6. H E N R Y

1.       HENRY

My blood boiled with fury, a primal rage coursing through my veins at the sight of Penny's distress. That vile excuse for a man had dared to lay a hand on her, and I would not stand for it. With clenched fists and gritted teeth, I vowed to teach him a lesson he wouldn't soon forget.

I delivered a single, decisive blow, the impact reverberating through the air as my knuckles connected with his jaw. With a swift command to my security team, I ordered them to escort him to the dungeon, a relic of a bygone era that still served its purpose in dealing with scum like him.

Archie, ever the loyal friend, whisked Penny away to the safety of the castle, his phone buzzing incessantly with updates on her condition. Each ring felt like a dagger to my heart, a reminder of the pain she was enduring because of that despicable man.

As we made our way back to the castle, Archie's pleas grew more desperate, his voice tinged with urgency as he begged for the chance to comfort Penny. Reluctantly, I relented, handing him the phone with a heavy heart.

"Arch, get Penny on the line," I grumbled, my frustration mounting with each passing second.

His soothing voice drifted through the receiver, coaxing Penny to find solace in his words. Anger simmered beneath the surface as I listened, my jealousy flaring at the thought of him comforting her when it should have been me.

But when he uttered that forbidden word—baby—a surge of possessiveness surged through me, driving me to reclaim what was rightfully mine. Without a second thought, I seized the phone from his grasp, abruptly ending the call.

"Enough, Archie," I snapped, my patience wearing thin as he stared at me with incredulity.

I was the one who had fought for her, the one who had sworn to protect her with every fibre of my being. And I would be damned if I let anyone else claim her as their own.

"Do not call her baby, ever!" I bellowed, the words dripping with venom as Ashby, and I locked eyes in a tense standoff.

Frustration etched deep lines on Ashby's forehead as he ran a hand through his hair, his agitation palpable in the air. "I was trying to calm her down, you moron," he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice barely above a whisper.

My jaw clenched in response. "What does calling her 'baby' have to do with anything?" I demanded; my tone laced with accusation.

With a groan of exasperation, Ashby shot me a withering glare. "Can you stop being a jealous prick and let me help her?" he snapped, his patience wearing thin as we continued our heated exchange.

As the car came to a stop, I diverted my gaze to the window, taking in the imposing silhouette of the castle looming before us. Without a word, Ashby grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the vehicle, his hurried footsteps echoing through the stone corridors as I trailed behind him.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his urgency palpable as he barged into the lounge, barely acknowledging the ornate decor that surrounded him.

And there she was, sitting on the floor in a crumpled heap, her once vibrant aura overshadowed by a veil of distress. Despite the turmoil swirling within her, she exuded a fragile beauty that tugged at my heartstrings.

Without a moment's hesitation, Ashby enveloped her in his arms, his comforting embraces a stark contrast to the chaos that had engulfed her. She buried her tear-streaked face in his chest, her sobs echoing through the room as he murmured soothing words of reassurance.

As I watched them from the sidelines, a pang of guilt gnawed at my conscience. I should have been the one offering her solace, the one wiping away her tears and easing her pain. But instead, I found myself relegated to the role of a mere spectator, a silent witness to their intimate moment.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as they sat together on the couch, their bond unbreakable despite the turmoil that had threatened to tear them apart. It was a stark reminder of just how close they truly were, and how much I had yet to learn about the woman I loved.

Clearing my throat, I ventured cautiously into the conversation, my words tinged with remorse. "Are you okay, Penny?" I asked softly, my gaze searching her tear-stained eyes. "I am so sorry for ruining your date. I just couldn't let him get away with treating you the way he did. It wasn't right."

Her response was a gentle reassurance, a soft-spoken gratitude that pierced through the tension that hung heavy in the air. But as she reached out to touch my forehead, her concern etched deeply into her features, I couldn't help but feel a swell of guilt wash over me.

"I'll go get the first aid kit," Ashby offered, his departure a welcome reprieve from the weight of our conversation.

Left alone with Penny, I couldn't ignore the burning question that lingered between us. "Who was that guy? The one you were having dinner with?" I pressed gently, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Her response was hesitant, her gaze flickering away as she struggled to find the right words. "Just... my boss," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

A surge of indignation rise within me, a fierce protectiveness that demanded answers. "What were you doing having dinner with him?" I pressed; my tone tinged with concern.

But as she met my gaze with a look of shame, I realized that the truth might be more complicated than I had initially thought. And as the weight of her silence settled over us, I knew that there were still secrets lying beneath the surface, waiting to be unearthed.

She sighs, her voice laden with resignation, as she recounts her ordeal. "He said he would give me a promotion if I went out with him, and I did. But now that you've beaten him up, I'm sure he's going to fire me on Monday."

Standing up, I envelop her in my arms, seeking to offer solace during uncertainty. "I assure you that nothing bad will happen to you. And if he does fire you, Ashby and I will be there to look after you."

Slowly, she begins to relax in my embrace, finding a fleeting sense of reassurance. "Promise me?" she implores, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

"I promise," I affirm, my words laced with sincerity.

As she reciprocates the embrace, her gratitude palpable, I am reminded of the importance of standing by those we care about. "Thank you, Henry," she murmurs softly, her words a gentle echo of appreciation.

With a tender kiss to the crown of her head, I reaffirm my commitment. "Anything for my queen."

