Chapter Text
The water closed over his head like a curtain, blessedly muffling the world above.
But it did nothing to silence the storm inside him.
Dan Heng plunged deeper, the glow of the feeding platform shrinking above until it was only a pale blur. His chest heaved, every breath scraping like broken glass. He raked his hands through his hair, forcing himself down, down, as though the dark could swallow the memory of what he’d just done.
Idiot.
The word tore through his mind, merciless and sharp.
..He had kissed her..
He had kissed the daughter of his captor, the one person he should despise above all others. The girl who was supposed to symbolize everything that bound him in chains.
And worse—he had wanted it.
His lips still tingled with the ghost of hers. Soft. Warm. Trembling with fear, but also with something that made his pulse stumble. He should have pushed her away the moment she leaned in. He should have bared his teeth, reminded her what he was, reminded himself what she was.
But instead, he had let her.
No—he had met her halfway.
Dan Heng pressed his palms against his eyes, nails biting into his skin until stars sparked behind his lids. The salt of the water stung against his lips, a cruel reminder of the kiss he was already replaying, over and over, even as he cursed himself for it.
He surfaced at last, dragging in a ragged breath. His hands gripped the ledge of the tank, knuckles white, water streaming down his arms. His reflection wavered on the surface—cold eyes, clenched jaw, and beneath it all, something fragile he refused to name.
“This was a mistake,” he muttered into the silence, his voice rough, low. The words felt like shackles, necessary and merciless. “It means nothing. It has to mean nothing.”
But even as he said it, he knew he was lying.
Because for the first time in years, he had felt something that wasn’t rage or emptiness. For the first time since his capture, his heart had tripped on its rhythm.
And it was because of her.
The sound of footsteps echoed faintly above—the guards making their late rounds, the clink of keys at their belts. Dan Heng sank back into the shadows before they could glance his way. He folded himself into the water’s embrace, cold and silent once more, every muscle tense with denial.
He told himself it wouldn’t happen again. He told himself he would bury this feeling deep enough that even she couldn’t reach it.
But the taste of her lingered like a curse.
And in the stillness of the dark, he finally admitted—at least to himself—that he wasn’t sure he wanted to forget.
The next day, March crept up the stairs to the feeding platform, her skirts damp with rain. The tank shimmered in the lamplight, and Dan Heng surfaced slowly, his expression unreadable. His eyes caught hers just once, sharp and cold, before he turned away.
She hesitated, fingers brushing the rail. “I… just wanted to see you.” Her voice was small, almost ashamed of itself.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his hand emerged from the water, wet and trembling. Something gleamed in his palm.
A scale. Smooth, iridescent, shifting between blue and silver as though it still remembered the sea.
March’s breath caught. “Why?” she whispered.
“Because you shouldn’t keep coming empty-handed,” he said flatly, as if the words cost him more than he wanted her to know.
She lifted it carefully, holding it like it might vanish if she pressed too hard. Her smile—fragile, hesitant—was enough to crack something inside him.
“It’s beautiful.”
He didn’t answer. He only sank back into the dark water, letting the silence fill what he couldn’t say.
When she finally slipped away, clutching the scale to her chest, Dan Heng pressed his forehead to the glass. The cold stung, but not half as much as the thought that he had just given away a piece of himself—something he swore no human would ever hold.
And yet… he found himself hoping she would keep it safe.
Some days later,
March’s footsteps echoed down the hidden stairwell, quick and uneven. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a warning drum, each beat chanting the same desperate truth—he knows. He knows. He knows.
When she reached the platform, Dan Heng was already there, half-submerged, arms draped against the stone as though waiting for her. His expression was the same as always—calm, carved from stone—but his eyes sharpened the second he saw her face.
“You’re pale.” His voice was quiet, low. “What happened?”
March gripped the railing until her knuckles turned white. “My father. He… he suspects. About me coming here.” Her words tumbled out, breathless, panicked. “He told me the guards said I linger too long. He’s going to start watching more closely.”
Dan Heng’s jaw tightened. He said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
“Dan Heng, please—” she leaned closer, lowering her voice even though no one else was there. “You don’t understand. If he catches me, if he realizes I’ve been—been with you—”
Her voice cracked. She couldn’t even finish the thought.
For the first time, his gaze softened, the edges of his anger smoothing just enough for her to breathe. “Then dont come. Its that EASY,” he said. But it wasn’t harsh—more like a plea strangled beneath his ribs.
March’s eyes widens “No.”
That broke him a little. He dropped his gaze, lips pressing into a hard line, water rippling around him. He looked as though he wanted to tell her she was foolish, reckless, selfish even. But instead, he dragged one hand over his face and exhaled shakily.
“You’re going to ruin yourself for me,” he muttered.
She leaned against the rail, tears trembling in her lashes. “Maybe, but you’re my first kiss so now I do have a reason to stay you know?.”
The words silenced him. Completely.
For the longest moment, they only stared at one another—her with a heart far too open, him with walls built too high to climb. And yet, between them, something fragile and dangerous pulsed, alive despite everything.
Finally, he looked away, retreating into the water’s shadow. “Then if you’re caught,” he said softly, “I’ll take the blame.”
