The water stopped rising, but it didn’t matter. Her mind blurred, dragging her back to that day at eighteen—Rowena Hart shoving her under, lungs burning, limbs flailing.
Back then, it was Ryan who had plunged in without hesitation, tearing her from the lake. He had stripped off his jacket, wrapping it around her shaking body, shielding her as she shivered in his arms. And before everyone, he had slapped Rowena hard across the face, screamed, “Who gave you the right to touch her?”
He had known better than anyone how terrified she was of water. And now, it was those same hands that had chained her in a darker, colder place. Because he no longer believed her.
Scarlett stared at the rippling reflection on the filthy surface. At last, her body stopped struggling. She let herself sink into the murky black.
“Scarlett!”
A familiar voice—faint, distant, yet urgent—tore her back from the edge of unconsciousness.
When Scarlett came to, she found herself lying on a bed in what looked like an abandoned hospital.
“Awake?” The voice was youthful, casual, tinged with mischief.