Chapter 41: Victoria’s Grief

 The world was different before the water swallowed her.

Before betrayal.

Before death.

Victoria had been alive.

She met Ben on a warm summer evening, the air thick with the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand. The lake shimmered like melted gold under the setting sun, and when she looked up, there he was—Ben, standing at the edge of the dock, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Are you scared?" he had teased, holding out his hand.

Victoria had rolled her eyes, but her heart had raced. Not from fear—but from him.

The first time they kissed, it was under a sky thick with stars, her hands tangled in his hair, their breaths mixing in the cool night air. She had never known what it meant to want until Ben. She had never known obsession until Ben.

She had loved him.

With every piece of her.

And she thought—he had loved her too.

The night she drowned, the water was too still.

She remembered laughing, the sound light and free as she twirled on the edge of the pool. Ben had been there, standing just a few feet away, watching her with a smirk.

"Come in," she had giggled, teasing. "Or are you afraid I'll beat you in a race?"

Ben had smiled—but something was off.

There was a pause before he spoke. A hesitation.

Victoria had noticed—but she had ignored it.

And then—she slipped.

Her foot caught on something—maybe her own foolish excitement, maybe the slick edge of the tile—but before she could catch herself, she fell.

The water closed over her head, swallowing her whole.

She had laughed at first—expecting Ben to dive in, to pull her up, to save her like he always did.

But when she reached for him—he wasn't there.

She saw his silhouette above the water.

Saw him watching.

Saw him turn away.

The first inhale was a mistake.

Water rushed into her lungs, burning, twisting, drowning. She thrashed, reaching, gasping—but there was no one.

Ben was gone.

He had left her there.

Had he panicked?

Had he chosen to walk away?

She would never know.

All she knew was the cold.

The unbearable, suffocating cold.

And then—

Nothing.

She woke up somewhere else.

Somewhere dark.

Somewhere wrong.

She had no voice, no body—only pain. Only grief. Only rage.

Ben was alive.

Ben was happy.

And she—she was forgotten.

Left to rot beneath the weight of the water.

Something in her snapped.

She wouldn't be forgotten.

She wouldn't be left behind.

If Ben had taken her life—then she would take his.

And she would start by ripping his love apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but ruin.