CHAPTER 105: CHAPTER 105- DON’T HURT HER

Charles’s blood-dripping left hand contrasted starkly with the crimson carpet, creating an almost seductive image. As Philip called out to him, Charles turned around slowly, eyes dim with sorrow. But the moment he saw August walking toward him at the doorway, something stirred deep inside—a strange blend of familial guilt and unspoken affection. In that brief glance, no words were needed. The connection was there, in their blood, in their shared pain. The person they had both spent their lives hating... was actually the one closest to them.

"What’s this? No tearful reunion scene between long-lost brothers in front of me? What a shame. Norman’s not here to see it!" Derrick’s mocking voice slithered through the air like venom.

Charles and August—one turned his head, the other looked up. And in the next moment, their gazes locked on Derrick. The same hatred burned in both pairs of eyes.

It was a silent agreement, an unspoken bond only brothers could share.

They had hated the wrong person all along.

Charles stood frozen, torn between past and present. The man who raised him for twenty-eight years... was actually his father’s murderer? The revelation shattered him. Just moments ago, he had nearly killed his own brother. All along, he had been nothing more than Derrick’s puppet. Every step, every decision—an orchestrated mistake.

"Charles, you’re bleeding. Can we please go to the hospital?" Janet’s voice was trembling. The raw intensity in the room made her dizzy. She rushed to grab his wounded arm, the sleeve soaked with blood—yet he seemed completely unaware.

He had lost so much blood.

Janet could only see him. Just him. Everything and everyone else ceased to matter.

"Charles, say something! Let’s go to the hospital!" She clutched his freezing hand—hands that once brought her warmth and excitement, now cold and lifeless. Her heart chilled with it. She pressed herself closer, trying to share her warmth.

But in the next second—he shoved her away.

Without another glance, he walked out. Just as suddenly as he had appeared.

"Wait! You said you wouldn’t leave me behind!" Janet chased after him, her voice cracking with tears. But Charles felt only frustration and chaos in his heart. This wasn’t the time. He didn’t want to drag Janet into his mess. He didn’t want her to see this broken, conflicted side of him.

She tried to catch up, but his stride was too quick, too determined.

He left her behind—again.

She stood there, watching the back of his car disappear into the distance. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto her hands, burning with pain. She wanted to stay by his side—no questions, no judgment. Just hold him. Was even that too much to ask?

Charles didn’t want her to suffer with him.

Janet only wanted to share his burden.

But neither had truly understood the other.

And that’s how they drifted apart.

"You’re a wanted man, and you still dare show your face in my house? You’ve got guts," Derrick sneered as August stepped closer without fear. Now that his web of lies was unraveling, his hatred only grew. He blamed Janet, but he hated August even more. Philip’s ruined legs were thanks to him. And now, with Charles slipping out of his grasp, Derrick couldn’t afford to let August go.

"No need for your concern, Uncle," August said coldly. "Even if I have to rot in prison, I’m taking you down first."

Before anyone could react, he pulled a gun from somewhere—no one knew where—and aimed it straight at Derrick’s forehead.

But just then—two shadows lunged from behind.

Derrick’s bodyguards.

Trained professionals, they pounced and quickly subdued August. In the chaos, Manfred rushed forward, landing a kick to knock them off balance. The gun slipped from August’s hand and clattered to the floor.

Derrick was quicker.

He darted forward, grabbed the gun—and in one swift motion, yanked Janet, who had just walked in, into his grasp.

The once chaotic living room fell into a suffocating silence.

"Dad, what are you doing?! Let go of Janet!"

Philip was stunned by Derrick’s sudden move. One wrong twitch of the finger and the gun might go off—how would he ever explain that to Charles?

"Philip, you’re the only one I can truly trust," Derrick muttered darkly. "The rest of them... they all deserve to die. Every last traitor. Even this woman."

With a vicious jab, he pressed the muzzle harder against Janet’s forehead, leaving behind a bright red mark on her skin.

Manfred and August stood frozen. No one dared to move. They knew Derrick was far beyond reason now—any sudden motion could lead to tragedy.

"Don’t hurt her! Please!" August’s voice trembled with urgency.

Forget the grudges between him and Charles for a second—he had just learned that he had a real brother in this world. And this woman... this woman had once given him warmth. From the start, he had hesitated in approaching her. He never wanted to hurt her. And now? Now he would never allow someone as vile as Derrick to touch her.

"Haha... You want to know what I want, August?" Derrick’s eyes widened with a crazed glint. "I want you to pay for what you did to my son’s legs!"

The madness in his eyes was terrifying. He gripped the gun tighter.

"Fine," August said almost immediately, no hesitation in his voice.

When he saw the fear in Janet’s beautiful eyes, he knew—no matter the cost, even if his legs were bathed in blood, he had to protect her.

"No! August, don’t! Don’t listen to him—he’s insane! You can’t trust a word he says!"

Janet’s heart pounded as she shouted, her voice breaking. She didn’t want August to make that kind of sacrifice. He was Charles’s brother—the brother Charles had finally found. How could he throw himself into Derrick’s claws now?

"Shut up! I’ll deal with you later!"

With a snarl, Derrick slapped her hard across the face. Janet’s vision blacked out as she fell backward—but he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her upright again, rough and heartless.

"You do it yourself. Destroy your legs."

Derrick signaled to a bodyguard, and a pistol was tossed to the floor in front of August.

He glanced at Janet, still struggling in Derrick’s grasp, her face pale, her body trembling. His hands trembled too—as he bent down and picked up the gun.

"No, August—don’t!"

Manfred grabbed him, trying to stop him. But August shook him off, smiling up at him with radiant warmth, a smile as bright and clear as sunlight.

"Manfred," he said softly, "make sure Janet gets back to my brother."

His brother... he didn’t blame Charles. Not anymore.

The pain Charles endured was no less than his own.

The true monster in all of this had always been Derrick—the man who had twisted and controlled Charles for twenty-eight years.

They were both victims.