Chapter 2

I woke up to the harsh, sterile smell of a hospital clinic. The storm still battered the glass window. I lifted my heavy arm and stared at my wrist.

The intertwined seahorse and anchor tattoo was vanishing. The dark ink bled into my pale skin, fading into a bruised shadow.

I dragged my fingers over the disappearing mark. Ten years ago, human society chewed me up and spat me out. The noblewomen laughed at my halting English. They whispered behind their silk fans, mocking the way I stumbled in high heels and my habit of eating seafood raw.

Arthur was my only shield. During my disastrous debutante ball, he stepped between me and a mocking Duke. He grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor. He spent endless nights in a cramped attic, patiently correcting my vowels and teaching me the rigid rules of court etiquette.

We sat in a dingy, port-side parlor the night we got these tattoos. The needle buzzed against my skin. Arthur kissed my bleeding wrist, his eyes burning with raw ambition.

"Elara, from this moment on, we are everything to each other," he swore, gripping my hands. "I will work my hands to the bone. I will give you a life worthy of a queen."

He bought a rickety trading sloop the next day. He sailed into the deadliest trading routes. He never knew I swam beneath his hull. I bled my deep-sea magic into the black water, crushing rogue waves and commanding the favorable winds to push his cargo safe to port.

I dropped my arm against the white hospital sheets. My chest heaved.

"The money came," I whispered to the empty room, my throat tight with bitter tears. "But the love died."

The Abyssal magic pulsed instantly in my veins. It sensed my emotional fluctuation. It sensed the lingering, pathetic grief in my heart and demanded its toll.

Beneath my ribs, a second reverse scale snapped loose.

I screamed. I clutched my chest, doubling over on the bed. Searing heat tore through my organs. The agony spiked, blinding me for three seconds, and then vanished.

I gasped for air. I blinked at the ceiling. I furrowed my brow. Arthur had proposed to me. I knew it was a fact. But where? Did he give me a ring? Did he kneel in the mud? The image was completely scrubbed from my brain. A massive, hollow void sat where one of the most important moments of my life used to be.

My phone vibrated violently on the nightstand. A breaking news alert flashed across the screen: Duke Arthur’s Imperial Bank Accounts Frozen. Massive Admiralty Investigation Underway.

I ripped the IV out of my arm.

A nurse rushed in, holding my medical chart. "Your Grace, you cannot leave! The miscarriage—you lost a massive amount of blood!"

I looked down at the dark stains on my hospital gown. A fresh, agonizing spike of pain hit my womb. I lost my child. Arthur’s cruelty had killed the life growing inside me. Rage and devastating sorrow threatened to choke me. But the deep-sea magic surged upward, instantly freezing the sharpest edges of my grief. The supernatural oblivion worked faster than I expected. It numbed the human frailty right out of my bones.

"I am checking out," I snapped. I threw off the blanket, changed into my spare clothes, and walked out into the rain.

I took a cab back to Rose Manor to collect my personal ledgers. The car pulled up to the towering wrought-iron gates. The driver waited. I stared at the blinking keypad.

I had punched those four digits in every single day for the past decade. My mind drew a total blank.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my secure notes. 0720. Arthur’s birthday.

I scoffed, a dark laugh escaping my lips. Loving him meant memorizing every miserable little detail of his existence. Now, the magic was scrubbing him away like dirt. I punched in the numbers. The gates swung open. God, I felt lighter. I felt an unprecedented, intoxicating liberation.

I strode directly into the manor’s drawing room. The stench of Arthur’s expensive cigars still clung to the curtains. I shoved my legal folders and property deeds into my leather briefcase.

My phone lit up on the mahogany table. The maritime company’s executive group chat was blowing up with messages.

Seraphina had posted a photo. She sat in Arthur’s lap, wearing my Ocean Crown. A massive diamond ring sparkled on her finger.

Congratulations to the new Duchess! the Chief Financial Officer wrote.

Taking bets on when the sea-witch gets officially kicked to the curb, a fleet captain joked. Place your wagers, gentlemen.

I bared my teeth in a vicious, predatory smile. I hit 'Leave Group'.

I dialed my solicitor immediately. "File the divorce papers. Today," I commanded, snapping my briefcase shut. "And freeze every single joint asset tied to my original dowry. I want my name off his sinking ships."

I walked out of the drawing room without looking back. This farce was over.

Miles away, lightning shattered the black sky over London.

Arthur thrashed violently in his king-sized hotel bed. His sheets were soaked in cold sweat. In his nightmare, the ocean boiled black and red. I rose from the crushing depths, my eyes entirely pitch-black, my jaw unhinged. With a single, ear-piercing shriek, I dragged his entire golden fleet down into the abyss.

Arthur jolted awake, screaming.

He gasped for air, clutching his chest. The hotel window rattled fiercely under the violent downpour. The room was empty. But a sudden, suffocating dread sank its icy claws into his throat. He stared into the shadows, trembling, unable to shake the absolute certainty that he was about to lose everything.