Chapter 3 - The Broken Veil
The impact felt like slamming into concrete.
The air was violently hammered from Clara’s lungs as the water seized her body. The heavy layers of her silk gown, designed to flow gracefully down an aisle, instantly transformed into a shroud of liquid lead. The water forced itself down her throat, burning her sinuses.
Down, down, down.
The deep end of the private pool was twelve feet deep, designed for high-profile guests who wanted private underwater workouts. Clara’s limbs were tangled in yards of saturated fabric. The petticoats wrapped around her thighs like wet ropes, pulling her toward the dark ceramic tiles at the bottom. She kicked desperately, but her shoes were like cement blocks, and the corset held her ribcage in an iron vise, preventing her lungs from expanding.
Darkness swirled at the edges of her vision. *This is it,* she thought with terrifying clarity. *I’m drowning in a million-dollar pool on my wedding day.*
Above her, the surface exploded.
A massive shockwave rippled through the illuminated water. A dark silhouette cut through the surface tension with brutal speed.
Julian.
He had not taken off his tuxedo jacket. He hadn't unbuttoned his shoes. He had seen his wife plunge into the abyss, and without a fraction of a second’s hesitation, he had thrown himself over the ledge after her.
His strong hands found her through the murky haze of white silk. Clara felt the violent, desperate grip of his fingers wrapping into the bodice of her dress. He pulled her against his chest, kicking with frantic, powerful strokes. His lungs were burning too; she could see the silver trail of bubbles escaping his clenched teeth.
With one final, agonizing heave, Julian broke through the surface.
Clara gasped, vomiting chlorinated water and coughing so violently that her entire torso convulsed. She clutched at Julian’s neck, her fingernails digging deep into his collarbone.
"I have you! I've got you, Clara!" Julian roared, his voice hoarse, water streaming down his face as he paddled backward toward the marble steps of the pool deck. His tuxedo was completely ruined, his immaculate hair plastered to his forehead, his dark eyes wide with an animal terror she had never seen in him.
He hauled her up onto the wide, heated marble steps. Clara collapsed onto her hands and knees, choking, water pouring from her dress in torrents, pooling red with the blood from the scrapes on her scalp.
"Clara! Look at me! Look at me!" Julian begged, his hands trembling as he cradled her drenched face. "Are you broken? Did you hit the ledge?"
"She... she pushed me," Clara managed to wheeze out between ragged, agonizing breaths. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably from the shock. "Julian... she pushed me."
Julian froze. His gaze swept upward, looking toward the penthouse terrace twenty feet above them.
The open maintenance gap stood out like a missing tooth in the glass perimeter.
And standing right there, looking down at them through the steam rising from the heated pool, was Victoria.
She wasn't running. She wasn't calling for an ambulance. She stood at the edge, a pristine white linen napkin in her hand, slowly wiping cake frosting from her knuckles. Her face was no longer manic. It was completely blank.
"Julian!" Victoria’s voice floated down, carrying a sickeningly sweet, theatrical tremble that turned Clara’s blood colder than the pool water. "Oh, thank God you saved her! The cart slipped! The wheels caught the terrace runner—I tried to grab her dress, but she was too close to the edge!"
Julian stared up at his sister. His breathing slowed, becoming low, deep, and dangerous. The shock in his eyes solidified into something glacial, ancient, and lethal.
"She's lying," Clara whispered, gripping his wet lapel. "Julian, she looked me in the eyes. She told me I'd die a nobody."
Julian slowly looked down at his bride. He reached into his soaked jacket pocket, pulled out his phone—miraculously water-resistant—and dialed three digits without breaking eye contact with Clara.
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"Lock down the St. Regis," Julian commanded into the receiver the second the call connected. "Nobody leaves the rooftop. Not my mother, not the board members, and especially not my sister. If Victoria Sterling tries to take an elevator or a stairwell, have private security put her on the floor."
***
