Icy water engulfed me instantly, like countless invisible hands clutching my heart, crushing my lungs.

Darkness. Silence.

Only the frantic drumming of my heartbeat and the roar of blood rushing to my head filled my ears.

The memory of those three minutes of drowning seven years ago flooded back, shattering all my reason.

I forgot to breathe, forgot to move, sinking like a stone toward the deeper, darker ocean floor.

"Move, Maeve! What are you doing? Be like Rosalyn! Stretch your body!"

The underwater director's irritated roar crackled through my earpiece.

Rosalyn...

Right, I was her stand-in.

I was here to fulfill her lifelong dream.

Survival instinct kicked in, and I thrashed my limbs, but like a moth caught in a web, the more I struggled, the tighter I felt trapped.

Oxygen depleted rapidly. A burning pain seared my chest, and black spots danced before my eyes.

"No! Your movements are too stiff! You're dancing, not convulsing! Do it again!"

"Legs! Lift them higher! Show Rosalyn's grace!"

"Maeve, can you even do this? If not, say so! You're wasting everyone's time!"

The harsh, cold voices pierced my eardrums, stabbing into my brain like needles.

Through my blurred mask, I saw the underwater cinematographer nearby, his massive camera coldly judging my clumsy, dying struggle.

And its owner, Alec, was probably standing at the monitor, frowning, irritated and embarrassed by my poor "performance."

He must have thought I could never mimic his perfect first love.

How could I dare carry her dream?

The suffocation grew unbearable, my consciousness slipping.

I remembered seven years ago, pushing him out of this same icy water, his hand grabbing mine as he said, "Maeve, wait for me. I'll come back for you!"

I waited.

I waited in that freezing water for three whole minutes.

Until the last second of fading consciousness, I saw people on the shore cheering for his rescue, forgetting the girl still underwater.

History repeated itself with eerie precision.

"Warning! Oxygen level below ten percent! Warning!"

The helmet's shrill alarm finally blared.

With my last ounce of strength, I screamed into the communicator, "...Help... help me... no oxygen..."

But the director's voice snapped back, even angrier. "Hold on for thirty seconds! One last shot! Don't mess this up!"

Thirty seconds.

On land, a mere blink.

But in this abyss, every second was a century of torment.

My body lost all control, my lungs ready to burst.

Darkness swallowed my vision completely.

In the final moment before sinking into endless black, I saw my late grandfather.

He was my only family, the founder of Zenith Corporation, the man who cherished me for eighteen years.

On his deathbed, he held my hand, eyes full of reluctance. "Maeve, I left you this empire not to burden you, but so you could live freely, never bending for anyone. If that boy you love ever makes you suffer, come back. My people will crush him and everything he has."

Grandpa, I thought I might die here.

Just as I gave up, ready to embrace death, a powerful force yanked me upward.

The lifeline.

They finally remembered the "prop" underwater needed retrieving.

The rapid ascent tore at my eardrums and organs, the pressure excruciating.

With a splash, I hit the deck like a dying fish.

I ripped off the helmet, coughing violently, gasping the salty air, tears and snot streaking my face in utter disarray.

It took ages to steady my trembling body and lift my head, instinctively searching for that familiar figure.

I wanted to see him.

I wanted even a flicker of fear or concern on his face.

Then I saw him.

Not far away.

He stood with his back to me, tightly embracing someone.

Rosalyn.

She leaned into his arms, sobbing with joy, shoulders shaking. "Alec, I... I did it... Our dream came true..."

Alec lowered his head, kissing her forehead with a tenderness I had never seen.

His voice cut through the celebrating crowd, clear in my ears. "Silly, not ours. Yours. Congratulations, my little mermaid. Your dream came true."

Cheers and applause erupted from the team.

"Congrats, Rosalyn!"

"Director Johnson, you're incredible!"

"This film will definitely win awards!"

Champagne popped, ribbons flew, and every face glowed with the joy of success.

They celebrated a victory.

And I, the "hero" who just crawled back from death, lay soaked and shivering on the cold deck, an absurd outsider in the wrong scene.

No one spared me a glance.

No one remembered I nearly died down there.

In that moment, all my pain and fear vanished.

In their place, a bone-deep, deathly chill settled in.

I stared at the man embracing his first love, smiling with gentle satisfaction.

The man I watched for seven years— my husband.

Slowly, I looked away.

My heart turned to ash.

As their celebration reached its peak, a deafening roar rolled in, shattering the yacht's revelry.

A helicopter bearing a golden "Zenith" emblem hovered oppressively above the vessel.

The downdraft sent people stumbling on the deck, champagne glasses smashing to the floor.