The tension in the room heightens as Ashby returns, his presence casting a shadow over our moment of intimacy. As he shoots us a deadly glare, Penny withdraws from our embrace, a palpable unease settling over the room.

Archie follows closely behind, bearing a bowl of water and a towel, his demeanour a blend of concern and determination. "Sit down, I'll help you with your wound," Penny offers shyly, her gaze flickering between Ashby and me.

But Ashby's stern insistence interrupts her offer of assistance, his tone tinged with authority. "You need to get home; Aunt Linda must be worried sick about you," he asserts, placing the first aid kit on the table beside me.

Penny's protests are met with Ashby's firm resolve, his unwavering stance leaving little room for negotiation. "It won't take long, Ashby. I'll be quick," she pleads, her voice tinged with frustration.

But Ashby remains steadfast in his decision, his concern for Penny's well-being outweighing any semblance of compromise. "Let us go. Archie or one of his housekeepers will help him," he insists, his words carrying a note of finality.

My own frustration simmers beneath the surface as I witness the exchange, the tension between Ashby and me threatening to boil over. "Ashby, don't speak to her like that. She's not a child," I interject, seeking to defuse the escalating conflict.

But Ashby's steely gaze meets mine, his admonishment clear in his unspoken rebuke. "Stay out of this, Henry," he retorts, his tone brooking no argument.

Penny's plaintive plea for peace serves as a sobering reminder of the need for unity in the face of adversity. Taking her hand in mine, I offer a reassuring squeeze. "We're not going to fight, baby. Just let him take you home. You can see me some other time, okay?" I reassure her, my words infused with genuine affection.

Her weary smile is a testament to the fragile peace we've brokered, her gratitude evident in the lingering touch of her hand. "Really?" she murmurs, her eyes alight with tentative hope.

"Of course. You're welcome here anytime, Penny," I assure her, pressing a tender kiss to her hand as she gathers her belongings.

As Ashby leads her away, I watch from the doorway, a bittersweet pang tugging at my heart. Her whispered accolade - "my hero" - echoes in my ears, a poignant reminder of the bond we share.

Returning to the lounge, I find Archie waiting with the first aid kit, his sleeves rolled up and his expression serious. "Sit," he instructs, his tone brooking no argument as he prepares to tend to my wounds.

But as he sets to work, his words cut through the silence, a stark reminder of the rift that has emerged between Ashby and me. "You and Ashby really need to sort your shit out," he remarks, his voice tinged with frustration.

And as the sting of antiseptic lingers on my skin, I can't help but wonder if our fractured bond can ever be made whole again.

I exhale heavily, the weight of the situation bearing down on me. Archie's gentle touch against my forehead elicits a wince from me, a sharp reminder of the altercation that had transpired earlier. "Shit," I mutter under my breath, my discomfort palpable.

With a shake of his head, Archie strides over to the liquor cabinet, his movements purposeful yet tinged with concern. Pouring a generous measure of whiskey, he places the glass in my hand, a silent offering of solace amidst the chaos. "Penny is one sweet girl," he begins, his voice tinged with a mix of admonishment and empathy, "She acts tough, but she's very fragile. And you're both acting like a bunch of animals."

I nod, taking a sip of the amber liquid as his words sink in. His next touch against my forehead is gentler, and this time, I manage to stifle the reflexive flinch. "But I claimed her first," I argue, a hint of defensiveness creeping into my tone.

Archie's response is measured yet firm as he tends to my wound, his movements deft and practiced. "And this is exactly what I was talking about," he asserts, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom. "Penny is not something that you claim, Henry."

His words strike a chord within me, resonating with a truth that I cannot ignore. As he finishes applying the bandage, I am left to grapple with the implications of his statement. He packs away the first aid kit with a sense of finality, his gaze meeting mine with a mixture of concern and resolve.

Returning to the liquor cabinet, Archie pours himself a glass of whiskey before offering me a refill, his actions a silent testament to our shared camaraderie. "I don’t know what to do, Archie," I admit, my voice tinged with uncertainty. "I’m clueless. And Ashby has the upper hand."

He takes a contemplative sip of his drink, his expression thoughtful yet unwavering. "He doesn't, but Ashby knows," he responds, his words carrying a note of conviction. "They'll never work out. He just doesn’t trust you with her, that's all."

I swallow hard, the weight of his words settling heavily upon me. "With your string of bad relationships, I don’t trust you either," he adds, his honesty cutting through the air like a knife. "But I can tell that you really like her."

I raise an eyebrow, surprised by his perceptiveness. "Is it that obvious?" I inquire, a hint of self-doubt creeping into my voice.

Archie offers a reassuring smile, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I'll give you some advice," he continues, his tone earnest yet measured. "For the next month, prove to Ashby and me that you can be trusted. Stay out of the limelight, stay out of trouble, and try to be a good person."

I nod, a sense of determination settling over me. "Sounds simple enough," I acknowledge, though the task ahead looms dauntingly large.

"Good," Archie responds, his tone decisive yet encouraging. "Then tomorrow, you apologize to Ash."

I grimace, the prospect of extending an olive branch to my rival less than appealing. "Do I have to?" I protest weakly.

"Yes," Archie asserts, his tone leaving no room for argument. "That's what good people do, Henry."

With a resigned sigh, I acknowledge the inevitable. "Darn it," I mutter under my breath, realizing that the road to redemption may be far more challenging than I had initially anticipated.