The Voss estate pulsed with life. Damian Voss stood at the center of it all, drink in hand, dressed in black silk and arrogance. He leaned against the railing, tossing careless comments at the people orbiting him like moths — drunk, laughing, enamored. His smirk cut through the crowd like a blade. Someone called him a god. He didn’t disagree. He didn’t see her at first. Evelyn Carter had never been one of his favorites — too quiet, too smart, too plain. The girl he mocked for fun, for daring to look at him in class with those curious eyes that were too knowing. She was the "nerd girl" with a spine too stiff for his liking. Until tonight. She stepped into the garden like a shadow made of silver and saltwater. Her black gown clung to her figure like liquid midnight, intricate beading sparkling like stars. Her hair — thick, ink-dark — floated around her shoulders with a surreal, underwater softness. Eyes like tidepools — green, cold, bottomless. She looked like something out of a fever dream — or a warning. Damian glanced her way, then back at his drink. Then back again, slower. He said nothing, but his smirk faded for the first time that night. It all happened in a flash. Someone stumbled, drunk and clumsy, shoving past him with a wild laugh. Damian’s balance gave way. His body twisted, and before he could curse or catch himself, cold swallowed him. The pool took him like a predator. The shock of it paralyzed him. Water surged into his throat. He flailed. He sank. His foot kicked something—metal—too late. The hem of his designer shirt had caught in the drain. His panic exploded. He thrashed, clawing at the fabric binding him, but it only pulled tighter. Above the surface, the music kept playing. Laughter. Glasses clinking. Lights gleaming. No one saw him vanish. No one cared. No one… except her. Evelyn had been watching him from across the pool, nursing her own untouched drink. She saw the fall, the splash, then—nothing. The seconds dragged. He didn’t come up. And then, she dropped her glass. Without a word, she kicked off her heels and dove. The water swallowed her instantly. Her dress bloomed around her like the petals of some deep-sea flower, ink and silk fluttering with every movement. Her hair floated behind her like kelp. She sliced through the water like a siren, eyes wide, lungs burning. She saw him — sinking, eyes wild with panic, mouth open but silent, caught like a broken marionette. His hand reached toward her weakly, bubbles rising in frantic bursts. Her heart seized. She dove deeper. The drain held him fast, the fabric twisted around the metal like a noose. Evelyn grasped the shirt, tugged — it held. She bit down a scream. Her vision began to blur. Her lungs ached. She reached for the knot, fingers trembling, digging between his back and the metal. He grabbed her arm suddenly — terrified — and she nearly lost her grip. She pressed her forehead to his, forcing eye contact. Calm. Trust me. He stopped flailing. Barely. His body jerked as he swallowed more water, but he stopped fighting. She yanked again — harder. Her fingers slipped, nails tearing. Her vision darkened at the edges. Just a little more. With one last burst of desperation, she tore the cloth free. They shot upward. Her lungs screamed. She kicked with all she had, her body screaming in protest, her arms wrapped tight around his waist as they rose toward the moonlight above. And then—air. They broke the surface in a violent splash. Damian gasped, choking, coughing water violently. Evelyn dragged him to the edge, her strength nearly gone. She clung to the side and, with a grunt of pure will, heaved him up enough for someone nearby to finally notice and help pull him out. He collapsed on the stone, chest heaving. Water streamed from his nose and mouth. He looked like a prince who had drowned in his own palace. Evelyn climbed out after, dress soaked and clinging to her like second skin, hair plastered to her face. She sat beside him, silent, coughing once. Damian turned to look at her, eyes wide with something she’d never seen in him before — fear.