Angelina sprints off with a tear-filled face.

Eyes blurry and sobbing uncontrollably, she dashes down the massive staircase away from Oliver's manor. Then Angelina brisk walks toward a nearby abandoned stall.

For a moment, the lass decided to cry everything out, to release the mix of emotions she had imprisoned for a long time.

The heaviness she feels seems unending; despite growing into a strong, courageous woman, she asks herself this: could she ever live with the hurt?

She hastily wipes her tears. It is shameful for a pirate captain like her to cry over a man. Her father would be disappointed. And, of all the men to fall for, she just had to give away her heart to one of England's finest servants.

She was not mistaken, after all, to have been worried about their future; when all she was is a criminal sailing the seas, while he was the most honorable.

Would Oliver genuinely yearn eternity with a pirate woman? It pains her to think of the scandal it must've brought if the villagers had found out.

Though, his love was not even a bit questionable. Angelina had known what love really was because of the lad, and it felt but holy.

It caused their loss and agony, but if given a chance to return to the past, neither would give up the day they had first crossed paths. Oliver had found since the woman he knew he'd marry.

But for the young lady, Oliver—is the most difficult to reach. It felt like moving the mountains and taking the moon. What could a pirate woman offer to marry the king's soon-to-be right hand?

She had her answer right away when she heard a familiar man's voice. "The deal, girl."

"We're through," she blankly states. Her back remains faced to the man who was talking. "I hope for you to finally find your happiness."

"I won't until I see you dead," he offers a wicked smirk. The man walks toward her, speaking with a hoarse, decaying voice.

"Have you no shame? Meddling with an honorable man's life? My son should have known better than to deal with a bitch."

"You are nothing like your son. Oliver is honorable, and you are not," she mutters to him.

"No honorable man threatens his child's love to separate them. You filthy scumbag. Oliver deserves better."

"And you think you're better for him?"

"Claro, Viejo. I'm the best there is." Of course, old man.

"No. You're a bitch who is too full of herself."

"Your son loves that trait of mine. In the sheets, especially..."

Angelina casts a glance to the old man's sides; his other hand was a balled fist, while the other gripped his sword's handle as if his life depended on it. She could see her words were making him angrier.

Former Commodore Stevenson, Oliver's father—had uncovered her affair with his son.

Upon his discovery, he had gone to Oliver's manor one cold night, where Angelina had stayed during the time. While the lieutenant was out for duties, Commodore Stevenson threatened to kill Angelina.

Still, since the lass was stubborn and snide and Stevenson knew she did not buy his threats, he mentioned killing his son and everyone he cared about.

Angelina thought he was bluffing at first, but when the news of Oliver's closest cousin's death welcomed her Thursday morning, she knew she had to protect her lover.

Stevenson was ruthless, after all; even the navy men described him that.

And if they did sail away together, Commodore would've asked for the king's resources to hunt them down, wherever and whenever they may be.

And, lastly, of course, Oliver's hard-earned name and honor would be tainted.

She loved him too much to let him give up on his calling—even when his duties include hunting down pirates such as her. But she was an exemption. He broke the rules for her, and only for her, he always will.

"It seems that I underestimated you, girl. I should've known of your...nasty capabilities," he mocks, his smile turning knots inside her stomach. She wanted to throw up so bad.

"It was wrong of me to let you roam around when I could have run my blade along that neck of yours. One pirate down!"

"You have indeed, Commodore, insulted my pride. I've more capabilities than you think," she grits her teeth. "Let me get this straight, Stevenson."

Without warning, Commodore Stevenson unsheathes his sword with hopes of wounding Angelina, but the woman swiftly pulls her blade and parries.

Though surprised by the old man's actions, she cannot help but feel amused.

With great force, she pushes his weapon back along with the Commodore. He stumbles a little but immediately regains composure. For a man his age, she expected this to be easier, but it's no doubt he could still be as skilled as in the old days.

Stevenson attacks once again, but Angelina dodges and puts her sword an inch before his neck. Her blade pushes against his.

"You amuse me, Commodore. But it seems like you underestimated me again."

He lets out a mocking laugh. "I don't even know what my son saw in you! You're ignorant and filthy!"

"Make use of your ears, Stevenson," she mutters to his face. Her glare speaks fury and rage.

"I did your deal. Leave Oliver out of your ruthless plans. I'm sailing today. I'll be out of his life."

"Really, girl? I've trust issues with pirate scums like you," he says and forcefully wraps his fingers around Angelina's neck.

She gasps for air as he tightens his grip, "Leave my son. Don't ever come back. Or else I'll make certain you and that lieutenant will be guillotined to the crowd. Do we have an accord?"

"Oliver guillotined?" she snickers. "I've never heard something so absurd aside from you being born."

"Without me, that ungrateful Oliver son of mine wouldn't be here," he says, his eyes widening in irritation. "Guess I should've just come on the sheets!"

Angelina makes a displeased face, then taps her side, only to discover that her precious dagger isn't in its rightful place. Damn it, she thought; she accidentally had left her weapon inside the governor's mansion.

Angelina couldn't possibly leave that blade there, for it was the weapon she had taken care of the most.

It was Oliver's gift when she turned eighteen years ago—a fine, silver dagger, forged and crafted only for the lass. The lieutenant sailed a week just searching for the best forger across England.

Upon realizing that her dagger was left behind, Angelina lets go of her sword and uses her free arm to slam against Stevenson's.

