I didn't mean to storm out like that.
But the second I stepped into that hallway and felt them behind me—Gu Sean's heavy silence, Xan's careful footsteps—it felt like my whole life was closing in again. Like I was right back where I started… surrounded by men who thought love meant control and protection meant ownership.
My chest was tight, my hands trembling, my heart racing so fast it felt like it wanted to escape my body.
And the worst part?
I didn't even know if I was angry at them…
Or at myself.
Because some small part of me wanted to turn around and let them take over, let them carry the fear for me like I was too weak to hold it.
But I wasn't weak.
I couldn't afford to be.
When I turned around and saw them standing there—both of them looking at me like I was an emergency they couldn't ignore—I felt the anger flare again.
"I'm going," I told them.
I meant it.
And even when they followed me back up to Ash's place, pleading and demanding and breathing fear into the air, I didn't stop.
Because it wasn't just pride pushing me forward.
It was survival.
⸻
The War Room
The moment I stepped into Ash's apartment, I froze.
I honestly thought I was hallucinating for a second.
Her living room… her kitchen…
It looked like something out of a crime documentary.
Printed screenshots. Schedules. Meeting confirmations. Time stamps. Photos from the yacht docks. Notes written in Ash's messy handwriting with angry underlines and exclamation marks like the paper itself had offended her.
There was even a timeline. A whole timeline.
And my name was written at the top in bold letters:
NICOLE — TARGETED INCIDENTS
I felt my throat tighten.
For a second, I couldn't breathe.
"Ash…" I whispered, like saying her name out loud would make everything real.
She turned around and stared at me like she'd been waiting for me to walk into this moment.
"Oh good," she said, hands on her hips. "You're back. Because you're not going anywhere until you see this."
My chest hurt.
Not from fear this time.
From… something else.
Something warm.
Something I didn't know how to hold.
Because it hit me so suddenly it almost made me dizzy—
Ash had been protecting me.
Quietly.
Without making it about her.
Without asking for anything in return.
And I realized, in the middle of all my chaos… I wasn't alone like I kept thinking.
I swallowed hard, my eyes stinging.
"You did all this… for me?"
Ash rolled her eyes like she was annoyed that I was emotional.
"Girl, please," she said. "You're my best friend. Who else am I supposed to do it for? Myself?"
I couldn't stop the way my lips trembled.
Because while Gu Sean and Xan were arguing in the background, their voices thick with tension and ego…
Ash's war room felt different.
It wasn't about winning.
It was about keeping me alive.
I blinked hard and forced myself to focus.
"Okay," I said quietly. "What's the plan?"
⸻
Four Days Since the Yacht
It had been four days since the yacht.
Four days since I jumped into the ocean and felt my lungs burn and the cold water wrap around me like a memory I couldn't escape.
Four days since I heard my own voice screaming that I'd rather die.
And the worst part wasn't the embarrassment.
It was the truth behind it.
When I hit that water, I didn't just panic.
I remembered.
Not all at once… but in pieces.
Flashes.
Like my brain had been holding a locked box inside me, and the ocean was the key that forced it open.
The smell of salt.
The roar of waves.
The crushing weight of water pulling me down.
The feeling of helplessness.
It had yanked me right back into the first accident.
The one I ran from for two years.
⸻
The Hospital — After the First Accident
When I woke up in the hospital back then, everything felt wrong.
The lights were too bright. The air smelled like alcohol wipes and sterile sheets. My throat was raw. My head felt heavy, like it belonged to someone else.
Ash was there.
My family too—my dad, my mom, my brother.
But I remember the way my dad stood at the foot of the bed like he was evaluating me instead of worrying about me.
And Tim… Tim looked more annoyed than relieved.
Like my accident had interrupted his life.
Doctors came in, voices calm and professional, asking me questions I should've been able to answer.
My name.
My age.
The date.
Simple things.
I answered all of those.
But then they asked other questions.
"Do you remember what happened before you fell into the water?"
My mouth opened.
And nothing came out.
Because there was a blank space.
A hole in my mind.
And for the first time, I realized that I couldn't trust my own memory anymore.
They said it gently.
"Memory loss can happen after trauma," the doctor explained. "Sometimes short-term. Sometimes long-term. Sometimes selective."
Selective.
That word haunted me.
Because it wasn't just random memories missing.
It was important ones.
Moments that mattered.
Faces.
Voices.
People.
It was like my brain had decided some things were too painful to keep… and erased them for my survival.
At the time, I thought it was a curse.
Now I'm starting to think it was a warning.
⸻
What I Remember Now
Standing in Ash's apartment, staring at the war room she built for me, I suddenly remembered something else too.
Something I hadn't thought about in years.
When I was younger, I learned self-defense.
Secretly.
Not because I wanted to be tough.
But because I didn't feel safe.
Not even in my own home.
My dad wasn't the kind of man who hit me.
He didn't need to.
His words were weapons enough.
His disappointment felt like punishment.
His favoritism toward Tim was the kind that taught me early: you will never be enough.
And my brother…
Tim didn't protect me.
Tim learned from him.
He learned how to speak over me, push me aside, make me feel small.
There were nights I cried in my room, fists clenched, promising myself I would never be helpless again.
So I practiced.
I watched videos.
I memorized movements.
I used to lock my bedroom door and train quietly, copying techniques until my body could do them without thinking.
It was never about fighting people.
It was about having an option besides breaking down.
And after the yacht incident?
After the panic… the water… the way my body betrayed me?
I started again.
Harder.
More serious.
Not because I wanted revenge.
Because I wanted power back.
Because I refused to drown twice in the same lifetime.