When My Boyfriend Learned I Was the Real Heiress

The water hit my knees first. Cold. Fast. Rising.

Through the glass I saw the crowd press forward. Phones up. Faces bright with something that wasn't quite concern. More like anticipation. The kind you get watching a car spin out on ice.

The water reached my waist.

I looked up. Solid glass ceiling. No hatch. No vent. Just the steady pour from somewhere I couldn't see.

I looked at the lock.

The water touched my chest.

I took a breath and went under.

The world went quiet. Just the muffled rush of water filling space. My hands found the lock mechanism. I traced it with my fingertips. Standard pin tumbler. Five pins. The kind you could buy at any hardware store if you knew what you were looking for.

I pulled a bobby pin from my hair. Bent it. Slid it into the keyway.

My lungs started to burn.

I felt for the pins. First one. Second. Third. The tension wrench I'd made from the second bobby pin held steady. Fourth pin. Fifth.

The lock gave.

I pushed the door open and stepped out.

Water poured onto the marble floor. I stood there, dripping, and took a breath. Then another. My chest rose and fell evenly. I wrung my hair out with both hands, twisting it like a towel, and wiped my face with the back of my wrist.

The room was silent.

I walked back to my seat. My shoes squelched. I sat down and checked my phone under the table. Seven hours, sixteen minutes.

Calum stood at the front of the room. His jaw worked. He looked at the open tank, then at me, then at the guests who were whispering now, leaning into each other.

I remembered the security consultant. Anton. My father hired him the summer I turned fifteen. Former intelligence operative. Taught me lock-picking in the basement of our estate over the course of three weeks. He had a scar across his knuckles and a way of speaking that made every sentence sound like a test.

*'No room is permanent if you know how it closes,'* he'd said, handing me my first tension wrench. *'People think locks keep them safe. Locks just keep them comfortable.'*

I blinked. The memory dissolved.

Across the ballroom, Grant laughed at something Lilith said. He had his back to me. He hadn't watched me in the tank. Hadn't checked if I was breathing.

I looked at him and felt nothing.

Calum clapped his hands together. The sound cracked through the room.

'Alright,' he said. His voice was too loud. 'Round three. Truth or Dare.'

The crowd murmured. Some of them smiled.

Lilith stepped forward, hands clasped at her chest. 'Oh, this'll be fun. Everyone gets to ask a question. Holland has to answer honestly.' She tilted her head. 'It's tradition.'

No one asked what tradition.

I stood. Walked to the center of the room. The marble was still wet under my feet.

Calum gestured to the crowd. 'Who's first?'

A woman in a red dress raised her hand. She was smiling. 'Have you ever been so desperate you'd do anything for money?'

I looked at her. 'No.'

She blinked. 'That's it?'

'That's the answer.'

Another voice. A man this time. 'Does Grant keep you around because no one else would?'

I turned toward him. 'You'd have to ask Grant.'

Someone laughed. It sounded nervous.

A third question. 'What's the most pathetic thing you've ever done for a man?'

I thought about the watch on the nightstand. The three years of making myself smaller. The mornings I woke up next to someone who checked his phone before he kissed me.

'Stayed,' I said.

The room went quiet.

Lilith stepped forward, eyes wide. 'Oh, Holland. That's so sad.' Her voice dripped sympathy. Fake. Sticky. 'Have you ever hurt someone? Like, really hurt them?'

I looked at her. 'Yes.'

The crowd leaned in.

'Who?' someone called out.

I didn't answer.

Calum moved closer. 'Come on. You have to answer. That's the game.'

'I answered,' I said. 'I said yes.'

Grant's voice cut through the noise. 'Holland. Just answer the question.'

I turned. He was standing next to Lilith now, champagne glass in hand. His face was tight. Not concerned. Annoyed.

'Don't embarrass me,' he said quietly.

I looked at him. At the man I'd loved for three years. The man who forgot our anniversary. Who volunteered me for games designed to break people. Who told me not to embarrass him in front of strangers who were trying to humiliate me for sport.

I checked my phone. Seven hours, two minutes.

'A disabled person,' I said.

The room exploded.

Voices overlapped. Gasps. Someone said, 'Oh my God.' Someone else laughed, sharp and mean.

Grant's face went white. Then red.

Lilith pressed her hands to her mouth. 'Holland. That's... that's awful.'

I didn't explain. Didn't tell them about the snake pit. About my stepmother's assistant, the man who'd thrown me in and broken his leg trying to climb out when my father's security found him. Didn't tell them it was self-defense before I even knew the words.

I just stood there.

Grant walked over. Fast. His hand closed around my wrist.

'What is wrong with you?' he hissed.

I looked down at his hand. Then up at his face.

'Let go,' I said.

He didn't.

The slap came fast. Open palm. Across my cheek.

The room went silent.

My head snapped to the side. I tasted copper. My ear rang.

Grant's voice was low. Shaking. 'You're done. We're done. If you say one more word—'

I checked my phone.

Six hours, fifty-eight minutes.

I looked at him. At his hand still gripping my wrist. At the crowd watching, waiting.

I smiled.

'Okay,' I said softly.

He let go. Stepped back. Turned to Lilith. 'I'm sorry. She's—she's not usually like this.'

Lilith touched his arm. 'It's okay. I understand.'

I walked back to my seat.

I sat down.

I waited.