Ariane Farias woke up at five in the morning, the hour when only the house servants were already up. But getting up that early was no longer half as hard as it had been fourteen days ago, when she first began this routine with her coach. If she wanted to become the athlete she aspired to be, she needed ironclad endurance. No surprise, by eight a.m. she had already taken a cold shower, eaten a light meal, warmed up with a run, and stretched. Now, she stood before the pool, ready to train for real.
The black swimsuit hugged her slim, lean body, contrasting with her pale skin. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail beneath her swim cap, eyes locked through the goggles. She stared down the end of the semi-Olympic pool like a hawk eyeing its prey. The competition was just one week away, and on that sunny Friday, she had no intention of sticking to the programmed rest days. No—this time she wanted to test her limits. She needed to. Every hair on her body stood on edge with anticipation.
She took her position.
Three, two...
One.
Her body sliced through the water like a torpedo. She crossed the first twenty-five meters without even taking a breath. As soon as her fingers touched the edge, she flipped in one fluid motion, starting the return. One, two, three, four... Only on the fifth lap did she think about breathing. Her lung capacity could rival that of professionals. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty... For the other athletes in town, this would be an intense training session, but for her, it was still not enough. Her ambition to become an Olympic athlete didn't allow for mediocre limits.
By the seventy-third lap, her rhythm slowed. She had been there for forty-seven minutes, though she could've sworn it had only been twenty. More—her mind demanded more. She wanted to surpass her limit, to meet it just to break it. Finishing the eighty-first lap, her body was screaming "enough," but something happened. Suddenly, she felt she could ignore the exhaustion. The pain vanished. Her arms tore through the water with more power, more speed. Five minutes later, she had completed an additional thirty impressive laps. Finally, she stopped, aware of the risk of passing out right then and there.
One hundred and eleven laps in one hour and seven minutes.
Her chest heaved, but she smiled. I did it.
A sarcastic voice sounded behind her.
— The Farias family's swimmer really is unstoppable.
Pedro, her younger brother—blond and five years her junior, though already taller than her—wore a smile that blended fascination and mockery.
— You must've been a mullet fish in a past life.
Ariane grimaced. Of all aquatic animals, a mullet? That wouldn't even make her top thirty.
— And you must've been a shrimp, she shot back. Everyone wants to rip off the head to eat it.
— I was probably the fisherman who made you into dinner, he retorted, still smug. But you tasted so bad that not even in this girl incarnation does anyone want you.
— If you fished me, that's why I came back to haunt you. Though your face already does that on its own...
The sentence died on her lips. Suddenly, Ariane gasped hard, but no air entered her lungs.
Pedro laughed, not yet realizing the seriousness.
— Hey, quit playing, mullet...
But the flush in her face deepened. Her hands flew to her neck, desperately trying to draw breath.
Pedro's smile vanished.
— Ariane?
Her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the floor.
Pedro ran to her, holding her in his arms, trying to understand what was happening. Thinking she was choking, he tried abdominal thrusts, screaming for help. The staff rushed in, calling emergency services. The parents only found out when the ambulance was already on its way.
At that moment, Pedro was simply holding his unconscious sister.
And that family, that morning, had no idea of the storm this terrifying episode would unleash. Ariane had crossed a line.
And her story was just beginning.