You Let Me Drown Now Watch Me Reign

1 My engagement to Declan Wright was supposed to be a flawless, submerged spectacle—a ring exchange one hundred feet down in the cavernous depths off the coast of Key Largo. But when we hit a violent thermal downdraft, my primary regulator suddenly cut off. I frantically grabbed my octopus, the bright yellow backup valve, but it was jammed tight. Not a single breath of oxygen pulled through. By the time the rescue divers dragged me onto the deck of the catamaran, I had suffered pulmonary barotrauma and two fractured ribs. I vomited a lungful of bloody saltwater onto the fiberglass deck, my vision tunneling into black. Drifting in and out of consciousness in the island clinic, the sterile smell of iodine thick in the air, I heard Declan’s business partner, Carter, whispering furiously in the hallway. "Declan, what the hell? You knew the currents at the Blue Hole were volatile today. Why did you make Nora dive with that ancient, rusted aluminum tank with the faulty pressure valve?" I heard the familiar flick of Declan’s Zippo lighter. His voice was casual, entirely devoid of panic. "She’s a master-level dive instructor. Her breath-hold capacity is insane. Swallowing a little saltwater wasn't going to kill her. Harper, on the other hand, gets claustrophobic in the open ocean. It made perfect sense to give Harper the custom German dual-valve gear. It’s the safest rig we have." "And when Nora wakes up and loses her mind over this?" Carter pressed. "She’s obsessed with me. I’ll go to the boutique in Miami, buy her that Hermès bag she’s been looking at, and she’ll be over it," Declan scoffed. "She’s a thirty-year-old woman whose lungs are probably shot. Who else is going to marry her?" The rhythmic beep of my heart monitor seemed to echo the hollow thud in my chest. I kept my eyes closed, letting the last tear I would ever shed for this man slide into my hairline. The moment I heard their footsteps fade down the corridor, I reached for my phone on the bedside tray. My hands were shaking, but my mind had never been clearer. I opened a text thread with my father. Dad. I’m done with the blond trainwreck. Tell the Montgomery family I’ll accept the merger. I'm ready to come home. ... 2 Less than ten minutes after sending that text, I ripped the IV out of the back of my hand, ignoring the fiery, tearing sensation in my chest. I hailed an Uber straight back to Azure Depths, the dive club Declan and I had built from the ground up. My torso was tightly bound in a heavy medical brace to keep my ribs from shifting. With every breath, it felt like someone was grinding crushed glass into my trachea. The moment I reached the frosted glass doors of the club’s VIP gear room, a chorus of laughter and cheers drifted out. I pushed the door ajar. There, standing in the center of the room, was Harper. She was wearing my custom-tailored, silver-to-midnight-blue gradient wetsuit. The neoprene hugged her waist perfectly, and right over the left breast was a delicate, gold-thread embroidery of a breaking wave. I had stayed awake for three consecutive nights sketching that wave. It was supposed to be my engagement armor, the suit Declan had promised to zip me into before we went down to exchange rings. Harper looked up and caught me leaning heavily against the doorframe. Her eyes lit up for a fraction of a second before morphing into the wide, panicked gaze of a startled deer. She immediately grabbed the hem of the wetsuit and jogged over. "Oh my gosh, Nora! What are you doing out of the hospital?" she gasped, her voice dripping with that sickly-sweet, fabricated innocence. "Didn’t the doctors say you had fluid in your lungs? You're supposed to be under observation for a week!" As she spoke, her fingers nervously fluttered over the gold wave embroidered on the chest. "Please don't be mad about the suit, Nora. Declan totally forced me to try it on for sizing. He said since your lungs are damaged, you won't be doing any deep dives anytime soon, and it would just be such a shame to let a gorgeous suit like this collect dust..." A few of the senior instructors—people I had personally trained and considered friends—quickly stepped in to run interference. "She’s right, Nora. Harper has the perfect frame for it. She looks incredible in the silver-blue for our promotional shoots. She just posted a reel in it on TikTok, and it already has ten thousand likes!" "Yeah, we’re all family at Azure Depths anyway. It doesn't matter who wears it. Harper is the new face of the club, right?" I didn't spare them a single glance. My eyes were locked dead on Declan, who was leaning against the air compressor, smoking. He wasn't in dive gear today. He wore an open black windbreaker, the frosted blonde tips of his hair catching the harsh fluorescent lights. When I met him at twenty-two, I thought that bleached, messy hair made him look wild, rebellious, and fiercely alive. Looking at him now, I just saw a cheap, pathetic clown. Declan shifted uncomfortably under my stare. He stubbed his cigarette out on the rim of the trash can and walked over, reaching out to grab my elbow. "Why aren't you in your hospital bed? You just love causing a scene, don't you? Weren't two broken ribs enough?" I turned my shoulder, dodging his touch. When I spoke, my voice was a raw, gravelly rasp from the intubation tube. "Where is the tank I wore yesterday?" Declan’s hand froze mid-air. