Chapter 1: The Bait and the Betrayal

Rumor has it mermaids are wild, seductive creatures. Folks say they can slip into human skin, climb aboard a ship, and leave sailors lovesick—or worse—by dawn.

Some people say it like it’s an old ghost story, the kind you’d hear swapping beers on a Carolina beach after midnight. Honestly, the way they talk, you’d think mermaids were the ocean’s answer to femme fatales—dangerous, irresistible, the kind of trouble you don’t see coming until you’re already in too deep. There’s a little thrill in the way the stories are told, like everyone wants to believe there’s something out there in the dark, just waiting to pull you under.

A spoiled trust-fund kid, hungry for a taste of the forbidden, piloted his luxury yacht deep into the Atlantic. He used steel animal traps and blood—he claimed it was human—to bait one in. At sunrise, a voluptuous mermaid finally appeared. Her sapphire-blue tail flicked as she twisted with eerie grace in his arms.

It was the kind of thing you’d expect to see on some trashy reality show, except this was real life—no joke—or as close as we ever got to it. The kid, Ethan Price, had a look in his eye like he thought he was untouchable. He always did. The rest of us watched, half in awe, half in disbelief, as the impossible unfolded right in front of us, drifting out there with nothing but water and secrets all around us.

But I’m the only one who knows the truth: when a mermaid boards your boat… nobody makes it home.

Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still taste the salt in the air and feel the way the deck seemed to tilt under my feet. There’s something about the ocean at night that makes you believe in monsters. I mean, or maybe it just brings out the ones already inside you.

The night was thick and misty, casting an extra layer of temptation over her shimmering, scaled body. The handful of people on the yacht barely dared to breathe. Everyone watched the entwined figures, completely transfixed.

The air felt heavy, charged with something electric. Fog rolled in, muffling the waves, making the world shrink down to the circle of light on the deck. Nobody breathed. You could hear the hush of everyone’s breath, the way even the rowdiest of us had gone silent, spellbound by the sight of that impossible creature in Ethan’s arms.

The mermaid had a knockout figure, her whole body slick and shining. Travis Monroe, Ethan Price’s ever-present wingman, stared at her with greedy, hungry eyes.

Travis was the kind of guy who always wanted what he couldn’t have. He always wanted what he couldn’t have. No surprise. He watched her like she was the answer to every dirty daydream he’d ever had. His gaze slid over her, lingering, shameless. The way he licked his lips, you’d think he was starving and she was the last meal on earth.

“Hey, Miles, tell me,” he whispered—y’know—the usual—“if mermaids don’t have, y’know, the usual, how does it even work?”

His voice was low, conspiratorial, like he didn’t buy what his eyes were telling him. He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. Too close.

I cleared my throat and adjusted my glasses. “From what I’ve read, um, when a mermaid’s in heat, a hollow forms in her tail. That’s how it’s possible.”

I tried to sound clinical, detached. Still, I could feel my face getting hot, embarrassed to even say the words out loud. I’d read every myth, every old sailor’s log, but none of it had prepared me for this. I wanted to prove I belonged there, that I wasn’t just the nerd they dragged along for trivia night.

The mermaid seemed to sense the attention. She pressed a deep kiss on Ethan, but her iridescent eyes stayed locked on Travis—her movements slow and provocative, like she wanted to say something, but was holding back.

Her gaze was sharp, calculating, almost predatory. The way she moved, you’d think she was putting on a show just for him, taunting him with every flick of her tail, every subtle arch of her back. Mesmerizing—but terrifying.

“Damn, no wonder Ethan’s hooked,” Travis muttered. “He’s seen every kind of girl, but this? This is next level.”

He sounded almost jealous, like he couldn’t stand that Ethan got there first. His voice had a bitter edge, the kind that comes from always playing second fiddle. Frankly, it made me wonder. How long had he waited for his shot at something—or someone—out of reach?

Ethan Price was the infamous rich kid at our university, eldest son of the Price family, who basically owned half of Charleston. Travis had been his shadow since freshman year, and even after graduation, he worked for Ethan as a bodyguard.

