Page 82 of Velvet Corruption

The splash hit me like a slap to the face. It was too loud, too final. The world narrowed, everything else fading away as I watched her land in the water. I was at the edge of the dock, consequences be fucking damned.

It was all that mattered. Ruby, slipping through my fingers, slipping away. I knew I couldn’t let it happen.

Certainly not like this.

I didn’t think—I moved. The splash hadn’t even fully settled before I hit the water. Cold slammed into me like a truck, knocking the air from my lungs, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was getting to Ruby.

I swam hard, fast, the harbor clawing at me with every stroke. I could hear her splashing somewhere up ahead—desperate, erratic. I pushed harder, the dock already a blur behind me. Every nerve was screaming.

“Stop moving!” I yelled, voice hoarse. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m fine,” she chattered, her voice tight and breathless. “I—I can—I can swim—”

“Ruby, please.” My voice cracked on the word. “You can be mad at me later. Just don’t drown.”

That did it. She stopped flailing, just for a second. I locked an arm around her waist and kicked hard, steering us toward the longshoreman’s dinghy tied to the next pier.

“Keep kicking,” I said. “Helps with the whole staying-alive thing.”

Her hand clenched in my shirt, soaked fabric twisting in her fingers. She was shivering so hard I could feel it echo in my chest. The water dragged at us like it had teeth, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when she was this close. Not when she felt like mine.

“I swear to God,” I muttered between gasps, “you’re heavier than you look.”

“Excuse me?” she snapped, teeth chattering.

“Dead weight,” I clarified, breathless. “The dramatic kind.”

“I hate you.”

“Still heavier.”

We slammed into the side of the dinghy. I half-lifted, half-threw her over the edge, then clambered up after her, both of us collapsing onto the deck like discarded sea creatures.

Ruby coughed hard—violent, water and fury leaving her lungs in one explosive breath. Her bandaged hand was a wreck, mud and salt clinging to it like the harbor had tried to eat her whole. She clutched at the slick wood like she didn’t quite believe she was alive.

I didn’t say anything. Just stared. My pulse was a hammer behind my ribs.

Then, without warning, she shoved me.

“Get the hell off me!” she gasped, breath ragged, eyes flashing.

“You’re welcome,” I bit out, not moving an inch.

“I didn’t ask you to jump in the water!”

“You fell.”

“I tripped!”

“You slapped me, tried to storm off, and tripped into the Atlantic.”

Her jaw dropped, dripping with seawater and pure indignation. “This is not my fault.”

“Oh no,” I said, flatly. “Of course not. It’s the dock’s fault. The ocean conspired against you. Poseidon’s vendetta.”

She swatted at my shoulder—weakly, because she was still shivering—and I caught her wrist before she could connect again.

“Fuck!” she said, yanking her hand away. “You can’t just fucking do this kind of shit, Kieran. You can’t follow me around. You can’t control me. You can’t—”