 - 90 Drowning

Chapter 89: Chapter 90 Drowning

I stepped into her space. ‘Oh really? What, you’re going to threaten me now? Come on, Isobel. It’s 2025, not the Wild West. What’s the plan—whack me? You think your precious family’s still going to clean up your mess? Still going to bail you out after everything you’ve done?’

Her face flushed deep red, her breath jagged like she was seconds from bursting a blood vessel.

‘Don’t talk to me like that!’ she hissed, her raised voice drawing attention.

She glanced around, suddenly self-conscious, and dropped her tone. ‘Fine. How much would it take?’

‘I told you, I don’t want money. I want you to go to the police and confess. Own up to what you did.’

‘Not gonna happen.’

‘Then we’re done.’

I turned and walked off.

It wasn’t like I could conjure up a sack, throw it over her head, and pick up where we left off back in high school with a proper beatdown.

Short of that, I was done.

She scrambled after me. ‘Wait!’

Her hand clamped onto my arm.

Stronger grip than I expected.

I backhanded her in the ribs, hard enough to make her wheeze and let go with a winded ‘oof’.

‘Ow! You hurt me!’ she snarled.

‘I’ll hurt you worse if you keep following me.’

I turned away.

A pair of kids ran past, squealing, inflatable swim rings bouncing around their waists.

I stepped aside to avoid them, my back momentarily to Isobel.

She must’ve thought that was her moment.

Even without looking, I felt it—the air shift, the sharp clack of her heels against the concrete, the sickly waft of her perfume.

I sidestepped and pivoted.

She lunged straight past me—arms flailing, legs sliding—and crashed towards the swimming pool.

Except I’d misjudged.

Didn’t shift far enough.

As she flew past, her flailing hand caught the back of my knee and yanked.

‘Shit!’

I couldn’t stop it.

I pitched forward helplessly, headed straight for the pool.

The water hit me like a wall.

Cold, sharp, punishing.

It slapped against my skin and swallowed me whole.

I sank immediately, the chill biting into my bones.

All sound blurred into muffled silence.

A thrash—Isobel’s arm, maybe trying to swim—caught me across the stomach, knocking the breath from my lungs.

Her leg clipped me again, and I was pushed further away, the current scattering us like broken pieces.

I should’ve been fine.

The pool wasn’t deep.

Kids swam here.

But the world tilted.

My vision dimmed at the edges, narrowing like a tunnel.

Panic surged—sudden, irrational, all-consuming.

The kind of fear that didn’t care about logic.

My limbs turned to stone.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t rise.

My arms flailed weakly, but they weren’t swimming—they were sinking.

The cold wasn’t just water anymore.

The memory hit me like a brick to the chest.

Years ago. High school.

Sixteen and stupid, still trusting people I shouldn’t.

Isobel had lured me to an abandoned building with some thug from off-campus—someone twice my size, reeking of cigarettes and something worse.

I’d wanted to leave.

I tried.

But my head was spinning from the spiked drink someone had handed me earlier.

The bastard reached for me, slurring something, and I knew if I didn’t get out, something irreversible would happen.

There’d been a rusted piece of rebar on the floor.

I found it by accident, fingers grazing cold metal.

When he lunged, I swung.

It landed with a sickening thud, and he went down hard.

The back window was loose.

I forced it open.

There was a river below.

I didn’t even hesitate. I jumped.

But I couldn’t swim.

Not then. Not while I was drunk, disoriented, terrified out of my mind.

The water closed over me, cold and endless.

I kicked, thrashed, screamed—but it all stayed trapped inside.

The sky vanished.

All that existed was the current, swallowing me, choking me.

The taste of dirty water in my mouth.

The weight of my clothes dragging me down.

The realisation that no one was coming.

No one knew.

I was utterly alone.

And that old terror—the one I’d buried so deep—slammed into me now like it had never left.

The pool wasn’t a pool anymore.

It was that river again.

And I wasn’t Mirabelle Vance, the woman who survived.

I was that sixteen-year-old girl again—betrayed, alone, drowning with no one to save her.

My limbs forgot how to move.

My body forgot how to fight.

Panic clamped down like a vice, locking every muscle, scrambling every thought.

I didn’t know which way was up.

My vision blurred.

My chest burned.

My lungs convulsed, desperate for air.

My mouth opened, and water rushed in, cold and vicious.

The edges of my mind flickered, like a dying lightbulb.

Then—something.

A figure, slicing through the water.

I couldn’t tell if it was real or just my brain giving me something beautiful to die to.

A hallucination. A ghost.

But it was coming straight for me. Fast, purposeful, unstoppable.

My mouth opened again, but this time not for air.

Maybe for help. Maybe for a name.

Nothing came out.

Then—arms. Solid. Real.

One wrapped tight around my waist, anchoring me.

That was when I knew it wasn’t a dream, wasn’t a trick of the light or some fading fantasy.

And the moment that truth registered, my body gave out.

Everything went black.