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face. Harper instantly jumped in. "Nora, the logistics team already sent that old tank back to the manufacturer for an inspection! Declan said they hadn't figured out why the air stopped, and he didn't want you to see it and get, like, PTSD or something..." I followed the angle of her body, looking past her to the bottom rack of the equipment storage. Shoved into a corner on a damp rubber mat was a battered, black aluminum tank. The paint was chipping, and a deep, crescent-shaped gouge from a coral reef scarred its side. It was a training tank I had bought the year I founded Azure Depths. It was supposed to have been decommissioned six months ago. And right there, gleaming at Harper’s feet, was my eighteen-thousand-dollar, custom-ordered, dual-valve carbon-fiber tank from Germany. Slapped on the side was the waterproof plaque engraved with yesterday’s date—our intended engagement date. But the label that used to read Nora Hayes had been aggressively scraped off with a razor blade. In its place was a bubblegum-pink sticker that read: Harper’s Property ♡. Declan followed my line of sight, and the faux-concern dropped from his face, replaced by a patronizing scowl. "Nora, seriously? In front of the staff? Can you not walk in here with a face like a storm cloud and start interrogating everyone?" A dry, agonizing laugh tore from my throat, sending sharp spikes of pain through my chest. "I nearly died at a hundred feet. And asking to see the tank that choked the life out of me is considered an interrogation?" Declan took a step closer, lowering his voice, using the tone one might use to soothe a hysterical toddler. "The downdraft in the Blue Hole was unpredictable. No one could have seen that coming. It was Harper’s first time going down that deep for the engagement shoot. You know she has mild claustrophobia. If she panicked down there, it would have been a disaster. So I swapped her to the high-safety custom rig. Is that really a crime?" I tilted my chin up, forcing him to meet my eyes. "If that's the case, Declan... why did the primary valve on the tank you gave me seize up at ninety feet? And why was my emergency backup completely blocked?" A flash of genuine guilt crossed his eyes, but he quickly masked it with aggressive defensiveness. "Mechanical failures happen under deep-sea pressure! It’s a statistical anomaly. You’re a certified master diver. You're supposed to do a five-minute pressure check before you roll off the boat. You skipped it, and now you're blaming the gear?" The moment the words left his mouth, Harper’s eyes welled up with massive, theatrical tears. She reached for the zipper of the wetsuit. "Nora, please don't be mad at Declan. It’s all my fault! If I wasn't so weak, if I hadn't begged to come on the dive, he wouldn't have given me your gear. I’ll take it off right now. I’ll never dive again, I swear!" She cried out about taking it off, but her fingers clumsily fumbled with the zipper, not pulling it down a single inch. Instead, her knees buckled, and she swayed dramatically right into Declan’s chest. Right on cue, his protective instincts flared. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist, shielding her from me as he snapped. "Harper, stop! You don't have to take anything off. What I give you is yours. Nora, it’s a piece of neoprene and an oxygen tank. Do you really have to be this relentless? You're backing a terrified twenty-three-year-old into a corner!" Watching him fiercely protect the girl who had taken my armor, the jagged, bleeding pain in my chest suddenly went entirely numb. Eight years ago, during my master certification dive, I hit a thermocline and cramped up. It was Declan who plunged into the freezing depths without a second thought, wrapping his arms around me and shoving his own backup regulator into my mouth. His lips had been blue when we broke the surface, but he had cupped my face and made a vow: Don't ever be scared, Nora. As long as I'm alive, I will personally check your valves and your gauges. I will never let you miss a single breath down there. I had clung to that promise like an absolute fool for eight years. I trusted him enough to hand him my lungs, my life, and my future—only for him to pack it all into a rusted, decommissioned tank and hand it back to me. I didn't argue. I didn't scream. I just walked slowly over to the rack, reached down, and violently ripped the metal engagement date plaque off the custom German tank. The sharp edge sliced the pad of my index finger, leaving a bead of crimson. Declan’s jaw clenched. "Nora, what psychotic game are you playing now?" I closed my fist around the bloodied metal plate and looked at them with dead, empty eyes. "Just taking back what I designed. As for the suit and the tank—if Harper enjoys wearing my hand-me-downs so much, she can keep them as a parting gift." I turned and walked out of the gear room. I had just reached the edge of the parking lot when Carter came jogging around the corner of the building. Carter was our mutual best friend, the third pillar of Azure Depths. He was the one I’d heard questioning Declan in the hospital. He stopped in front of me, taking in my pale face and the oversized trench coat thrown over my hospital gown. He looked deeply ashamed. "Nora... yesterday, outside your room... did you hear what Declan and I were talking about?" I didn't break my stride, sidestepping him to head for my Jeep. Carter gritted his teeth and jogged to keep up, desperate to run damage control. "Nora, you have to understand. You know Declan. He talks a big game, he’s got an ego, but he wasn't trying to hurt you! He genuinely thought you were skilled enough to free-ascend. Harper has connections at a major TV network right now. We need her for a contract. He’s just indulging her to keep the business afloat." I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned slowly to look at him, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. "Carter. One hundred feet down. An unassisted, zero-oxygen emergency ascent against a downdraft. My alveoli were literally bursting. You’re a veteran diver. Are you really going to stand there and tell me he did that because he believes in my skills?" Carter flushed a deep, ugly red. He opened his mouth, but couldn't form a single word. The humid Florida wind rolled off the ocean, bringing with it the thick, metallic scent of salt and seaweed. It tickled my damaged trachea, sending me into a violent fit of coughing. I doubled over, bringing a fresh speck of bloody foam to my palm. Just as I yanked open the driver’s side door of my car, Declan stormed out of the club, his face thunderous. 