Chapter 4: The Run from the Room

Charles stood big and strong in his room at Wentworth Hall, holding a heavy lamp tight in his hand, its cold metal feeling solid and smooth against his skin. Rain hit the windows hard, making a loud, banging noise like drums gone wild, and the storm outside sounded like a giant animal roaring through the night. The big room smelled of wet wood and old books, the air cold and damp from the storm sneaking in. The door was broken, hanging funny after Edward kicked it, little bits of wood scattered on the floor like broken toys. His dad stood there, big and mad, his gray hair messy and sticking up, his eyes full of anger, red lines showing how tired and upset he was. Behind him, a strange man in a wet coat stepped slow, holding a shiny gun, raindrops still on his sleeves from outside, dripping onto the fancy rug. Helena sat against the wall, her wet clothes making little puddles that spread out slow, her brown hair stuck to her white face like wet strings, tears falling quiet now, her body shaking like a scared little bird caught in a cage.

"Put that down, boy," Edward said loud, his voice rough and scratchy, bouncing off the tall walls covered with old pictures of boats and family. "You can't win this—it's silly to try."

"I can," Charles said, his voice calm and brave, stepping closer, his shadow long on the floor, not scared at all. "You don't make me afraid, Dad—not you, not him, not anyone in the whole world. Let us go, or I'll make you wish you had."

The stranger lifted his gun, pointing it at Charles's chest, his face hidden under a wet hood that flapped a little in the drafty room. "Big talk," he said slow and deep. "But you don't tell us what to do—we're in charge here."

Charles didn't move, his green eyes staring at the gun, very focused, holding the lamp tighter until his fingers hurt a little. "Shoot me then," he said, loud and strong, his voice filling the room like a big bell. "But you won't hurt her—I'll stop you every time."

Helena made a tiny noise, going down on her knees touching the floor soft, her jeans making a sound that shows it was wet. "Charles, don't," she said, her voice shaky, hard to hear over the rain pounding outside. "They'll hurt you—I can't lose you too, not after everything." Her hands grabbed her wet jacket, twisting the cloth, her eyes red and sad, like she had no happy left inside her anywhere.

Edward laughed mean, the sound big and nasty in the quiet room, his big belly shaking under his tight shirt. "Lose him? Girl, you've got nothing left to lose. This is about Wentworth Shipping—it's falling apart fast, and he's marrying Katherine to fix it. That's it, end of story."

"No way," Charles said fast, stepping closer, his shoes loud on the wet floor, splashing little drops around him. "I'm done with your plans, your sneaky tricks—I pick Helena, not Katherine, and you can't change that."

The stranger clicked his gun, making a sharp sound like a toy snapping, and Edward waved his hand, his face getting madder, his cheeks turning red. "Stop this silly stuff," he said, his voice low and grumpy, like a bear waking up. "You're coming with us, Charles—whether you like it or not. The wedding's in two days, and you'll be there, or she's in big trouble."

Charles moved quick, dropping the lamp with a loud sound and grabbing Helena's hand instead, pulling her up fast, her arm felt really cold in his grip showing she was scared. "We're going," he said, brave and sure, running to the door, pushing past Edward, who stumbled a little, his big feet slipping on the wet rug. The stranger tried to grab them, but Charles was quicker. He pulled Helena into the dark hallway, and the loud storm covered the sound of their footsteps. The man shouted and pulled out a shiny knife from his coat. Its point sparkled in the light. His boots made loud noises as he followed them.

"Come on!" Charles said, his voice strong, pulling Helena down the big stairs, the wood making creaky sounds under their feet, the air smelling like wet dust. Rain came in through a broken window. The steps were wet and slippery, little drops shining in the dim light from the Chandelier. Helena slipped and fell, hurting her knees. She cried out in pain and grabbed Charles' arm. "I'm too tired," she said, her voice shaking. Charles picked her up in his strong arms. "You can do it," he said, his voice calm and steady." "I've got you—I'm not afraid, Helena. We're leaving this place." He carried her down the last steps, her wet clothes cold against him, heavy with water, his shoes splashing in the puddles as they reached the big front room, its fancy light was swinging back and forth because the window was open and the wind was blowing through it.

Outside, the storm pushed them hard, rain hurting their faces as it hit them. The wind was blowing strong like it wanted to keep them inside the big house. Charles put Helena down, holding her close, his coat flapping loud as he looked at the driveway, wet gravel shining under the dark sky. His car was under a big tree, its black sides shiny and wet, branches moving above it like spooky arms. He pulled her toward it, brave, walking fast even as thunder boomed loud, shaking the ground under their feet, the air smelling like wet dirt and leaves.

Behind them, voices yelled from the hall—Edward's mad shouts mixed with the stranger's rough words, bouncing off the stone walls. Charles opened the car door quick, helping Helena inside, her cries soft as she curled up on the seat, her hands over her face, her wet hair falling over her eyes. He jumped in, starting the car with a loud noise that roared over the storm, the tires slipping in the mud before moving, driving away fast down the twisty path.

The car's lights showed the driveway, all curvy and dark, trees bending low in the wind, their branches looking like hands reaching out to grab them. Helena rocked in her seat, her cries loud, her breath all jumpy like she couldn't stop. "They'll find us," she said, her voice quiet and sad, so small it almost got lost in the noise. "I trusted you, and now I'm lost—everything's gone, all the good stuff."

"They won't," Charles said, his voice big and brave, hands tight on the wheel, not letting go. "I'm not afraid—I'll beat them all, every one. You're all I want, Helena, my only special thing." He looked at her quick, his heart hurting to see her so sad, tears shining on her cheeks, but he stayed strong, not scared at all.

A shadow moved in the back mirror—another car, black and speedy, coming up fast, its lights bright in the wet glass, cutting through the dark like angry eyes. Charles pushed the car harder, the engine making a big, loud sound, but the other car got closer, its horn loud and sharp like a scream. Then a bang came through the storm, the back window breaking into little pieces, glass falling inside as Helena screamed, ducking down fast, her hands over her head, shaking all over