Chapter 3 The Victim
1067 Words
At the last moment, I grabbed Fiona's hand.
Her expression flickered, startled at first and then twisting into panic.
I tightened my grip and pushed us both into the pool.
Her shock was evident as she flailed, trying to shake me off and swim toward the edge.
Damn it! She could swim.
Her confident strokes only stoked the fire of my rage.
I knew her game—pretend to be helpless, paint herself as the victim, and let others jump to her defense. She was angling for sympathy and setting the stage for misunderstandings.
But now? Now it looked like she'd lost her balance first, dragging me down with her.
"Let me go!" Fiona shrieked, her arms flailing as she struggled to free herself. Her eyes darted around, and then she began to scream, "Help! Someone help me!"
'Oh, you want to play the victim?' I thought coldly. 'Fine. Let's make you a victim.'
I kicked hard, flipping to her back and grabbing her elegant updo. Without hesitation, I pushed her head underwater. As her struggles grew more frantic, I matched her cries with my own, louder and more desperate. "Help us! Someone's drowning!"
I felt her resistance weaken, the force of her attempts to surface growing fainter. The bubbles around her head thinned.
Years of working as a lifeguard had taught me where the line was. I yanked her up just before it was too late.
Of course, I couldn't let myself become a murderer!
She broke the surface gasping, her makeup a ruined mess as she choked for air. "Hel—"
Before she could finish, I shoved her back down again. This time, I shouted even louder, "Help! I can't hold her anymore!"
A figure sprinted from the house, a tall man launching himself into the pool like a missile.
In seconds, he reached us.
My grip was wrenched away as easily as if Fiona were a piece of fruit plucked from a branch.
The man didn't spare me a glance, focusing entirely on Fiona as he swam her to the pool's edge.
Cyrus. My distant cousin. The Andersons' adopted son. In my past life, his obsessive, twisted love for Fiona had driven him to unspeakable lengths once he learned they weren't biologically related.
I wiped the water from my face, swimming to the edge on my own.
By now, more people had gathered. My biological parents, Eleanor and Conrad Anderson, were among them.
Fiona lay on the poolside, her eyes shut tight as Cyrus hovered over her, his every movement radiating concern. With his golden hair plastered to his forehead, he pressed his hands rhythmically against her chest.
"Fiona," Eleanor whispered, a note of anguish in her voice, as she and Conrad moved closer to the supposedly unconscious girl.
When Fiona remained unresponsive, Cyrus shifted, pinching her nose as though preparing for mouth-to-mouth.
Right on cue, Fiona let out a delicate cough, her eyes fluttering open.
I knew immediately she was faking it. She wanted to appear as pitiful as possible, to frame me as the villain.
But I wouldn't give her the chance.
I pinched my thigh hard, forcing tears to pool in my eyes, and spoke before Fiona could utter a word.
"She lost her balance," I stammered, my voice trembling with feigned emotion. "I tried to save her, but I wasn't strong enough. She struggled so much, and I—" My voice broke as I let the tears flow. "I thought we were both going to drown."
I must have looked utterly pitiful—my face bruised, my body drenched, my thin clothes clinging to my frame. Every detail screamed of my suffering.
"You i***t!" Cyrus exploded, standing to his full height and towering over me. "If you couldn't save her, why didn't you call for help? Your incompetence put Fiona in danger!" His anger boiled over, his words cutting deep. "Thank God she's safe. If anything had happened to her, I would never forgive you!"
"Disgusting b***h," he spat, the venom in his voice unmistakable. "We should never have brought you back!"
"Cyrus!" Conrad's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
Cyrus froze, realizing he'd crossed a line. His rage, however, didn't waver. Instead, he doubled down, turning his attack into an excuse. "Don't think I don't know who you are," Cyrus growled, jabbing a finger at me. "My friends and I saw you—dancing at some sleazy maid café, shaking your ass for men!" His voice rose with indignation. "No decent girl would work at a place like that!"
I took a step to the side, putting some distance between us and angling my body so he blocked my parents' view of me. My lips curled into a mocking smile as I countered, "Then what were you doing there, bad boy?"
"We're not the same!" Cyrus snapped, his face reddening with anger. "I was there to unwind. You were there to—what? Flaunt yourself? Sink to the lowest of lows?"
I couldn't hold back a sharp, humorless laugh. "You're right. We're not the same." My gaze met his, steady and unflinching. "I was there to make money. That makes me better than you."
"You—" Cyrus raised a hand, his intent to strike clear.
The sound of the slap rang out.
But I felt no pain.
Conrad had delivered the blow, sending Cyrus' head snapping to the side. Cyrus clutched his cheek, his expression one of pure shock as he stared at the man who'd struck him.
"Helena has never performed in any maid café," Conrad said coldly. "Do you understand?" His tone left no room for argument. "She has been recuperating in a quiet town due to health issues. She's only just returned because she's well enough now."
"I understand. I'm sorry, Dad," Cyrus muttered, his head bowed, his voice subdued. "I'll make sure my friends know they were mistaken about her."
Conrad turned to me, his tone softening as though the earlier outburst had never happened. "Helena, my dear, I trust you'll remember my words as well."
I met his gaze, weighing my options before nodding obediently. "Of course, sir."
Behind me, someone clapped.
"Good job."
The voice was rich and smooth, like the deep timbre of an expensive cello, carrying an undercurrent of elegance.
It was achingly familiar.
'No way...'
My body stiffened, and I turned slowly, dread pooling in my stomach.
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