Chapter 2

Wave after wave washed over my feet, stripping away the last remaining warmth from my body.

Just then, the crunch of footsteps against the sand came from behind me.

A moment later, a men's cashmere coat—still holding his body heat—was draped over my shoulders. The thick fabric blocked the biting night sea breeze.

I turned around and saw Arthur.

He stopped just a step away from me.

The furious expression he wore in the hospital room a few hours ago was gone. His face had returned to the gentle, concerned look he had when I first met him.

He reached out, pulling the collar of the coat a little tighter around my neck.

"Aria, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you," Arthur said, looking at my profile. "Seeing Victoria hurt so badly in the room earlier... I was just too anxious and lost control of my emotions."

I looked at him in agony. "You said back there that you were going to make me transplant my legs to her."

"Come back inside with me first. The water is too cold, and you'll get sick if you stay out here."

Arthur frowned slightly, letting out a sigh as he grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me back onto the shore.

I dodged his touch, standing stubbornly in place, waiting for his answer.

Arthur's hand froze in midair. He fell silent for a few seconds before placing both hands on my shoulders, using a professional, pacifying tone to persuade me. "Aria, listen to me. Your situation and Victoria's are entirely different. She is a professional ballet dancer. The stage is her whole life. Now that her legs are crushed, if we don't perform the transplant, she'll never dance again. That is just too cruel to her."

"And it isn't cruel to me?" I asked, looking him in the eye.

"This is a responsibility you have to take, Aria. People need to learn to be accountable for their actions. Just treat this as a way to earn her forgiveness."

Arthur gripped my shoulders a little tighter, pulling me closer to him. "You know my surgical skills. I will personally handle this operation. You don't need to train for the stage every day like she does. As long as you are willing to give up these legs to help her this once, I'll have the most advanced prosthetics custom-made for you afterward. I promise you, I will take good care of you for the rest of your life."

The waves crashed against the beach rhythmically. I lowered my gaze and said nothing.

"I know that since Victoria came back, you've been feeling insecure, and that's why you did all those things. I can forgive you for the past, but you've gone too far this time. As long as you give her your legs and get her forgiveness, everything from before will be wiped clean. She has already agreed not to hold it against you."

"As long as I do this surgery and give her my legs, it will all be over?" I looked up at him.

"Yes. Once this surgery is done and we save her career, this whole thing will be entirely behind us."

Arthur looked into my eyes and made a promise. "Once she gets through the postoperative recovery and her condition stabilizes, I will immediately arrange for her to be transferred to a medical center in another city. She will never appear in our lives again. After that, it will just be the two of us in this seaside sanatorium. Our life will go back to the way it was when you first arrived. Okay?"

Listening to the future he painted, the defenses I had built up in my heart slowly began to loosen.

In truth, all I ever wanted was the peaceful life he gave me when I first came ashore.

I wanted to give Arthur one last chance, and to hold onto my reason for staying on land.

"Okay." I nodded and obediently stepped back up onto the beach. "I promise you."

Later that night, as agreed, I lay in the underground private operating room registered under Arthur's name.

The temperature in the room was set extremely low. The surgical lights emitted a glaring white glow, illuminating the entire metal operating table.

Arthur had changed into sterile surgical scrubs. He wore a blue medical cap, a face mask, and latex gloves.

He stood with his back to me in front of a medical cart, skillfully counting the surgical instruments in the tray. The clinking of metal items was distinctly clear in the quiet room.

Once everything was ready, Arthur turned and walked over to the operating table.

He held an anesthesia mask connected to a syringe pump, preparing to place it over my face.

Just as he leaned forward, I reached out and tightly gripped his gloved wrist.

"Arthur." I looked at his eyes exposed above the mask and reiterated to him one last time, "I really didn't tamper with the equipment backstage. The person who caused that stage accident wasn't me."

Arthur's movements paused for only a single second.

He didn't even look at me. He just casually replied in an obviously dismissive tone, "I know."

With that, he pulled his wrist free, pushed my hand away, and clamped the anesthesia mask tightly over my nose and mouth.

He pressed the switch for the injection, and the ice-cold fluid slowly flowed through the IV tube into my veins.

Then, he turned and walked to the instrument tray nearby, picking up a thin scalpel, waiting for me to lose consciousness.

But what he didn't know was that, as a mermaid, my physiology was fundamentally different from a human's.

The anesthesia he used had absolutely no effect on my nervous system.

Throughout the surgery that followed, my mind remained absolutely, terrifyingly awake.

Just a few minutes later, I heard the thin, slicing sound of a metal blade cutting open my skin.

Arthur was completely engrossed in the operation, never once looking up at me lying flat on the table.

I made no sound. I bit down hard on my lower lip, my hands clenching violently at my sides as I gripped the sterile bed sheets with every ounce of strength I had.

I lay wide awake on the operating table, enduring the raw, agonizing torture of my legs being severed from my body.