Chapter 3

Crew members brought over a large basket of reeking bait and dumped it in. Fish and shrimp guts mixed with blood rained down around me, the stench exploding.

The sea surface instantly boiled. Dark shadows surged wildly, schools of fish brushing past my limbs, creating currents and whirlpools that dragged me down.

I was repeatedly pulled underwater, then struggled to break the surface for air. The livestream chat was in a frenzy, betting on how long I could last, sound equipment aimed at me, waiting for me to break and beg.

Nina's crying voice amplified: "Please apologize, ma'am, don't let the Hart family be shamed."

"Shamed?" I laughed bitterly. The one disowned by the family for him—that was me.

His cold voice pressed again: "You even carved the word 'bitch' on her body with a knife. Let the sea wash you clean."

My heart clenched—I never did that. When I opened my mouth, seawater flooded my throat.

She continued to add fuel to the fire: "It's all my fault for making ma'am angry. She hit and scolded me, even made me drink toilet water, but I don't mind as long as I can stay by Mr. Cole's side."

He roared: "You actually forced Nina to drink toilet water! I was completely wrong about you!"

The crowd cheered. He had people bring cases of mineral water: "Use the bottles to hit her."

Nina pretended to refuse: "What if we hurt ma'am..."

"She deserves it! If anything happens, I'll take responsibility!" He made the final call.

So everyone on deck joined in, looking for anything to throw.

"Bang!" An empty champagne bottle hit my temple, my vision went black, blood rushing up my nose. Wine glasses, ashtrays, high heels, metal plates fell like hail. I dodged sluggishly in the water, my back taking a hit from a crystal ashtray that nearly knocked me unconscious.

Someone quietly reminded him: "Mr. Cole, this could go too far."

He chuckled: "Don't worry, she won't die. She'll pretend to be weak for sympathy. She'll call for help when she really can't take it. Look at her—has she even shouted 'help' once?"

I hadn't begged. Begging him would be more humiliating than death.

The pain, humiliation, and mocking laughter pierced my heart. But my heart froze in the extreme cold, my will flowing upstream—I would live.

I gritted my teeth and flipped over, no longer surfacing, diving down instead to avoid the attacks from above.

Underwater, I tore at that elaborate gown—the dress I'd chosen for him had become my chains. The zipper was stuck, so I bit down on the shoulder strap and yanked hard.

The fabric ripped, and I broke free from the shell of "Mrs. Cole."