Episode 20 – What Breaks the Surface

⚠️ Viewer Discretion Advised⚠️

This episode contains graphic scenes of violence, emotional distress, and references to attempted assault that may be triggering or upsetting to some viewers.

Viewer discretion is strongly advised.
Please prioritize your well-being and feel free to skip this episode or revisit when you're in a safe mental space.

If you or someone you know is affected by themes related to trauma or abuse, please consider reaching out to a trusted support resource or mental health professional.

MANILA YACHT CLUB POLO MATCH

Alfaro Team’s Grooming Tent

VANESSA

Several staff came rushing, drawn by the sound of glass, shouting and commotion but Vanessa barely registered them.

All she could see was Vincent.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t speak.

He just moved.

And in that movement, something inside him… broke free.

She should have felt relief. He was here; he had come for her. But the second Vincent launched himself at Lucien, relief evaporated. What replaced it was something far colder.

He didn’t look at Lucien like a man.

He looked at him like a threat to be erased.

Vanessa stood frozen, barefoot on crushed grass and shards of glass, watching in stunned silence as Vincent hit him…again and again, as if every blow could rewind time, undo what nearly happened, undo the fear he saw in her eyes.

His fists were relentless, methodical, as if he’d trained his whole life for this kind of violence. Not flashy. Not wild. Purposeful. He didn’t even seem to feel his knuckles breaking. He didn’t seem to hear anything, no cries from the staff, no desperate curses from Lucien’s teammates trying to pull him off.

Nothing registered.

Not even her.

Vanessa’s breath caught. The world tilted sideways.

He wasn’t fighting to win.

He was fighting to destroy.

And the look on his face. Cold, almost blank with focus…terrified her. Because she knew Vincent. She had seen him ruthless in business, charming at times, even unguarded in moments she pretended not to remember. But this version?

This was something else.

Something ancient. Something untouchable.

He didn’t stop. He just kept pounding, lost to the rhythm of panic and rage. Every movement screamed one desperate truth: Never again. Never let anyone touch her. Never let them near her at all.

And somewhere deep in Vanessa’s chest, awe and dread tangled like thorns.

It took everything in her to scream.

“Enough!”

The word rang out sharper than the bottle had shattered.

Vincent froze.

His chest rose and fell in savage bursts. Sweat poured down his temples, mixing with blood…his and Lucien’s, she couldn’t tell. His hands trembled at his sides, covered in red. His eyes, when they found her, weren’t entirely present.

He looked… wrecked.

And for a second, she saw a flicker of a boy beneath the monster.

Terrified, breathless, completely out of control.

Lucien groaned, crumpled and barely conscious, being dragged away by the others, but Vanessa’s eyes stayed locked on Vincent.

She opened her mouth to thank him. God, he’d saved her, but the words never made it out.

Because his voice cut through the silence first, raw and furious:

“How dumb can you be?! Letting Lucien lure you out like that?!”

Her heart stung.

Her eyes flared.

SLAP.

Her hand met his cheek before she even realized it had moved.

She punched him, hard. “You don’t get to shout at me! I had it handled!”

“Handled?! You were cornered!”

“You think I need saving all the time?!”

They glared at each other, breathing hard.

Then she took a step, onto glass.

Vincent cursed and swept her off her feet before she could take another.

“Put me down!”

“No.”

“I said---!”

“You’ll hurt yourself from the broken glasses.”

That shut her up.

*******

VINCENT

As he carried her away from the blood and glass, Vanessa clung to his shirt, trembling. Silence wrapped around them again, and Vincent allowed the scent of Lilies coming from Vanessa’s skin to slowly calm him down.

He can still feel her shaking so, he focused more on what she needed. And that calmed him down too, surprisingly!

Distraction, yes, that’s good. Her face told him she is still clearly upset so how should he calm her down?

“Where are your shoes?”

“I threw them at Lucien’s face.”

Vincent now clear-headed with the scent of lilies enveloping his senses, managed a chuckle. “So that gave him the gash. Great job.”

Vanessa laughed through the tears. “I almost didn’t… they were limited edition.”

Quiet.

*******

VANESSA

They passed the lake in silence, the calm water a stark contrast to the chaos they'd just left behind. Vincent stopped suddenly and settled on a large boulder near the shore, adjusting her carefully in his arms as if still afraid she'd fall apart.

Then, in a voice roughened by restraint, he asked, “Can I hold you?”

Vanessa blinked.

Of all the things he could’ve said…after blood, after rage, after the sound of bones breaking…it was that question that nearly undid her.

He asked.

She almost sobbed right there. Not because she was sad, or scared, but because after everything… he still remembered to ask. Still treated her like she mattered. Like her yes or no meant something in a world that just tried to take both from her.

She nodded wordlessly, and he gently wrapped his arms around her.

No force, no pressure, just warmth. It wasn’t invasive. It wasn’t demanding. It felt like… relief.

Vanessa exhaled shakily, melting into him, her head resting against his chest as his heartbeat thundered beneath her cheek. He kissed the top of her hair, drawing in a long, ragged breath as if her scent had just brought him back from the edge of something he didn’t know how to escape.

“I would’ve killed him,” Vincent whispered into her hair. “If you hadn’t stopped me. I was terrified, Vanessa. I thought…”

She lifted her head, wanting to reassure him--to say she was fine, that she could handle herself, but when their eyes met, the words slipped from her grasp. He looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to this earth.

For a moment, they didn’t move. Just held on, breathing each other in, trying to make sense of everything that had shattered in the last hour.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered at last, eyes searching his. “For what I said yesterday. In the car. And... thank you. For today.”

