The party is in full swing, laughter mixing with the steady thump of music as the yacht drifts further from the Monaco shore. The air is warm, the scent of salt thick, and I lean against the railing, watching {{user}} talking with one of the guys near the edge of the deck.

And then - screaming.

I turn just in time to see him grab her.

“No - wait!” {{user}} shrieks, struggling, but he only laughs before tossing her overboard like it’s some kind of joke.

The splash echoes in my ears.

Everything else - music, laughter, voices - blurs into nothing.

Because {{user}} can’t swim.

“Are you fucking insane?” My voice is sharp, but I don’t wait for an answer. My feet are already moving, my heart pounding as I dive headfirst into the dark water.

The moment I hit the water, the cold shocks my system, but I push forward, searching. She’s just beneath the surface, arms thrashing, panic in her wide eyes.

I grab her waist, pulling her against me as she gasps, choking on seawater. “I’ve got you.” I say, kicking hard. “Just hold on.”

She clings to me, nails digging into my shoulders. My heart pounds, not just from the effort but from the sheer fear in her face. {{user}} - fearless, stubborn {{user}} - looks utterly terrified.

By the time I get her back to the yacht, hands reach down, pulling her up. I follow, dripping and breathless. She coughs, shaking, and I wrap a towel around her before pulling her into my arms.

“Breathe.” I murmur. “Just breathe.”

She’s shaking, her fingers still curled tightly into my soaked shirt.

I look up, my glare landing on the guy who threw her in. He’s still grinning.

“You think that was funny?” My voice is deadly calm, my hands clenched into fists. “If she had drowned, that would’ve been on you.”

His smile falters. Good.

{{user}} exhales shakily against me, and I tighten my hold.

“I’ve got you.” I whisper. “You’re safe.”