OLIVIA’S POV
A few minutes later, my bodyguard emerged from the water, droplets clinging to his black uniform, In his hand, he held the freed paddle, finally liberated from whatever had held it hostage beneath the surface. Damien let out a relieved sigh beside me, the tension in his shoulders easing as he realized we wouldn’t be stuck out here any longer.
The bodyguard swam closer, and his partner leaned over from the engine boat to help him up. With a wet grunt, he hoisted himself aboard, his boots dripping water across the deck. “All freed up, ma’am,” he reported, his voice steady as always. Then, almost as an afterthought, he lifted something else into view–a length of rusted chain, still tangled with weeds and bits of muck dredged up from the lakebed.
“Alright, thanks, and good work,” I replied, already half–turned in my seat to face the shoreline. “Now, let’s roll back to shore.”
But something caught my eye–a dull glint of metal on the chain, barely visible through the rust and weeds. My breath caught in my throat, and I froze mid–motion. A sudden unease prickled at the back of my neck. “Hold on,” I said, my voice firmer this time, eyes locked onto that faint glimmer.
Damien’s head snapped toward me, his brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?” he asked, clearly trying to see what had stopped me so abruptly.
“Let me see that,” I told the bodyguard, extending my hand toward the chain.
“Are you sure, ma’am?” he hesitated, glancing between the filthy object and my outstretched hand. “It’s dirty, and there’s quite a lot of seaweed on it…”
“It’s fine. Hand it over,” I insisted, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Slowly, he stepped forward, placing the wet, tangled chain into my palm. The weight of it surprised me–it felt heavier than it looked, cold and slick against my skin, with silt and tiny bits of algae clinging stubbornly to the metal links. I barely noticed any of that, though. My gaze zeroed in on the locket attached to the chain, half–concealed by grime.
I lifted the locket closer to my face, my heart drumming in my chest. Even covered in rust, the shape was unmistakable–a simple oval design with a faint engraved pattern that time hadn’t entirely erased. I swallowed hard, my mind spinning.
Years ago I remembered watching my adoptive father gift this to my adoptive mother on her birthday. It wasn’t expensive in the grand sense, but it meant the world to them: a gold coin sealed inside a delicate locket. My father had joked that it would bring her luck, and she’d promised to wear it until her last breath. It had always seemed like such a small, sentimental thing, and yet it had been so dear to them both.
What could it possibly be doing here, at the bottom of a lake, wrapped around what my bodyguard had described as a body bag? The question tightened around my throat like an invisible hand.
Damien shifted, leaning forward slightly. “Olivia…? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he murmured.
My grip tightened on the locket, my knuckles whitening. “I might have,” I admitted softly, more to myself than to him.
Carefully, I pried open the locket with my thumb. It resisted at first–old hinges stiff from years submerged–but finally, it gave way. Inside, nestled in the tarnished interior, lay the gold coin, dulled but still unmistakable. The same coin. The same locket.
A chill crawled down my spine, so intense I could feel goosebumps rising on my arms despite the morning sun. I stared at it, disbelief battling with dread. Could it really be hers? If so… why here? Why near a body bag?
There was no other person who would do something this unique, this could only be the work of the Graysons.
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, everything started piecing together in slow, frightening detail. My heart hammered in my chest, so loud it felt like it echoed on the calm lake. I took a step back, the chain still dangling from my fingers, its rusted links dripping cold lake water. My gaze lifted to Damien, who stood there, confusion shadowing his features.
“What’s wrong?” Damien asked for the second time, his brows knitting together.
I didn’t answer him immediately. My mind was racing back, trying to stitch together old memories with the reality before me. I forced myself to swallow the rising panic, to think clearly. I turned to my bodyguard, my voice lower but firm.
“You said you found this tied to a body bag?” I asked, raising the chain slightly as water dripped from it.
“Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed, though I could see the question in his eyes too.
I tightened my grip around the chain. “Then we’re going to bring out that body bag,” I said, my tone leaving no room for debate. “I want to see whatever it is that’s inside there.”
My brows furrowed, anxiety clawing its way up as I stared at the dark ripples the bodyguards had left behind. Then my eyes drifted to Damien, who hadn’t said anything, but his expression said everything. His eyes searched my face for an explanation, but I could tell he didn’t even know where to begin asking.
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