March’s chest tightened. Her father would never believe him, never spare her. But the fact that he offered—that this cold, furious, caged creature would bear her ruin—made her clutch her chest like she was holding in something too big to name.
The chamber was empty that night, only the soft drip of water echoing from the stone. In the morning, March crept up to the railing at least for the last tome, her heart hammering. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about their last conversation—the way he’d said he’d take the blame, the way his voice had cracked despite how cold he tried to sound.
When Dan Heng surfaced, his hair slicked against his jaw, eyes catching the lamplight like molten glass, she couldn’t stop herself.
“March.” His voice was calm, low, but it carried warning. “You’re here again? Why’s that?.”
March looks at him holding the silver pole tightly. “Because I can? Its my house anyways..”
Before she could think, before she could talk herself out of it, she swung one leg over and leapt into the tank.
The water was colder than March expected. It closed around her body like glass, stealing her breath. She hadn’t even thought—she just jumped. The only thing she could hear was the frantic thrum of her heart and the muffled silence of the tank.
And then he was there. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her effortlessly upward.
They broke the surface together, water spilling down her face as she coughed. Dan Heng’s hold didn’t waver, his chest firm against her back as he kept her steady in the water.
“Foolish,” he murmured, his voice low, his lips close enough that she felt the word against her ear. “You could’ve drowned.”
March clung to him, her arms winding around his neck. She shivered, though not from the cold. Up close, she could finally see him—the way droplets slid down his jaw, the sharp planes of his face, the quiet storm in his eyes. He was breathtaking, terrifyingly so.
“I just wanted to be closer,” she whispered.
His hands tightened instinctively at her waist, keeping her afloat. “Closer?” His tone carried warning, but his voice had softened.
She nodded, her forehead brushing his. “You’re always stuck in that corner of the tank except that one time…” she refers back to the kiss.. “I just want to look at you more.”
Dan Heng stilled. He could have told her it was dangerous. He could have told her to go back. But the look in her eyes stopped him—the softness, the trembling, the way she searched his face like she’d been starving for it.
March’s lips brushed his hesitantly, almost feather-light. Testing. Asking.
He didn’t move. But he didn’t push her away either.
Encouraged, she kissed him again—slower, sweeter. The water swayed around them, quiet and gentle, as if the whole world had fallen still. Dan Heng finally exhaled, a shudder slipping through him, and leaned forward just enough to return it.
His mouth was warm despite the cold water, steady where hers trembled. He kissed like someone who didn’t know if he should—but couldn’t stop himself either.
March sighed against his lips, her fingers threading into his wet hair. She giggled softly when he adjusted his hold, effortlessly lifting her higher so her chin stayed above water. He was strong, she realized, stronger than she’d ever imagined. Safe, even in his silence.
When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks flushed, March tucked herself against his shoulder, eyes closed, heart racing.
“I’ll find a way,” she whispered, clinging to him as if she could shield him from everything beyond the tank. “I’ll get you out of here. You don’t belong in this place. I swear, Dan Heng.” She kisses him more
He didn’t answer, but the way his hand lingered at her back—careful, protective, almost tender—was more than enough.
For the first time, she thought she saw him let himself hope.
March lay in her bed that night, still damp at the ends of her hair, her heart refusing to calm. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it again: the heat of his lips against hers, the way his arms had steadied her in the water, the quiet care behind his anger.
Dan Heng.
The mermaid her father called a prize.
The one she wasn’t supposed to look at, let alone touch.
She turned onto her side, hugging her blanket, her mind racing. She had whispered the promise so easily in his arms: I’ll get you out of here. At the time, it felt like truth. Now, in the dark, it felt impossible.
Her father had guards posted at the feeding entrance. Keys were locked in his study. The tank was sealed with heavy chains when he left the estate. Dan Heng wasn’t just a prisoner—he was property in her father’s eyes, like a jewel locked away.
March’s chest tightened. She hated herself for ever standing by while her father spoke of him like that. A specimen. A collection.
But she wasn’t going to stay silent anymore.
Her hand drifted to her lips, remembering the warmth of the kiss. A secret, dangerous thing now burned inside her, stronger than fear.
She would need to be careful. To make her father believe she was obedient, disinterested. She would need time, patience, and a way to move faster than the guards.
March sat up, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. Already, the beginnings of a plan flickered through her thoughts:
* Steal the keys. Her father kept them in a drawer she could access if she timed it right.
* Watch the guards. She had to know when they were weakest, when the halls were quietest.
* Warn Dan Heng. He had to be ready to swim far, far beyond her father’s reach.
Her hands shook as she wrote fragments of ideas on a scrap of parchment, stuffing it into a book on her shelf where no one would look. It felt clumsy, desperate—but it was something.
She’d promised him. And this time, March wasn’t going to let her promise break.
But beneath the determination, a deeper ache lingered. She could still feel the way Dan Heng had held her above the water, lifting her so she wouldn’t sink. He had kissed her back, even if only a little, even if hesitantly.
That single, fragile moment had been enough to light her whole world.
And it was enough to make her willing to risk everything to free him.