My Runaway Bride Hid A Million Mysteries

Helena Gibson's brows were furrowed with concern as she stared at the pregnancy test. The tension she had been carrying seemed to finally dissipate with the sight of a single line indicating a negative result.

Bang!

The sound of the bathroom door being violently kicked open jolted Helena back from her brief relief.

Her face twisted into an expression of sheer panic as she turned towards the noise, her eyes wide with terror.

The man stormed in, his impatience booming through the room. "You've been in here forever! Did you check? Are you pregnant or not?"

Helena stood trembling, her face drained of color, the tiny red mole near her eye dimming with her fear.

The man loomed over her like a predator on the brink of violence, his presence oppressive and threatening.

He grabbed her arm forcefully, his eyes red and voice harsh. "Show me the test strip. Now."

With shaking hands, Helena extended the strip towards him.

He snatched it, his laugh chillingly dismissive as his eyes glinted with a dangerous light.

Helena tensed, recognizing the calm before the storm.

This time, however, the man's approach was unnervingly gentle as he stroked her cheek, his cruelty masked by feigned tenderness. "It's alright, sweetheart. We'll try again today. If it doesn't happen, I might just leave you there permanently."

A sharp glint of defiance flickered briefly in Helena's eyes, though her face remained etched with panic, her eyes pooling with tears.

Pleased by her seemingly vulnerable demeanor, the man tightened his grip on her wrist, forcefully leading her to another room.

Bang!

The door slammed shut, echoing through the space as the other women in the room turned their heads in unison, their faces etched with the same vacant despair.

Like Helena, they were trapped in this dingy house, awaiting their fate as mere objects of pleasure for the elite on a secluded island somewhere in Eyrery.

A month prior, Helena had been forcibly brought to this place.

She was the firstborn of the Gibson family, whose fortune rested on the support of her mother's wealthy relatives. Tragically, her mother died young, and within three months, her father had remarried, giving Helena a half-sister, Eunice Gibson.

The loss of his daughter devastated Helena's grandfather, leading to his decline and eventual death, rendering Helena a forgotten member of her own family.

To avoid conflict, Helena kept to herself, not challenging Eunice. However, Eunice and her mother made it their mission to ensure Helena's life miserable, depriving her of warmth and sustenance, and greedily eyeing the Gibson fortune.

What fueled Helena's bitterness further was the betrayal on her 21st birthday, when her stepfamily drugged her and sold her off to a remote island off the coast of Eyrery.

Reflecting on her fate, Helena's gaze hardened.

She moved forward, and the women in the corner shuffled to make space for her.

In such dire circumstances, unity was essential, yet no one dared approach her, their eyes wide with apprehension.

On Helena's first day here, rumors had spread that she had been taken to a club and had serviced a high-profile client.

Since then, she had been subjected to frequent pregnancy tests-evidence that those in charge were eager for her to conceive, likely to blackmail the influential patron.

This mysterious figure was undoubtedly affluent.

A woman with short hair next to Helena whispered worriedly, "Hey, are you pregnant?"

Helena's fists tightened reflexively.

Her thoughts flashed back to that night at the club, her attempt to flee leading her into a dimly lit private room.

Suddenly grabbed and forced against a sofa, she found herself staring up into piercing, icy eyes as a hand clamped her chin.

Though capable of defending herself, the knife at her throat left her powerless.

The ensuing violence was a blur of pain and torn clothing, the last thing she remembered before blacking out was the sinister, intricately inked Henna tattoo on the man's hand glowing ominously in the dim light.

When she regained consciousness, she was back in the apartment where the girls were been held captive.

Helena sensed the gravity of her situation-this was merely the start.

Soon, she was once again escorted from the apartment.

Silently following the man, her thoughts churned wildly. She could not endure another night at that club. She had to escape. She needed to avenge her past and reclaim her mother's legacy.

Yet caution was paramount; the man was armed with a gun.

In a moment of desperation, she made her move.

With sudden ferocity, Helena shoved the man aside and dashed for the stairs!

Caught off guard, the man stumbled, but then recovered, shouting after her in rage, "Damn it! You think you can run away? I'll kill you!"

Helena didn't look back, descending the stairs in a flurry. Reaching the second floor, she didn't hesitate, climbing onto the windowsill.

As the man's hand nearly grasped her, she jumped!

The stark sound of screeching brakes ripped through the quiet as she hit the pavement.