3 He grabbed the edge of my open car door and carelessly tossed a sleek, orange Hermès box into my lap. It was meticulously wrapped, the signature brown ribbon perfectly tied. "Alright, that’s enough. Stop playing the martyr for everyone to see," Declan said. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at me with the air of a benevolent king offering scraps. "This is the Constance bag you liked on Instagram last month, isn't it? I pulled strings at the boutique in Miami to get it. Go back to the hospital. Let your ribs heal. Next month, when you can breathe normally again, I’ll throw you an underwater engagement party ten times bigger than yesterday." I stared down at the flawless orange box in my lap. My mind flawlessly replayed the audio of his voice from yesterday. She’s obsessed with me. I’ll go to the boutique in Miami, buy her that Hermès bag... She’s a thirty-year-old woman whose lungs are probably shot. Who else is going to marry her? In his eyes, eight years of my youth, my loyalty, and a near-death experience at the bottom of the ocean could be bought off with a fifteen-thousand-dollar piece of leather. I picked up the box. Without a word, I flicked my wrist and chucked it straight out the window. It landed with a sickening splat in a muddy puddle in the gravel lot, the pristine orange cardboard instantly soaking up the filthy, oily water. "Declan, the engagement is off. We’re done." The heavy, humid air went dead silent. Declan stared at the ruined Hermès box in the mud. A vein in his temple began to pulse violently, his patience entirely evaporated. "Are you out of your fucking mind, Nora?!" he exploded. "I buy you a bag. I give you a way out. And you’re still throwing a tantrum? When does this end?!" I looked up at him through the open window. "I almost died." "Yeah, well, you’re not dead, are you?!" he roared. The sound of his own shouting seemed to echo in the quiet lot. He looked at my face—ashen, hollowed out, devoid of the love that used to look at him like he hung the moon. He faltered for a second, running a frustrated hand through his bleached hair. He lowered his voice, but the irritation was still palpable. "What I mean is, you’re safe. You’re fine. What is the point of dwelling on an accident? Harper was a wreck over this. She cried the entire night in her hotel room because you got hurt. Her eyes are swollen shut. You’re five years older than her, Nora. You’re a professional. Can you just be the bigger person for once and let it go?" 4 Listening to his absolute, unshakeable sense of righteousness, a dull throb began behind my eyes. When I was twenty-two, I defied my father’s strict Boston-Brahmin upbringing. I rejected the arranged marriage my family had brokered with the Montgomery dynasty. I chose freedom. I chose love. I followed a broke, reckless Declan Wright down to Florida to chase a dream. Back then, he couldn't even afford the registration fee for his instructor exams. I secretly pawned the antique sapphire locket my late mother had left me, shoved the ten grand into his hands, and told him I believed in him. When Azure Depths first opened and we had zero clients, I stood on the blistering beach handing out flyers. In the dead of winter, when the Gulf waters turned freezing, I led eight tourist dives a day until the cold settled permanently into my joints. When he got lost in a submerged cave system trying to shoot a portfolio for a photography grant, I strapped on twin tanks and risked my own life to drag him out of the dark. I carried him from a damp, roach-infested studio apartment all the way to a multimillion-dollar business. And his very first act upon reaching the summit was to use my life as a stepping stone for some twenty-three-year-old girl, and then demand I be "the bigger person." I took a slow, agonizing breath. My voice was ice. "I am not throwing a tantrum, Declan. I am officially giving you notice. The wedding is canceled. I own forty percent of the equity in Azure Depths. Have the accountants liquidate my shares. I want my buyout in my account within three days." The last remnants of feigned patience vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating sneer. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a folded, legally binding document, and slapped it onto my dashboard. "Cancel the wedding? Cash out? You’re delusional, Nora. The club is signing an exclusive location contract with the Extreme Sports Network next week. If yesterday’s disaster gets classified as corporate negligence, the club will be shut down pending investigation, and we’ll be hit with a three-million-dollar breach of contract fee!" He leaned heavily against my door frame, his face inches from mine, his eyes hard and unyielding. "You want out? Fine. But first, you sign this Liability Release Form. You publicly admit that yesterday’s accident was your own operational error—that you forgot to check your backup valve. You clear the club and the equipment logs of any wrongdoing. You sign this, and I won't make you pay half of the three million."