Chapter 3: The Deal That Burns

Charles stood like a wall in front of Helena as the gunman stepped closer, rain pouring down hard, soaking the park in wet and dark. The trees shook wild in the wind, branches snapping with loud cracks. The gun shone under a flickering park light, pointed straight at them, its metal cold and wet. "Wentworth," the man said, his voice deep and mean, cutting through the storm like a knife through the night. "You don't hide easy."

"I don't hide at all," Charles shot back, bold and loud, keeping Helena behind him, his heart steady even as hers raced. She clung to his arm, her fingers weak and shaky, her breath fast and scared, her wet hair cold against his neck.

"Big talk," the man said, gun steady, water dripping off it.

"Come with me now, or she's done."

"Try it," Charles frowned, stepping forward, no fear in his eyes, daring the man to move, his boots sinking slightly in the soft earth. Helena gasped, pulling at him, her nails digging in. "Don't—he'll hurt you," she whispered to him with a tiny and shaky voice.

The man laughed, and laughed and kept coming closer with each laughter, his boots marched the mud. "She's smart—you're not, that's the difference between you stupid lovers."

He clicked the gun, trying to shoot at them, and Charles charged, slamming him into the mud with a heavy thud. The shot went off, loud, missing them slightly as they crashed down, water splashing everywhere, soaking them even more. Helena screamed, she went on her knees immediately without any instruction, her hands over her face, crying hard, her sobs mixing with the rain's roar. They were so so lucky. The man swung a fist, but Charles dodged, pinning him, his strength unstoppable, muscles tight under his wet jacket. Charles was so manly and fearless.

"Enough!" Katherine's voice cut through, it was so sharp and loud, even someone a mile away could hear it through the storm's howl. As she walked out of the shadows, her black coat dripping wet. Her guard followed, big and quiet, gun up, his boots leaving deep prints in the ground. The hooded man stopped fighting, scrambling up, mud on his clothes, his gun slipping in his hand, nearly dropping into the wet mess below.

"Call him off," Charles said, standing tall, wiping rain from his face with a quick swipe, his voice a command that echoed over the wind. He pulled Helena up, holding her close, her sobs shaking her whole body.

Katherine smirked, her blonde hair stuck to her face, her blue eyes cold and mean. She waved the hooded man back like he was a pet.

"He's not mine—just a helper. You're bold, Charles. I like that, but it won't help you."

"I don't need your games," he said, loud and fearless, staring her down. "Say what you want and get out."

"You," she said, stepping closer, her shoes sinking in the mud, her coat flapping.

"This wedding's happening. My company needs your boats, your family needs my money. But you're chasing her." She glared at Helena, who shrank back, tears falling, looking small and lost, her jacket dropping under the rain's weight.

"She's not your business," Charles said, his voice hard, pulling Helena tighter, her wet clothes soaking into his, chilling his skin through his shirt.

"She's my problem," Katherine said, her smile thin and nasty, her teeth barely showing. "Here's the deal—play along, keep her quiet, and she lives. Fight me, and she's gone fast."

Helena groaned with so much pain, her knees were hurting badly, and Charles caught her, tried holding her up, his arms strong around her trembling frame. "You're evil," she whispered, her voice so weak it barely came out, her eyes looked so dull, you'd definitely know she was in pain, her face pale under the wet strands of hair.

"Smart," Katherine said, smirking wider. "Charles gets it—don't you?"

"I get you're scared," he said, bold and strong, stepping toward her, no shake in him. "You need me more than I need you. Touch her, and I'll end you."

Katherine laughed, cold and quick, the sound sharp against the wind's wail. "Big words. Wedding's in two days. Be there, or I'll hunt her down—anywhere she runs."

She turned, walking off, the hooded man following, his steps slow and heavy, her guard staying back, gun still out, watching with eyes like stones through the rain. Helena sank to the ground, crying hard, her hands in the mud, fingers clawing at the wet earth. "She'll kill me," she cried heavily, her voice showed she was so scared and upset at the same time, breaking into little pieces. "I trusted you, and now I'm nothing—I can't even think straight."

Charles knelt, lifting her face, his voice fierce, rain streaming down his jaw. "She won't touch you—I'm not scared of her or anyone. You're my only fight, Helena. I'll keep you safe."

She shook her head, tears endless, her body limp, swaying in the wind. "I'm so tired—everything hurts. You broke me, and now this…" She curled up, sobbing, lost in her pain, a shell of herself, her breath increases with every cry.

He stood, pulling her up, his strength unshaken, his hands firm under her arms. "We're running—now. I'll take you where she can't reach." They stumbled to his car, her steps slow, her cries loud, the storm roaring like a beast around them. He shoved her in, jumped behind the wheel, and started it, tires spinning in the thick mud, driving off fast, leaving the park in shadows, the trees fading gradually fading as he sped off.

At Wentworth Hall, Charles burst into his room, dragging Helena through the heavy oak door, locking it tight with a loud click that echoed in the quiet. He paced, wet shoes loud on the floor, squeaking with every step, rain hitting the windows like rocks, rattling the glass in its frames. "Two days," he said, strong and sure, wiping water off his face with a rough hand. "I'll get us out—somewhere she'll never find."

Helena slumped against the wall, her eyes empty, tears still falling, going down her muddy cheeks. "She'll hurt me," she whispered, her voice dead, barely a breath. "I loved you, and now I'm falling apart—I can't feel anything good anymore."

"She won't win," he said, crossing to her, pulling her into his arms, bold and steady, his grip warm against her cold skin. "I'm not afraid—I'll destroy them all for you. You're my heart, Helena."

She looked up, her face pale, her breath weak, quick intake of breathe in the dim room. "I'm so broken—I can't fight this." Her voice faded, her body sagging, drained dry by betrayal and fear.

A loud bang hit the door, shaking it hard.

"Charles!" Edward yelled, mad and big, his voice booming through the walls. "Open this now!"

Helena pulled back, curling tighter into herself, her shoulders curled up, and Charles stood in front, grabbing a lamp like a weapon, fearless, its brass glinting in the low light. "Stay there," he said, voice sharp, ready for anything, his stance wide and solid. The door shook and made a loud noise. A dark shape appeared under it, stretching across the floor. Then his phone rang loudly on the table, showing a mysterious number on the screen.

He snatched it, answering fast, bold as ever, his jaw tight. "What?"

A deep laugh came through, cold and slow, crackling over the line. "Two days, Wentworth," it said, not Katherine's voice, deeper and darker.

"Clock's ticking—she's not the only one coming for you."

The call cut off, and the door smashed open, Edward staring angrily, fury in his eyes—and behind him, a man in a dark coat, gun raised, stepping in slow.