He didn’t respond with words.

Instead, he stood up again with her still in his arms, mischief suddenly glinting in his eyes.

“Would you hate me if I threw you in?”

“What?!”

Before she could escape, he lifted her higher with a playful growl, and she shrieked, instinctively clinging to him…arms wrapped tight, legs locking around his waist.

“Vincent!” she laughed, breathless.

He froze, stunned by her reaction, and then both of them burst into genuine laughter. Loud and real, the kind that cracked the remaining tension between them like a storm finally breaking.

“Okay, koala,” he teased.

She giggled breathlessly, unable to stop, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Tears he hadn’t even noticed had fallen.

“I didn’t know you were so limber,” he murmured, still holding her as if she weighed nothing.

“I didn’t know you were so… warm,” she replied softly, cheeks pink. She pinched his lips together. “Fish face.”

He gave a fake frown. “You said not yet,” he reminded her, voice low, eyes burning with something dangerous and tender.

Her breath caught.

She remembered exactly what he meant.

He kissed her forehead, cradling her closer, and she tightened her hold around him, feeling the solid beat of his heart beneath her ear.

Then, almost bashfully, she whispered, “...Can we go back and find my shoes, please?”

Vincent groaned theatrically. “Vanessa…”

“They fit my tubby toes perfectly,” she muttered.

With a sigh that was far more amused than annoyed, he touched his earpiece. “Anyone. Vanessa’s red shoes are somewhere out there. Find them now. And tell my brother the match is over.”

And as he carried her back toward the car, still in full koala mode, the world behind them began to shift. The game was canceled. The mask was off.

And the once-discreet Vincent? Was now impossible to ignore.

*******

The murmurs began quietly but spread like wildfire across the Polo Club as word of "an incident in the grooming tents" reached the spectators. Though no one knew the full story yet, the sight of Lucien Alfaro being half-dragged and half-carried by two of his teammates bruised, bloodied, and unconscious was enough to cause a stir. Spectators gasped, cameras turned discreetly, and the club staff scrambled to manage optics while discreetly ushering out the more impressionable guests.

Back at the far edge of the grounds, Vincent placed Vanessa gently in the passenger seat of his matte-black Mercedez. She had calmed down considerably, though her knuckles still trembled slightly from adrenaline and shock. Vincent leaned down, buckling her in with care.

She caught his hand mid-movement.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered.

Vincent glanced down and noticed the angry red scrape along his knuckles and another near his collarbone. “It’s fine,” he said with a crooked smile. “Asshole faces disagree with me.”

Vanessa looked away, silent for a few beats. “You shouldn’t have done that for me,” she said, voice small but clear.

Vincent raised a brow. “Would you rather I left Lucien standing?”

“No! Lucien deserved everything he got...” she snapped, then softened. “I just… I didn’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

Vincent leaned forward, resting a hand on the doorframe. “Too late,” he said with quiet fire. “I’ll take every bruise if it means you’re safe, Vanessa. They crossed a line. And I’m not sorry.”

Vanessa blinked up at him, lips parting as if to speak, but then shut again. Instead, she leaned back and muttered, “I hope they find my shoes, but if it’s too much trouble tell them not to bother”

Vincent laughed as he closed the door and circled the SUV.
“You just said they were one of a kind.”

“They were. But now I feel like it’s too much to ask your people to find it for me.”

Vincent started the engine. “Too bad. My guys are trained to find needle-in-a-haystack-type things. They’re bringing those stilettoes back.”

Vanessa groaned and covered her face. “Ugh. I’m starting to feel like I bothered your team too much with this. How many guys do you have out in that field anyway?”

Vincent smirked, “Does not matter how many guys I have with me today. But as for your shoes, I’ve seen you limp around in five-inch heels you hate just because they made your legs look killer. You’re going to want those shoes back tomorrow.”

She peeked through her fingers. “You think my legs look killer?”

Vincent smirked. “Deadly.”

She tried not to smile and failed.

Back at the Polo Club, the mood was rapidly shifting from festive to frenzied.
Marisse stood with crossed arms near the VIP section, trying not to look too pleased. “He finally broke Lucien’s smug face. Took him long enough.”

Voltaire, now fully polished and composed in his chair, muttered, “Yeah well, he also almost broke the club's reputation. The press is going to have a field day with this.”

They all watched as what looks like a whole entourage of men in black suits began looking for something all around the polo field.

Andrew, holding a glass of champagne and already halfway tipsy, grinned. “True. But honestly? It was about time someone cracked that arrogant prick.”

Caleta leaned in. “Do you think Vincent’s in trouble?”

Rose shook her head. “Please. The Alfaros might have money, but the Viaquezas built this club. If anything, this scandal just made him more interesting.”

Meanwhile, in the Mercedes, Vincent drove in silence for a while, watching Vanessa through glances. She looked small tucked in the leather seat, arms around herself, knees up, head tilted against the glass.

“You, okay?” he finally asked.

Vanessa nodded slowly. “I will be.”

“You can stay quiet. I won’t push you to talk.”

“I know,” she said, then glanced at him. “Vincent?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t really have it under control earlier.” She swallowed. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did,”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Don’t. You’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

She leaned back again, watching trees blur by through the window. Then, with a soft voice, she asked as if it was important. “Still want to throw me in a lake?”

Vincent grinned without looking at her. “Not unless you want me to carry you again.”

“I kind of liked that,” she admitted shyly. “But don’t let it get to your fish face.”

He laughed, really laughed, and the tension that had wrapped itself around them finally loosened, drifting out the windows into the summer air.

*******