If you’d ever set foot on campus, you knew the Price name. Their money was old, the kind that built libraries and got buildings named after you. Ethan wore it like armor. Travis, meanwhile, was the muscle—never far from Ethan’s side, loyal for reasons I never quite understood. He followed Ethan into every party, every fight, every stupid dare.

Me? I was just a regular classmate, barely connected. But after graduation, I landed a job at the Charleston Historical Society and published a paper arguing evidence for old mermaid legends. The young Mr. Price invited me along, putting me in charge of tracking where mermaids might appear and luring them in.

I’d always been the odd one out, the scholarship kid with a thing for folklore and dusty archives. When Ethan called, it felt like a ticket to something bigger than my tiny apartment and my stack of library books. I didn’t ask too many questions—dumb, I know. I just packed my notebook, my camera, and my nerves, and said yes.

On deck, we watched as Ethan and the mermaid kissed like there was no tomorrow. Her body twisted like a snake in water, making Ethan light up with excitement. His actual girlfriend, Savannah Miller, grew more and more uncomfortable, but didn’t dare throw a fit. She covered her eyes and hissed under her breath, “Disgusting pig. He’ll mess around with anything that moves.”

Savannah’s voice was tight, brittle as glass. She tried to act like she didn’t care, but I saw the way her hands shook, the way she dug her nails into her palm to keep from crying. I’d seen her at her best—head cheerleader, the kind of girl who always knew how to smile for the camera. But tonight, she was just another girl watching her boyfriend fall for someone—something—else. Not human.

Finally, Ethan couldn’t hold back. Burning with desire, he scooped the mermaid up and hurried to the lower stateroom, where a lavish bedroom with a round bed waited for him to enjoy all night.

He didn’t look back, not once. The rest of us pretended not to notice, but the air was thick with jealousy, resentment, and something darker. The way Ethan carried her, you’d think he’d just won the lottery. The mermaid’s tail trailed behind them, leaving salt-slick streaks on the mahogany floor.

We didn’t get to see any more. One by one, we called it a night and headed up to the upper deck, each lost in our own thoughts.

There was an unnatural hush over the group as we drifted off. Nobody wanted to talk about what we’d seen—or what we hadn’t. I swear, I lay awake for a long time, listening to the sound of the waves slapping against the hull, wondering if we’d just crossed some invisible line we couldn’t come back from.

As I was leaving, Travis tugged my sleeve. “So, are mermaids, like, loyal?”

He sounded almost hopeful, like he wanted me to tell him what he wanted to hear. There was a boyishness to his question, a flicker of vulnerability I hadn’t seen before. Which was new.

Trust me, I shook my head and smiled. “Don’t worry. Mermaids are notorious for being wild. Ethan’s not nearly enough for her.”

I tried to keep my tone light, but there was a warning in my words I hoped he’d catch. The old stories never ended well for the men who thought they could tame a mermaid.

Travis wet his lips, eyes gleaming.

He looked like a kid who’d just found out Christmas came twice this year. It made my skin crawl.

Most of the night and into the next day, we heard noises coming from the lower deck. Ethan had ordered us not to disturb him, so the three of us killed time playing cards. The sky was clear, the ocean calm—a rare, windless stretch. It was my first time on such a fancy yacht. I offered to cook in the galley, and we ate lobster with red wine, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

It was almost easy to forget what was happening below deck. We sat in the glow of the galley lights, trading stories, drinking too much, pretending we were just friends on a summer trip—for a few hours, the world felt normal—like maybe the whole mermaid thing was just a weird dream we’d all had together.

But at midnight on the second day, the lower deck hatch finally opened. Ethan stumbled out, drenched in sticky, dark blood. “Help... the, the mermaid is—”

He looked nothing like the cocky kid we’d known. His face was gray, lips trembling, blood soaking through his shirt and pooling at his feet. The sight of him made my stomach drop. For a split second, I couldn’t move.

I rushed to catch the dying Ethan and yelled toward the cabin, “Don’t panic yet. Travis, get us turned around! We need a hospital!”

My voice cracked, desperate, but I knew—even as I said it—that we were too far from shore. The nearest help was hours away. Panic buzzed in my chest, sharp and metallic, as I tried to keep Ethan upright.

But it was too late. Ethan’s hands slipped from my grip and he stopped breathing.