Everyone looked up, stunned, unsure what was happening.

The cabin door slid open, and a rope ladder dropped.

A man in a tailored black suit descended with commanding presence.

His steps were steady, his face stern, his gaze slicing through the crowd before locking onto me.

Alec and his team stood frozen by the sudden intrusion.

"Who are you? Who authorized you to approach my ship?" Alec instinctively shielded Rosalyn, his voice sharp with challenge.

The man ignored him.

He walked straight to me, stopping a step away.

He shed his expensive suit jacket and draped it gently, almost reverently, over my trembling shoulders.

"Miss," his voice was low and respectful, tinged with faint concern, "the chairman is worried about you. Let's go home."

Miss? Chairman?

The words stunned everyone present.

Alec's face twisted with shock. He glanced at the man, then at me, his eyes brimming with confusion. "Maeve? What's going on? Who is he?"

I didn't answer.

With the man's support, I slowly stood.

For seven years of marriage, I dimmed myself to protect Alec's fragile male pride, avoiding heels and luxury, living like an ordinary housewife.

But now, I stood tall, looking down at my husband for the first time.

I studied his face, etched with doubt and panic, and Rosalyn behind him, equally bewildered.

I said nothing.

I only curved my lips into a cold smile.

Then I turned to the man. "Andrew, let's go home."

"Yes, Miss." Andrew Roberts nodded slightly and guided me toward the ladder.

"Maeve! Where are you going? Explain yourself!" Alec snapped out of his daze, lunging forward, but two black-clad bodyguards appeared, blocking him.

He could only watch as Andrew escorted me onto the helicopter, a symbol of absolute power and wealth.

In the final second before the cabin door closed, I glanced back at the yacht.

I saw Alec's face, contorted with shock, anger, and loss of control.

I saw Rosalyn behind him, her expression a mix of panic and envy.

I saw the team members I once worked alongside, now staring at me like I was a monster.

I committed their faces to memory.

Then, under their collective gaze, the helicopter lifted off and vanished into the distance.

The next day, a piercing phone ring jolted Alec awake, his head throbbing from a hangover.

His business partner's panicked voice came through. "Alec! We're in trouble! Our biggest investor, Mavis Fund, just pulled all their money! Not a cent left!"

Alec's mind buzzed, the haze of alcohol clearing instantly.

Mavis Fund.

It backed his company from the start, an angel investor that appeared out of nowhere.

For seven years, no matter how lavish his filming plans, they always said, "Go for it, Director Johnson. Money's no issue."

He always believed his talent won them over.

Mavis… Maeve…

A chilling thought, one he never entertained, crept into his mind.

Before he could process it, another call came.

The finance director, voice trembling. "Mr. Johnson! All our bank accounts are frozen! They're saying… commercial fraud and unfair competition!"

"Impossible!" Alec roared.

Then a third call, a fourth, a fifth…

"Director, all our distribution channels canceled their contracts!"

"Director, a joint task force from the tax and commerce bureaus is downstairs!"

"Director, the overseas partners for Ocean's Dream sent a massive compensation demand!"

Each blow hit like a fist, leaving him dizzy and unsteady.

His proud company, his life's work, crumbled within an hour.

Panic gripped him like never before.

He frantically dialed my number.

"Sorry, the user you've called is unavailable."

The cold automated voice pushed him deeper into despair with each try.

He collapsed onto the couch, staring at the chaos around him, my icy, unfamiliar gaze from yesterday replaying in his mind.

Only then did he realize everything he relied on, all his pride and success, came from the wife he underestimated.

The wife he pushed into the deep sea.

Fear grew like wildfire in his heart.

He scrambled like a headless fly, tapping every contact to track me down, to uncover the meaning of the "Zenith" emblem and Andrew's origins.

But his so-called connections clammed up at the mention of "Zenith Corporation," hanging up with flimsy excuses.

Zenith Corporation.

The nation's top business empire, a colossus that could shift fortunes with a flick of its wrist.

And I, Maeve, was the only granddaughter of its founder, Braden Wallace, the hidden heir holding thirty percent of its shares.

This truth crashed down like mountains, crushing Alec's last shred of hope and dignity.

He realized I wasn't throwing a tantrum.

I was coming for his life.

He began messaging me frantically, his tone shifting from accusation and anger to panic and pleading. "Maeve, who are you? Why did you hide this from me? I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have forced you underwater. Please come back. Let's talk."

"Maeve, the company is my life's work. You can't destroy it! Seven years together—does that mean nothing to you?"

"I'm begging you, Maeve, answer my calls. I'll do anything if you come back!"

I stared at the flood of messages on my phone, expressionless, and blocked him.

Anything?

Too late.