The Forbidden Love 𖥔 ͙ࣳ

˓𓄹 ࣪˖ 𝒜 𝐵𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 ˓𓄹 ࣪˖

HOOK STOOD BEFORE Bridget's father in the dimly lit study, his posture as rigid as ever, arms crossed over his chest, his piercing eyes locked with the older man's. Bridget's father sat behind the wide mahogany desk, his hands folded neatly as he proposed the deal for the third time. 

"You're the most qualified man for this task," the elder man said, voice calm but unyielding. "Bridget needs protection, especially after the attack. You and I both know the castle isn't as safe as it once was." 

Hook clenched his jaw, his patience wearing thin. He was growing tired of these meetings, tired of these offers. "I've told you before, I'm not interested. I'm a captain, not a royal babysitter." 

Bridget's father frowned, leaning forward slightly.
"This is more than just watching over her like some handmaiden. It's safeguarding her future. Everything I've built—everything I've done—it's for my daughters, for Bridget. If something happens to her, the family's reputation—our entire standing—could fall apart." 

Hook's jaw clenched tighter, his knuckles white as his fingers dug into his arms. He knew the stakes were high, knew that Bridget's family was walking a fine line. The illegal deals he was involved in with her father were more than enough to ruin them if exposed, and Bridget would be caught in the fallout. 

But still, Hook refused to be tied to anyone in that way. 

"I understand what's at stake," Hook said, his voice cold. "But I'm not the man for this. Find someone else. I have my own responsibilities." He turned, heading for the door. 

Before he could exit, Bridget's father's voice echoed after him. "So you'll walk away from her? Leave her to face the dangers that surround her? Even after saving her life?"

Hook hesitated for a brief moment, the memory of Bridget's terrified face flashing in his mind. Her tears, her fear, the way she had clung to him as he carried her to safety. But he steeled himself, pushing the emotions aside. He couldn't afford to get attached. Not to her. Not to anyone. 

"I'm no royal bodyguard," he said flatly, not turning back, and with that, he stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. 

The moment the door clicked shut, he froze. Bridget was standing just outside the study, her delicate figure half-hidden in the shadows of the corridor. Her wide eyes, brimming with unshed tears, told him she had overheard everything. 

Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. The pain on her face was unmistakable, and Hook felt a pang of guilt he hadn't expected. She quickly blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, standing taller, her gaze hardening. 

"I didn't need to hear any more," Bridget said quietly, her voice steady despite the emotions bubbling underneath. She stepped back, giving him a wide berth as she hurried away down the corridor, her head held high, though he could tell her heart was breaking. Hook didn't move, watching her until she disappeared around the corner. 

He told himself it was better this way. Distance was safer for both of them. And yet, as her footsteps faded, something twisted in his chest, a feeling he wasn't ready to confront.

࿐

The castle was unusually quiet that evening. Bridget's parents had gone out to attend to business, and Mirana was off with her secret boyfriend, Poseidon. The only people left were Bridget and the night-shift maids, but the stillness felt eerie rather than peaceful. 

Bridget sat in her room, brushing out her long hair as she prepared for bed. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room, but despite the comfort of the setting, she felt on edge. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Hook's words, the cold dismissal in his voice when he refused to protect her. He had saved her life once, but now he wanted nothing to do with her. 

She tried to push the thoughts away, focusing on the rhythm of the brush gliding through her hair. But the ache in her chest lingered. 

A sharp sound broke the silence—a crash, like glass shattering. Bridget froze, her hand stopping mid-stroke. Her heart pounded as she slowly lowered the brush, her ears straining to catch any other noise. For a moment, there was nothing, just the crackling of the fire. But then, she heard it again—a faint clatter, like metal against stone, coming from somewhere in the corridor. 

Bridget stood, her pulse quickening. She slipped out of her room, careful to keep her footsteps quiet as she made her way down the hall. The castle's grand corridors, usually so familiar, felt strange and foreign in the darkness. She rounded a corner and stopped dead in her tracks. 

At the far end of the corridor, near one of the large windows, stood a man dressed in black. His face was obscured by a mask, and in his hand, he held a gun. 

Panic seized her, her body frozen in place. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The man hadn't noticed her yet, his back turned as he carefully stepped through the shattered glass of the window. She needed to run. To scream. To do something. But her feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

Suddenly, she bumped into a small table behind her, and the sound of the vase falling to the ground with a crash snapped the man's attention toward her. His head whipped around, and for a second, they locked eyes. 

Bridget's heart leapt into her throat. Without thinking, she turned and ran. 

Her bare feet pounded against the cold stone floors as she sprinted through the castle, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind her, she could hear the man's footsteps growing louder, closer. Her vision blurred with tears as she screamed for help, the sound echoing through the empty halls. 

"Someone, please, help me!"

A gunshot rang out, the deafening crack echoing in the corridor. Bridget screamed again, her heart thudding so hard in her chest it hurt. She could hear the click of the gun reloading. She stumbled, her legs threatening to give out beneath her, but she pushed herself forward, running as fast as she could. Another shot missed her by mere inches, and she heard the man curse under his breath. 

Just as she felt she couldn't run any farther, a dark figure lunged out of the shadows. In a blur of motion, Hook tackled the man to the ground, sending them both crashing against the stone floor. The gun clattered to the ground, spinning out of reach. 

Bridget's breath hitched in her throat as she watched in shock. Hook grappled with the intruder, fists flying as they struggled for control. The man managed to grab the gun again, raising it to aim at Hook, but before he could pull the trigger, Hook slammed his fist into the man's face, knocking him out cold. 

Bridget gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she watched the man's body go limp. Relief flooded her, but it was short-lived. A split second later, there was a flash of light—a final gunshot. 

Hook staggered, his hand clutching his side as he fell to his knees. Bridget's heart dropped as she saw the blood seeping through his fingers, staining his shirt a dark crimson.

"No!" Bridget cried, rushing to his side. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she pressed them against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. 

Hook's face was pale, his breathing shallow, but he managed to give her a weak smile. "It's...it's nothing," he rasped, though the pain in his voice betrayed him. 

"Don't say that," Bridget whispered, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You're bleeding so much, I—Hook, please, stay with me." 

He looked at her, his gaze softening for a brief moment. "Bridget..." he started, his voice barely audible. His eyes fluttered shut, and his body slumped against hers. 

"Hook? Hook, no! Stay with me, please!" Bridget's voice cracked as she shook him gently, her tears falling onto his chest. She screamed for help, her voice echoing through the empty castle, but there was no answer. 

In the silence that followed, the only sound was the faint, labored breathing of the man lying limp in her arms.

࿐

-I lowkey like this chapter, I'm running out of ideas