Page 10 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire

“We need to climb up this side,” Jonathan said, pointing to a section where the yacht’s tilt had created a makeshift ramp.“Watch for sharp edges.”

He went first, his powerful frame scaling the slanted surface with surprising agility.At the top, he turned and reached down to help me up.

Standing on the yacht’s side felt wrong, and gravity pulled me sideways.Jonathan kept a steady hand on my arm as we carefully made our way to a broken window that now served as our entrance.

Inside, the yacht’s interior had become an alien landscape.Furniture that once stood on the floor now projected from walls.Shattered glass and broken fixtures created a hazardous obstacle course that we had to navigate with extreme care.

“The kitchen’s this way,” I said, picking through the debris.“If it’s not completely underwater.”

We navigated through the tilted corridors, using handholds where we could find them.The kitchen door had been torn from its hinges, allowing us to enter what had once been my domain.

The sight hit me harder than I expected.My beautiful kitchen laid in ruins—cabinets burst open, equipment scattered, food and broken dishes everywhere.The rhythmic slosh of seawater against the far wall marked where half the room disappeared beneath the waterline.

“What should we prioritize?”Jonathan asked, surveying the chaos.

I snapped into assessment mode.“Anything sealed and non-perishable.Canned goods, pasta, rice.”I pointed to a cabinet that remained mostly intact.“There should be a stash of energy bars in there.And we need tools—my knife roll if you can find it.”

Jonathan nodded and immediately moved toward the cabinet I’d indicated.I waded through broken plates toward another storage area, pulling out canned vegetables and sealed packages of dried fruits.

“I got your knives,” Jonathan called, holding up my waterproof knife roll.“And these.”He showed me a handful of energy bars.

“Perfect.”I continued my search, locating salt, pepper, and other spices in sealed containers.“Any pots or pans survive?”

Jonathan dug through a pile of kitchenware.“Cast iron skillet.Dented but usable.Small pot, too.”

We worked methodically, gathering everything of value.Within twenty minutes, we’d accumulated a respectable pile of salvage.

“How do we get all this back?”I asked, eyeing our haul.

Jonathan unwrapped a waterproof tarp he’d found.“We’ll make a bundle, and I’ll carry it on my back.”He began arranging our findings in the center of the tarp.

“I can carry some, too,” I protested.

“You’ve got a concussion.”His tone left no room for argument.“I need you focused on not passing out in the water.”

I wanted to argue but knew he was right.My head throbbed, and occasional waves of dizziness washed over me like the tide.

We secured the supplies in the tarp, creating a makeshift backpack with some rope.Jonathan hoisted it onto his broad shoulders, grunting to adjust the weight.

“Anything else essential before we head back?”he asked.

I gave the ruined kitchen one last look.“No.We’ve got what we need for now.”

The journey back to shore proved more challenging than our trip out.The added weight made Jonathan move more cautiously, and the tide had begun to rise, deepening the water in places.

By the time we reached the beach, my legs trembled with exhaustion, and the cut on my head pulsed with renewed pain.

Jonathan set down our salvage, then turned to me.“Sit.Now.”

For once, I didn’t argue.I sank onto the sand, closing my eyes against the spinning sensation that threatened to overtake me.

I felt him kneel beside me.“Let me see that wound properly.”

His fingers gently probed the gash on my forehead.I winced but didn’t pull away.

“It needs cleaning, but I don’t think you need stitches.”He opened the first aid kit, pulling out antiseptic wipes.“This will sting.”

The antiseptic burned against the open cut.I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

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