Helena approached hesitantly. “Seraphina… let me help you.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s fine. You don’t need to.”
She lingered anyway, fidgeting. I turned back to the cutting board, but my grip—already weakened by fever—failed me. The knife slipped again.
This time, it nicked Helena’s finger as she reached for the plate.
She gasped as blood surfaced.
Dominic rushed in instantly, fury blazing in his eyes. Without listening, his hand struck my face again—harder—sending me crashing against the counter.
“You hurt her?” he bellowed. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I didn’t mean to—she reached for—” My voice broke.
Helena whispered weakly, “It’s not her fault, Dominic. Please—”
But his rage drowned her out.
He hit me again. And again.
I lost count. Pain blurred into numbness. I could barely stand.
“Apologize!” he barked.
“No,” I rasped, blood coating my lips. “It wasn’t my fault—”
His expression turned icy.
Then he shoved me with brutal force.
My body flew backward, slamming into the sliding doors that led to the pool.
The water engulfed me instantly.
Cold. Heavy. Suffocating.
I thrashed, gasping, terror clawing through me. I couldn’t swim—not since the cruise. Water meant panic. Water meant death.