Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her.
"Nicole."
The sound of her name cut through the roar of the waves like a blade. She thrashed on instinct, panic overriding reason, saltwater burning her throat.
"I'd rather die—!" she sobbed, voice breaking as her body fought the memory more than the present.
"It's Xan," the voice said urgently, closer now, solid. "Nicole, it's me. You're safe. I've got you."
Something in his tone—steady, grounded, familiar—pierced the fog. She struggled once more, weaker this time, lungs screaming, before reality began to stitch itself back together.
Then the scent hit her.
Clean. Warm. Subtly woody with a sharp edge she recognized immediately.
The same cologne from that morning.
The same presence she'd felt beside her all day.
"X… Xan?" Her voice cracked, fragile, barely there.
"Yes." His grip tightened just enough to anchor her without caging her in. One arm firm around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head, keeping her above water. "Look at me. You're not alone. I'm here."
Her body finally surrendered.
The fight drained out of her all at once, leaving her shaking, sobbing against his chest. Her fingers curled into his soaked shirt like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. Xan kicked steadily through the waves, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the yacht where a rescue ladder was already being lowered.
Anger burned beneath his calm—cold, controlled, dangerous.
I was almost too late, he thought grimly.
I won't be again.
⸻
Later, he walked her to Ash's door like nothing extraordinary had happened—professional, composed, the perfect executive escort. If someone had seen them, they would've assumed it was routine.
Only Nicole knew how tightly his hand had shaken when he let go.
Before turning to leave, Xan paused, studying her face as if committing it to memory.
"Take care of yourself," he said quietly. "And… if you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me."
She nodded, still wrapped in shock. "Thank you. For everything."
They both knew those words carried more weight than she was ready to unpack.
Ash opened the door and took one look at her before pulling her into a tight embrace.
"You look like hell," Ash said softly, rubbing her back.
Nicole didn't argue.
She showered, letting the hot water chase the cold from her bones. She changed into Ash's oversized sweatshirt, curled up on the couch under a familiar blanket, and for the first time since the yacht, she slept without dreaming of waves dragging her under.
⸻
The Next Three Days — A Blur
Work continued, but it felt unreal—like she was moving through glass.
Nicole attended meetings, signed contracts, nodded at the right moments. She smiled when expected, laughed when prompted. Inside, everything felt muted, distant, as if part of her was still floating somewhere between panic and relief.
Xan stayed close without hovering.
He never touched her unless she initiated it.
Never pushed for explanations.
Never brought up the yacht unless she did.
But she caught him watching her sometimes—during meetings, in reflections of glass walls, across conference tables. His expression was unreadable, careful, controlled… and full of something unresolved.
At night, her mind replayed the same moments on a loop:
The knife.
The jump.
The cold stealing her breath.
And Xan's voice pulling her back from the edge.
It unsettled her.
And yet—against her will—she felt safe.
That scared her most of all.