The terms of us

Chapter three

Vivienne

The water hit my entire body as I fell into it.

But it's cold. It's so cold it steals my breath before I can even scream. It rushes into my nose, my mouth, my lungs, and I choke on it, gagging as the current pulls me under. The river is dark and the waves are violent, just like I thought it would be, and for a moment I feel relief.

It's over.

It's finally over.

But then my body betrays me. My arms start flailing. My legs kick. My lungs burn, desperate for air, and I can't stop them. I can't stop the primal urge to survive, even when surviving is the last thing I want.

I break the surface for a second and gasp. Then I sink again.

The water is so cold and dark. I can't see anything. Can't feel anything except the crushing weight of the river pressing down on me, pulling me deeper, dragging me toward the bottom where the light doesn't reach.

‘Just let go.’ I tell myself.

I try. I really try. But my body won't listen. It keeps fighting, and struggling and gasping for air that isn't there. My lungs are on fire. My vision is going grey at the edges. I can feel myself slipping, fading—

And then something grabs me.

Arms. Strong arms wrapping around my waist, yanking me upward. I'm being pulled, dragged, and the water is rushing past my face and then—

Air.

So much air. I gasp and choke and cough, water spilling from my mouth as I'm hauled onto the concrete. I'm on my hands and knees, coughing up river water, shivering violently. My dress is soaked through. My hair is plastered to my face. I can't see anything through the water in my eyes.

And then I feel him.

Standing over me. I don't need to look up to know who it is. The stranger from the hotel. The man I left sleeping in that bed with the money on the dresser.

He's soaked too. Water drips from his clothes, his hair, his jaw. He must have jumped in after me.

I grit my teeth in anger. I was already so close.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I scream, scrambling to my feet, my hand raising and slamming on his face, his face snapping to the side. I'm shaking so badly I can barely stand, but I don't care. I lunge at him again, my fists pounding against his chest. "Who gave you the right? Who told you to do that? I didn't ask for your help! I didn't want it!"

He doesn't move or react. He just stands there, letting me hit him, his grey eyes cold and unreadable.

"Did you hear me?" I shriek. "How dare you! How dare you interfere! This is none of your business!"

His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. Then he squeezes hard enough to make me stop.

"Let go of me—"

He yanks me forward and I stumble, crashing into his chest, and his other hand finds my chin. He tilts my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes. His grip is bruising and he wasn't letting go.

His mouth is inches from mine.

“Don't do anything you would regret.” His voice is flat and cold, like a shiver in the midst of the cold i was feeling.

"What are you talking about—"

"Get in the car."

"I'm not going anywhere with you—"

He doesn't argue or negotiate with me. He just grabs me, one arm around my waist, and lifts me off the ground in bridal style, like I weigh nothing.

"Put me down!" I thrash against him, kicking, hitting, trying to break free. "Put me down right now!"

He carries me to a black car idling at the curb without even flinching at my flails. The door opens automatically. He shoves me inside and slides in beside me. The doors lock.

"Drive," he says to the driver.

I scramble for the door handle. It doesn't open.

"Let me out!" I pound on the window. "You can't do this! This is kidnapping! I'll call the police—"

"Go ahead."

He tosses his phone into my lap.

I freeze.

"Call them." His voice is still flat. "Tell them you jumped off a bridge and I pulled you out. Tell them I saved your life and then kidnapped you. See how that goes."

“You're a f*****g bastard!” I spit. I can't believe this was the same man I slept with last night.

"Maybe." He doesn't look at me. "But I'm not the one who just tried to kill herself."

The words hit me like a slap.

I stop fighting and slowly sink to the seat. I just sit there, soaking wet and shivering, staring out the window at the city passing by. The lights blur together. I don't know where we're going. I don't care.

We finally got to his penthouse…i guess. His house is big and…just feels empty. Before I can make much out of it, he grabs my arm and drags me inside. The door slams behind us.

"Sit."

He shoves me onto a couch. I land hard, the impact jarring through my bones. I glare up at him.

He walks to a bar in the corner, pours himself a glass of something dark, and drinks it in one swallow. He doesn't look at me.

"Why did you follow me?" I ask. My voice is raw. Hoarse from the river water. "Why were you there?"

He doesn't answer.

"You left the hotel. You came after me." I stand up, my legs still shaking. "I left money on the dresser. I thought—"

"You thought that would end it." He finally looks at me. "That I'd take the money and forget about you."

"Wouldn't you?"

"No."

He sets his glass down, crosses the room and stops in front of me.

"I don't like being left," he says. "I don't like waking up to find someone gone. And I really don't like being paid for. I am not a man w***e. That felt like an insult to me.”

"So you followed me."

There is a slight pause, his eyes boring into mine before he responds.

"I know you're desperate and that you're broken and I know you think you have nothing left."

His words hit too close to home.

"Shut up," I whisper, the memories coming to crash down on me again. I sniffle, then clean my tears. I have promised myself I would never cry over them again. I will never. I clean my tears. “What do you want from me?”

My voice is shaky, but it doesn't matter.

“You're cold. Why don't you shower first before we get into business? I won't strike a business deal with a woman who must have had a mild concussion from trying to drown herself.”

I huff. “I do not have—”

I sigh, and close my eyes. “Show me the bathroom.” I say, wondering what he wants to tell me that sounds so serious.

He rings a bell by his side and a servant appears from the side of the room. He instructs her to take me to the bathroom, and without a word, she takes me to the bathroom.

Then I strip off my ruined dress and step under the spray.

When I step out, I wrap myself in a robe and walk toward the bedroom.

He's there, sitting in a chair by the window, a glass of wine in his hand. He has changed into a black pair of sweatpants and a compression t-shirt, his hair disheveled in a—

“I'll help you take down your ex fiance. I know you want to take revenge. I know you want to start up something. I'll make you big.” He says without looking at me.

I swallow, forcing myself not to stare at the outline of his chest and how watery his proposal is. But this man looks like someone who wouldn't do things for free.

“And what do you want in return?”

“Marry me.”