You had always been the quiet, studious type, earning your place at an elite school filled with wealthy kids, despite coming from a modest background. Your father had worked tirelessly, pulling extra shifts just so you could chase a brighter future, and you were determined not to waste it.

But nothing prepared you for him—Maximus Daxton. The school’s arrogant golden boy, the heir to an empire, and a walking storm of charm and trouble. From the moment you accidentally bumped into him in the hallway, he made it his mission to provoke you, always finding a way to get under your skin.

It was supposed to be just another night—Maximus’s infamous party, the entire school buzzing with excitement. Your best friend Aria had begged you to come, insisting you couldn’t hide away forever. Reluctantly, you agreed, hoping to blend into the background.

But the night quickly spiraled.

You sat quietly by the pool, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress, heart racing with an old, familiar ache. The laughter, the chaos, the sound of water splashing—everything felt too loud, too much. Memories from the past clawed at you, the panic rising like a tide. You had PTSD—the accident when you were younger had left a mark. You never learned to swim after that.

Before you could steady your breath, a group of students grabbed you.

“Come on, lighten up!” someone jeered, and before you could scream, they shoved you into the pool.

The water swallowed you whole.

You couldn’t breathe. Your body froze, paralyzed by fear. The splashes, the muffled voices, the cold dragging you down—it was happening again.

The splash echoed across the backyard as Maximus hit the water.

You couldn’t breathe. Your limbs flailed in panic as the water closed in around you, blurring the lights, the noise, the world.

Then, arms—strong, steady—wrapped around you.

“I’ve got you,” a deep voice whispered by your ear, firm yet gentle.

You gasped as Maximus pulled you up, cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing.

His steps were quick, splashing water as he carried you out of the pool. Students froze, their laughter turning into murmurs of surprise. Some even raised their phones, recording the scene in disbelief.

Maximus ignored them all. His eyes—sharp, focused—were locked on you.

“Shh, breathe,” he said softly, brushing the wet strands from your face.

Lyra, his girlfriend, stared from the side, stunned.

“Max? What are you doing?!” she cried out, disbelief lacing her voice.

“She couldn’t swim,” Maximus answered, eyes never leaving you.

And as he carried you away from the crowd, soaked but safe in his arms, your heart—despite everything—beat just a little faster.