Chapter 2: The Rain Breaks Her

Helena Raine stood under the shades of Raine's Books, her little shop that felt like her whole world, rain crashing down loud above her. The street was dark, with just one light shining on the wet stones. Her sneakers were so soaked, bringing out water with every tiny step, and she hugged her jacket tight, the cold was unbearable. She checked her phone again—no word from Charles. He'd been quiet all day, and it bothered her badly, a sad feeling she couldn't push away.

"Come on," she told herself, her voice shaky, brushing wet brown hair from her eyes. Charles was her light—tall, with green eyes that was noticeable, and a smile that always excites her. Six months ago, he'd burst into her shop, dripping from a storm, his boots messy on her floor. She'd laughed, tossed him a towel, and teased him about the mud, and they'd talked—about books, silly things, everything. Soon, they were sneaking coffee dates, walking in the park, his hand brushing hers like a promise. He was a Wentworth, rich and big, but with her, he was just Charles—her safe place, her dream.

The shop bell rang, and she turned, forcing a small smile as Mia stepped out, shaking her umbrella. "Still here?" Mia asked, her curly hair bouncing even in the wet. She hopped onto the counter, kicking her feet, boots dripping. "Waiting for your prince?"

"He's not a prince," Helena said, her voice cracking a little, stacking books to keep her hands from shaking. "He's just… busy, maybe."

Mia raised her eyebrows, looking at her hard. "Busy with his big house and piles of money? Helena, rich guys like him don't stick with girls like us—shop girls with old stuff and no fancy life."

"He's different," Helena said, her voice strong even though her heart wobbled. Charles didn't care about her plain clothes or her tiny home full of books and tea smells. He liked her—her stories, her giggles, how she'd lean into him under the park's dripping trees.

Mia's eyes softened, but she frowned. "I hope so. Just don't let him hurt you, okay?"

Helena nodded, but her mind was stuck on Charles—his last text, short and cold: "Busy tonight." She'd told herself it was fine, that he'd call, but now, in the rain, a big, sad feeling grew inside her. She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and decided to walk home through the park—their park, where he'd kissed her under wet leaves, saying things that made her believe in him.

Rain hit her hood hard as she walked, the path slippery, water shining under the dim lights. She tried to smile, thinking of his voice, his warm hands, how he made her feel like she was enough. Then her phone buzzed—not Charles, but a news alert: "Wentworth Son to Marry Rich Lady Katherine Harrow!" Her hand shook so bad she almost dropped it, but she pressed the button, and a picture loaded—Charles, in a fancy suit, sliding a ring onto a blonde lady's finger. She was perfect—pretty, strong, everything Helena could never be.

Her breath stopped, like someone punched her chest, and the phone fell into the mud with a quiet splash. "No," she whispered, her voice breaking, tears burning her eyes. She dropped to her knees, grabbing it, wiping dirt off with trembling fingers, and read: "Charles Wentworth and Katherine Harrow join in a big money deal…" It was true—he was marrying someone else, and he hadn't told her.

The world spun, rain soaking her as she crawled to a bench, sitting down hard, the cold wood making her shiver. He hadn't said a word—not a hint, nothing. She'd trusted him, given him her heart, believed every smile, every touch, and now it was all a lie. Her chest hurt so bad she could barely breathe, tears falling fast, mixing with the rain. She hugged herself tight, rocking a little, her sobs loud but lost in the storm. She felt empty, like someone had taken everything good and left her broken.

Across town, Charles roared his car down Wentworth Hall's driveway, rain blurring everything outside. He wasn't scared—not of the storm, not of Katherine, not of anything but losing Helena. Katherine's words—"Who's worth it?"—bounced in his head, and that car speeding at them hadn't made him blink. She'd stepped aside, smirking, as it stopped—her guard, glaring like a dog on a leash. "Go," she'd said, waving him off like trash. He didn't care—he was done bending for her.

He had to get to Helena—tell her the truth, fight for her, make her see he'd never let her go. Fearless, he pushed the car faster, his hands steady on the wheel, rain slamming the windows. The park came up, trees wild in the wind, and he saw her on their bench, curled up, wet and shaking. His heart dropped—she was his only weak spot, the one thing that could break him. "Helena!" he shouted, jumping out, rain hitting him hard as he ran, boots pounding the mud.

She looked up, her eyes red and puffy, her face wet with tears and rain, looking so sad it cut him deep. "Go away," she said, standing, her voice small and cracked. "I saw it, Charles—you're marrying her."

"No, I'm not!" he roared, stepping close, his voice bold and sure, grabbing her arms. "They tried to make me—my parents, her—but I'm not doing it, Helena. I'd burn it all down first!"

"You didn't tell me!" she cried, pulling back, her fists hitting his chest weak, tears streaming. "I gave you everything—my trust, my heart—and you hid this? I found out from a stupid phone!"

"I messed up," he said, loud and strong, not backing down, rain dripping off his chin. "I should've told you—I was wrong—but I love you, Helena. Only you. They can't stop me."

She laughed, a sad, broken sound that hurt him to hear. "Love? You're promised to her, Charles! I waited for you for long, gave you my heart, and now I'm nothing—just a fool who thought you cared about me."

"You're not nothing my Love!" he shouted, grabbing her shoulders again, holding her firmly, his eyes blazing. "I'll fight them all—my family, her, anyone. I'm not marrying her, Helena—I'm yours."

Her eyes were lost, staring at him like she wanted to believe but couldn't. "I trusted you," she whispered, her voice so tiny this time. "And now I'm empty. You broke me, Charles." She sank back to the bench, hugging herself, tears falling fast, looking like she'd lost everything.

He knelt in front of her, rain soaking him, his voice fierce. "I'll fix this—I'll prove it. I'm not scared of them, Helena. My heart belongs to you! And you alone."

She sobbed uncontrollably, her whole body couldn't bear it. "I can't—I can't feel any love anymore." She tried to stand up to run, her shoes slipping, but headlights flashed—a black car halted, and a man jumped out, gun in hand, hood hiding his face.

"Get back!" Charles shouted, shoving Helena behind him, standing tall, no fear in him as the man aimed the gun, rain glinting off it like a warning.