Left to Sink, I Chose to Rise

At the yacht party, everyone watches as Sophia Montgomery falls overboard by accident, whereas I dive in after her to save her. When I reach her, she clings to me, dragging us both under.

Jack Harrison doesn't hesitate to jump in. He pushes me away before pulling her into his arms.

Up on deck, the crowd erupts in cheers, applauding the hero for saving the damsel in distress. Camera flashes go off endlessly.

Meanwhile, I struggle alone in the freezing ocean to reach the ladder. No one notices me.

The next morning, still burning with fever, I place a document in front of him.

"I want a divorce," I demand, my voice hoarse from swallowing seawater.

Jack frowns. "Just because of last night? Sophia can't swim, and it was an emergency. Since you can, you could make it back yourself."

A laugh escapes my lips. Of course. I can only rely on myself. I've been doing it for the past five years.

He only has eyes for Sophia, so, of course, he doesn't care whether I live or die.

After spending five years helping my husband walk again, he shoved me aside to save another woman when I fell into the water. As it turned out, my life was nothing in comparison to hers.

…

The corridor of the courthouse echoed with every step we took.

The moment we received our divorce certificate, Jack's face turned ashen, whereas I felt relieved.

"Need a ride?" he asked mechanically, as if fulfilling his final gentlemanly duty.

"I drove here myself."

"Claire," he said with a hint of irritation in his voice. "Five years of marriage shouldn't end like this."

Five years! I repeated those words in my head. With Sophia Montgomery finally back now, shouldn't he be thanking me for letting him do what he wanted?

I met his eyes. "We're strangers now that we're divorced, Jack. Besides, it's not like we were ever close, right?"

"Screw this!" he spat before storming off.

The moment I saw him disappear beyond the revolving doors, I exhaled deeply.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a bank notification informing me that 20 million dollars had been credited to my account. In addition to that, I had also received the Lexington apartment overlooking Elms Park, the villa at Ternhill, and several plots of commercial real estate from him.

As the unloved daughter of the Montgomery family, I had never received a cent from them. Funny how it was this failed marriage that granted me financial freedom.

"How ironic," I muttered to myself.

That very afternoon, I moved into my new home. Gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Lexington skyline, I felt true freedom for the first time. I thought I'd cry over this relationship since I had once loved him so deeply, but I didn't.

I slept soundly that night. There were no nightmares or tears, only the peace that came from being free.

When the sunlight woke me the next morning, I found myself in a bit of a daze. It was the first time in years I didn't have to care about someone else's feelings.

Our marriage was a transaction from the start.

Harrison Group needed the Montgomery family's pharmaceutical patents, and the Montgomery family needed financial aid from the Harrisons. That was how the two patriarchs struck a swift deal.

The bride was supposed to be Sophia, the precious jewel the Montgomery family had carefully groomed for 18 years. As for me, the biological daughter they only found when I turned 18, I was just a substitute.

Due to the mix-up at the hospital years ago, I ended up growing up in foster care, moving from home to home. I then pursued my PhD with the help of scholarships and part-time jobs.

On my 18th birthday, the Montgomery couple showed up in tears. "This DNA test proves you're our daughter. We're sorry for all the suffering you've been through."

Upon seeing their luxury car and designer clothes, I thought my tough times were finally over. Yet, all I got was a storage room on the third floor that was converted into a bedroom, while Sophia still had the entire second floor to herself.

It wasn't until five years ago that Mom held my hand with warmth for the first time.

"Claire, you're the only one who can help this family," Mom uttered, eyes brimming with tears. "Sophia… She can't marry a cripple."

That was the moment I learned the Harrison heir had severely damaged his knee during a polo match, becoming the cripple that they spoke of. Honestly, I had every reason to say no. But the way that man pored over financial papers late into the night and the light in his eyes as he spoke on the podium made me go against my better judgment.

The spring I turned 23 years old, I dropped out of my PhD program at the Northbridge Institute of Technology and got married.

The first time we met, he was like a caged beast, seething with rage. As a vase shattered against the wall, shards landed near my feet.

"I said I wanted to see Sophia!" His voice was hoarse.

But Sophia was in a studio on Bruar Lane in Caris, living off the unlimited credit card the family had given her to pursue her "artistic dream".

The Montgomery family needed the Harrisons' money to stay afloat, but they couldn't risk losing their precious artistic daughter. And so, I became the sacrificial lamb.

Mom had exclaimed with tears streaming down her face, "Claire, the family needs you!"

Seeing her flawless makeup ruined by tears, I felt nothing. I wasn't doing it for them. It had never been that way.

I could still recall those chance meetings in the school library.

His profile when he was immersed in research, the brilliance displayed in his papers, and that brief pause whenever our eyes happened to meet were all still fresh in my memory.

Back then, Sophia was always by his side, clinging to his arm, whereas I was just a face in the background. But then again, so what? Having a secret crush meant it would always be a one-sided thing.

The wedding felt like a farce. My hands trembled, and the sweat made my gloves slippery. During the vows, I tripped on my gown's hem, and he had to steady me.

At that moment, I heard the rising chorus of mocking whispers and saw the disgust in his eyes.

On our wedding night, which should've been tender and intimate, he was rough and impatient, as if venting all his fury on me. Nonetheless, his injury restricted him. His pain caused sweat to bead on his forehead.

Flipping him over, I straddled him, taking control of the rhythm.

He instinctively clutched my waist, his fingers digging into my skin. In the moonlight, I saw his tightly shut eyes finally open. There was a fire of desire reflected in his pupils.

The air was thick with the slick sounds of flesh meeting flesh and increasingly ragged breaths. When I deliberately slowed down, he called out my name for the first time—not as a command but a plea.

Once it was over, he rolled over and fell asleep. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling until dawn.

That was how I spent my wedding night. There was no warmth or loving whispers—just a cold exchange between two strangers.