Blinded by the glaring headlights, she crumpled to the ground. The distinct sound of leather shoes approached across the cobblestones, halting ominously before her.

Blurry and disoriented, Helena saw the gloss of black leather shoes enter her field of view, and a chilling, low voice declared from above, "Found you."

Helena's eyes narrowed abruptly.

There he was-the man from that night!

Memories of that night with him flooded back, reminding her of how the chill of his dagger's edge had brushed against her throat, threatening her life.

He had asked her then, "Do you know who I am?"

Of course, Helena knew.

He was none other than Charlie Wallace, the notorious second son of Adaron's leading family, the Wallaces-a man whose madness was as well-known as his years of being locked away in prison.

At the age of sixteen, Charlie was banished by his own family to the maritime depths of Nusron's prison, home to the world's most dangerous criminals.

Charlie had dominated the prison ranks by the time his family reclaimed him.

The distinctive Henna tattoo marking his hand was a badge of honor from Perkins Jail's warden, a token of his fearsome reputation.

By the age of twenty-two, Charlie had taken charge of the family wealth, and within three years, elevated the Wallace Group to the top of Adaron's financial elite, earning respect even from the President.

His methods were as effective as they were horrifying, leaving many to shudder at the mere mention of his name.

Thus, on that fateful night, caught under his intense gaze, Helena had been too terrified to even breathe.

Now, as he reappeared, her heart seemed to leap into her throat.

Charlie had just revealed he had found her.

The timing was uncanny-exactly one month since their last, dreadful encounter.

Helena couldn't shake off the suspicion that he was here to verify her pregnancy.

Given his fearsome reputation, any confirmation of her carrying his child promised nothing but dire consequences.

Frozen with fear, Helena couldn't muster the courage to move.

Suddenly, one of Charlie's bodyguards seized her wrist, jerking her to her feet.

Charlie's piercing gaze filled her field of view.

"You don't remember me?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes betrayed no warmth.

Helena's nerves were on edge under his intense stare, yet she managed to keep her expression calm, her eyes glistening as they met his.

A slight smile played across Charlie's lips.

Even at a distance, an unsettling cold seemed to radiate from him.

Suddenly, three men burst through the apartment building, halting in shock at the sight of a row of black cars blocking the entrance.

Upon recognizing the figure next to Helena, they turned around and sprinted back the way they came.

They were fast, but Charlie's bodyguards were faster.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Loud gunshots shattered the calm.

Helena watched in horror as the three men just made it back inside before their backs were splattered with blood. One, still gasping for air, was dragged by two bodyguards and thrown down before Charlie.

"Mr. Wallace, I was wrong. Please, have mercy. It won't happen again!" the man cried out, clutching at Charlie's trouser leg in desperation.

Charlie responded with a soft chuckle, his foot pressing down on the man's bleeding wound.

"You had the audacity to plot against me, which I must say, took some guts," he said, twisting his foot slightly. "You seem to have a death wish, so let me send you off with a bit more for your journey to hell."

The man's screams echoed, chilling and desperate.

Dark blood flowed from under Charlie's shoe, spreading rapidly across the ground.

Helena's hands balled into fists at her sides.

Her earlier suspicions were correct. Charlie's sudden appearance was not by chance.

They had both been deliberately set up from the beginning!

The very reason she had been able to slip away under the club manager's oversight that night became clear; the manager and those three men had conspired, knowing Charlie would be at the club.

Charlie's gaze turned to Helena, a dark excitement gleaming in his eyes. "Now it's your turn."

Helena inhaled sharply, thoughts swirling in her head.

It was clear that Charlie had believed she was involved in the scam.

She needed to pretend she was forced into it, creating distance from the three men to avoid a fatal outcome.

Suddenly, the fear vanished from her eyes, replaced by an empty stare.

Charlie peered deeply into her eyes, expecting to find panic but saw only a lifeless void instead.

They locked eyes for several minutes. The entire time, her expression mirrored the one she had under his scrutiny that night.

Could she be a retard?

Intrigue filled Charlie's eyes as he raised an eyebrow. His hand brushed her cheek softly, feeling the smooth skin beneath his fingers.

Despite the turmoil inside, Helena kept her face completely expressionless.

Suddenly, Charlie lightly patted her cheek, his gaze turning colder. "Your mental state won't save you from me."

