The Billionaire Who Saved Me - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself surrounded by darkness. The cold wind cut through me like a knife, sharp and painful. I wondered if I was dead and now in hell.
"You're awake?" a deep voice asked.
I turned toward the voice and saw a stranger standing at the bow of the boat, his appearance strikingly handsome.
"Who are you? How did I end up here?" I sat up, shivering all over from the cold. Only then did I realize I was soaked through, and water was still dripping from my hair.
"You were thrown into the sea. Since you're awake, come inside," the man said, walking into the cabin without another word.
I struggled to stand up, every inch of my body aching. But right now, I couldn't focus on my injuries. I followed the man inside.
It was a private yacht, luxurious in a way I had only seen on TV. From the outside, it didn't look very big, but inside it was spacious, with a living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom.
The man sat on the couch in the living room. When he saw me enter, he pointed to the seat across from him. "Sit."
Beside the sofa was a wet wetsuit, and I looked around, not seeing anyone else. "Did you save me? Thank you."
The man glanced at me, then tossed me a set of men's clothes. "Go clean up. The bathroom's straight ahead, then turn left."
Though I had a million questions, I took the clothes and went to the bathroom.
I undressed, standing under the shower as the hot water washed over me. Looking at the bruises on my body, I couldn't feel the pain physically. The pain in my heart was far worse, a million times more intense. I was consumed by hatred.
I never expected that after three years of marriage, I would end up in this situation. For Jennifer, Oliver had treated me this way. I wanted to call the police immediately and expose his hypocrisy.
I quickly rinsed off and then put on the man's clothes before returning to the living room. On the table, there was a small bottle of medicine, bandages, and iodine.
The man pointed to these items and said, "You can take care of your own wounds."
I nodded. "Thanks, but I'm fine. When will the ship dock? I need to go back."
"You probably won't be able to go back for a while. The ship is currently in international waters. It won't return for another three months." His tone was calm.
A wave of disappointment hit me. I was desperate to go back and report Oliver to the police, but now I was being told I'd have to wait three months. I couldn't wait that long.
The man questioned, "Are you planning to go back for revenge?" Before I could even ask how he knew that, he continued, "Attempted murder should mean at least a year in prison, right? But you have no proof."
I almost jumped out of my seat in anger. "I almost died at his hands. How could he only get one year?"
He looked at me like I was an idiot, then said coldly, "Like you just said, he 'almost' killed you. A year is already too much, and that's only because of your injuries.
"By the way, in three months, your wounds will be healed, and they won't even give him a year."
His words left me weak, sinking back into the couch as tears rolled down my cheeks. I mumbled to myself, "That's not fair."
He sneered, "Fair? Only the strong have the right to demand fairness. The funny thing is, the weak think it's their right. Your husband's already with someone else, and you're still clinging to him.
"Getting beaten and thrown in the sea—what else did you expect? I thought you'd learn something in this second chance at life, but you're still the same bitter woman. Honestly, I regret saving you."
His words hit me like a slap, and I stood up suddenly, glaring at him. I wanted to tell him that it wasn't like that, but I had no argument to make.
I completely crumbled, all the strength draining out of me. The man continued to watch me, observing the change in my expression.
After a long while, I made up my mind. "I'm going to get revenge, no matter what it takes."
"Is that so? Go ahead, tell me what you plan to do," the man said, clearly interested.
I looked at him with determination, speaking each word carefully, "I'll sneak into their house in the middle of the night and kill them all with a knife."
The man scoffed, clearly mocking me, "Let's not even talk about whether you could kill a few people without anyone noticing. Even if you succeed, you'll still have to pay for it with your own life.
"They just want you dead, but you're going to kill them all. What a dramatic little tragedy you're staging."
"If that won't work and nothing else will either, then what the hell am I supposed to do to get revenge?" I was almost losing it, shouting at him.
"Forget it. You didn't die anyway. Once you're back, you'll probably calm down. Who knows, maybe if you beg a little, they'll even let you go back and play housekeeper for them again," he added, his words another cruel jab.
"Never. I'll get my revenge, no matter what it takes." My voice was steady, every word sharp as a blade. "From this moment on, I swear—I won't rest until they've paid for everything they've done to me."