Page 107 of Scars and Crowns

Firmly. Like she'd been waiting for it. "I don't know if I deserve him," I whisper against her shoulder. The old fear slips out before I can stop it. "But I promise you this . . . " I tighten my arms around her. "As long as I have any choice in it . . . he will never be lonely again. Not for a single day."

She pulls back just enough to cup my cheek. Her own eyes are still shining. "That's all I ever wanted." The words have barely settled between us when a sound tears across the afternoon.

A splash.

Too loud.

Too sudden.

Followed by a frightened cry that freezes every drop of blood in my body.

I know that voice.

"Sara."

I don't think. My body moves before my mind catches up. One second I'm sitting on the blanket. The next I'm running. Grass disappears beneath my feet in frantic blurs. My heartbeat pounds so hard I can barely hear anything else.

The lake rushes toward me.

Then cold.

Freezing water slams into my legs as I wade straight in without slowing, soaking my clothes almost instantly. I don't feel it. I don't feel anything except terror. Out ahead, a small head bobs unevenly against the water. Tiny arms thrash wildly. She isn't screaming anymore. She's trying to.

And somehow that's even worse.

"Sara!" My voice breaks across the lake as I force myself deeper into the water, every desperate step carrying only one thought. Get to her. Just get to her.

SHE’S MINE

YUVAAN

She doesn't know how to swim. That one thought has been stuck in my head ever since the call came. It plays over and over, drowning out everything else. The voice on the phone had been rushed, shaking, one of the estate staff struggling to explain that Sara had fallen into the lake . . . and Anamika had gone in after her.

After that, I don't remember anything clearly. I don't remember leaving the meeting halfway through. I don't remember the drive back to the estate. I don't know how many times I asked whether they were okay before anyone finally answered me. All I remember is standing outside the medical room now, my heart pounding so violently it hurts to breathe.

She doesn't know how to swim. And she still jumped. She could have drowned with Sara. The thought refuses to loosen its grip on me. I force myself to remember the facts instead.

Sara is safe.

The doctor has already told me three separate times.

She's perfectly fine. A little frightened, but otherwise completely unharmed. Within twenty minutes she'd been asking for biscuits and complaining that everyone kept fussing over her. Children have a remarkable way of bouncing back from terror before the adults around them have even begun recovering from it.

It wasn't Sara who frightened everyone today. It was Anamika. She went under. She didn't come back up. One of the groundsmen had to dive after her and pull her to shore. She wasn't breathing properly when they laid her on the grass. She'd been unconscious for almost a full minute.

A minute.

Sixty seconds.

I've spent years negotiating billion-rupee contracts that felt shorter than those sixty seconds. I drag a hand down my face and shut my eyes. There were people there. So many people. Security guards. Ground staff. Men who knew how to swim. Men trained to handle emergencies exactly like this.

Sara wasn't alone. Someone would have reached her. Someone would have saved her. But Anamika hadn't stopped to think about any of that. She'd seen her daughter disappear beneath the water . . . and she'd jumped. By the time the doctor finally allows me inside, every bit of relief I'd been holding onto has twisted itself into something else.

She's awake. Sitting against the pillows. Pale. Her hair still damp around her temples. There's a blanket pulled over her legs, and she's already arguing quietly with the doctor about how unnecessary overnight observation is. The sight of her breathing—actually breathing—loosens something inside my chest.

For exactly two seconds. Then the fear crashes back so hard it comes out as anger. "What were you thinking?" My voice is quieter than I expect, but I can hear how tightly I'm holding it together. "You can't swim, Anamika." I take another step into the room. "You walked into that lake knowing you couldn't swim."

I huff, my anger only rising as she shivers a bit, “Anyone could have saved her, there were so many people—”