Helena's heart raced, and then skipped as the bodyguards grabbed her and forced her into one of the cars.

Behind a white building by the roadside, a man with a grave expression emerged.

He watched the cars pull away, touched his Bluetooth earpiece, and said in a deep tone, "I have located Flamewing."

A worried female voice responded, "Then bring her back immediately!"

The man's face tensed. "Charlie Wallace has her."

There was a brief pause. "That Charlie Wallace?"

Silence fell between them.

The woman regained her composure after a minute. "Flamewing is capable. She'll escape from Charlie. You return home now and wait for further instructions."

"Got it."

In the distant town of Wrumlas, the capital city of Adaron.

Helena's senses gradually returned to her as she first noticed an unfamiliar ceiling overhead.

When she attempted to rise, she discovered her hands and feet were securely tied, her body forming a stark "X" against the bed.

Her efforts to free herself caused the chains to clink loudly, sending waves of despair through her.

At least her captors had been somewhat thoughtful, padding the handcuffs with cotton.

Unaware of her location, Helena realized she was now under the control of a ruthless tyrant, and her chances of escaping without harm were slim.

"Awake?" The question came in a chilled tone from a dark corner.

Helena remained still, fearing any movement might provoke the formidable figure she had yet to see.

She turned towards the source of the voice.

There sat Charlie, enveloped in darkness on the sofa, only his smoking hand visible in the dim light, with the tobacco's aroma drifting through the air.

He stood and approached her, his eyes never leaving her as he came closer.

Pale and delicate, Helena's face drew attention to the bright red mole by her eye, which made her slightly tilted eyes even more noticeable.

Silently, he just watched her, his expression harsh and unyielding, like an animal observing its trapped prey.

Confusion flickered in Helena's eyes.

Just then, Jace Griffiths, Charlie's assistant, walked in and presented a stack of papers to him. "Mr. Wallace, I have the report."

While keeping his eyes fixed on Helena, Charlie instructed, "Read it."

A flutter of panic touched Helena's heart.

A report? What sort of report could it be?

She wondered if it might be a medical report about her condition.

Concerns about pregnancy loomed over her, knowing the risks if true.

The possibility of carrying a child terrified her; an illegitimate child would never be accepted by the prominent Wallace family.

Driven by desperation, Helena began to wriggle more intensely, the sound of her chains reverberating through the vast room.

Charlie's expression darkened with a hint of annoyance, tilting his head upward as the chains rattled.

Quick to act, one of his bodyguards realized Helena posed no threat of escape and moved to unlock her restraints.

As Helena straightened up, her wide collar shifted, revealing more skin than intended from her previous struggles. Her hair, tawny and somewhat curly, stuck to her face, and her large eyes conveyed a naive fear, much like a startled deer.

For a moment, Charlie's eyes dwelled on her exposed neck, his expression growing more intense.

Feeling his stare, Helena took a daring step forward, draping her arms around his neck and softly pressing her cheek to his, showing a vulnerable reliance on him.

Surprised by her closeness, Charlie's initial instinct was to retreat, yet the subtle fragrance of her body halted his hand, which instead found its way to her slim waist.

Jace looked away, feeling out of place.

Helena used that moment to swipe the report from Jace's grasp, holding it upside down as she blabbed playfully, "Fun, fun."

Relief washed over her as she looked through a column of numbers and letters.

The document turned out to be a medical report, revealing, to her relief, that she was not pregnant.

Trying to appear merely curious, she relaxed her posture and casually fluttered the report through the air.

As the paper rustled, Charlie observed her with a detached expression.

Jace said, "Mr. Wallace, perhaps this lady's not quite right in the head, which was probably why she had been sold to the club by those people."

Grabbing Helena's arm firmly, Charlie scrutinized her face closely.

He pinched her cheek, leaning in with a menacing whisper. "A lack of intellect isn't a concern of mine."

Helena met his stare, her face blank but her mind racing with fear.

It became painfully clear from his statement that he had no plans to release her.

A twitch of Jace's mouth betrayed his concern. "Mr. Wallace, do you intend to keep her? Wouldn't this upset your grandmother?"

"She's been after me to settle down. Tell her this woman's taken my innocence. She must now take responsibility."

Helena internally seethed at the audacity. "Who took whose virginity here?!" she thought, secretly fuming.

Jace nodded dutifully. "Very well, sir. I'll relay your message at once."