His hand leaves her neck as she catches for air. Angelina managed to pull her pistol and rested it on the man's cheek while locking his other arm away with hers.

With heavy breathing and a pissed-off tone, she whispers harshly to him.

"Claro, we have a deal. But I'll keep both my ears and my eyes, and all my senses on you," she grits her teeth, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Lay a hand on Oliver, and I'll return and ruin your family's legacy. I'll make sure to taint your name and honor, and you'd be watching as I mercilessly steal Oliver from the king's daughter."

"And how the mighty Commodore Stevenson had let a pirate woman escape when he could have killed her right there," she nods to him. "Now, Commodore. Do we have an accord?"

Stevenson grits his teeth before aggressively pushing her back.

He straightens his uniform, gaining composure as he smiled, a smile that made her stomach churn due to her hatred for this creature. He smiled as if nothing had happened. "We have an accord, girl."

"Very well," says Angelina as she returns her weapons to her leather belt.

She crosses her arms but sprints back to the governor's mansion as she remembers the dagger she had left there. Several guards now surround the manor.

Luckily, Oliver had told her about a secret passage just behind its bricked walls—and she knew just where it was located. He had shown her once, before. "I've to thank you for this..."

She halts a moment before taking a deep breath. For a minute, she contemplates—can she really sacrifice her dreams with the man she loves? Is she doing the right thing?

She closes her eyes as her palm feels her heart. "Oh, Ollie..."

"I've to get my dagger back. 'Tis my best memory of you," she whispers to herself as she treads along the dim-lit secret passage. After a few minutes of walking, she witnessed a small amount of light from the far left.

Angelina walks toward the light, and there she catches a glimpse of what it looks like the governor's office. She enters the room with utter silence.

"Lo que una habitación..." what a room, she absent-mindedly mumbles. Clearly, the governor has quite the most amusing workroom she'd ever witnessed.

It felt peaceful and smelled varnish with its wooden walls carved with sophisticated curves and a collection of books that would probably take infinity for Angelina to finish reading. She draws near to the bookshelf.

Her fingers slide across the organized readings—when she recognizes a thick book with a familiar gold in its cover.

Angelina takes it, a smirk forming on her lips as she reads the title, England: Tales, Legends, and Curses.

She once owned a book as such, but it was stolen from their ship twelve years ago when the navy killed her Tia Alma, along with stolen weapons, treasures, and the like. Angelina puts the reading inside her satchel and continues to roam around the space.

"My dagger!" she hisses, witnessing her dagger on top of the governor's table. It had a letter beside it.

'Owned by a thief, but useful. Forged from the best weapon forger across England. Belongs to someone named Angel.'

She immediately takes the weapon and returns it to its rightful place, on her leather belt along with a pistol, a sword, a knife, and a pack of bullets.

She turns toward the secret passage entrance when the door slams open, revealing two of the governor's men.

"There's the thief!" one of them announced, alarming the others. Angelina rushes to the secret passageway's door, only to halt abruptly, for one of the governor's minions had started firing bullets in her direction.

She seeks cover behind an enormous cabinet, only for its glass to shatter due to the fired bullets.

She gasps, yet she manages to draw her pistol and fires two bullets straight to one of the governor's men. He falls to the floor, barely alive.

Angelina does a front roll to avoid the other man's attacks, then wounds his leg with her dagger.

Thinking that the man won't function well because of his wound, she dashes to the passageway door—only for her hair to be harshly pulled back. "You, thief! Pirate scum!"

Angelina elbows his stomach, but the man was amusingly persistent. Instead, he aggressively turns her around, facing him, as he sharply slaps Angelina.

Her body meets the floor, her hand holding on to her swollen cheek.

She was about to stand and attack when the man hops on her and chokes her neck.

She struggles to attack him, for her breathing is challenged, but luckily, she slices his arm open using the dagger Oliver had given her.

"Get...off me!" she hisses. The blade is thrown to her side after she makes use of it.

The man stumbles but being so persistent—he picks up the dagger, runs to Angelina, and stabs her upper right chest with it. He pulls the blade off her, letting her blood flow out of the wound.

"Hngh!"

"Scumbag," she grits her teeth as the man draws near her again, about to finally end her life—but could a pirate captain let this lone man bring her to an end?

The pirate woman swings her pistol toward the man's head, but he falls on her instead, lifeless.

His body crashes to the ground with a thud, uncovering the view across Angelina.

There stood a man clad in leather and armed with such an exquisite blade. He returns his pistol to his belt and rushes toward Angelina as the woman falls weak to the floor.

The stranger takes a cloth out of his pocket and presses it onto her wound.

Angelina slaps away his hand, "Argh! Leave me alone, damn it."

"You needn't lie to me," he speaks in a calm, reassuring tone.

"Press on the wound. Apply pressure. That way, you won't bleed."

"Like I don't know what to do when I'm stabbed."

"Aye, of course, you do. Are you hurt?"

"Clearly."

"Apologies for asking such a foolish query."

He stands to close the door, then immediately returning to face Angelina. "Can you run?"

"Definitely," she manages to speak, pressing on her wound, but it wasn't enough. The stranger presses his palm more onto her skin, causing Angelina to moan in pain.

She raises her head to shoot him a glare like she always does to people, but upon witnessing his face closely, it was the moment she'd been able to be amused with his features.

He was tan, with wavy chestnut hair that almost reached his shoulders. Unlike Oliver's ocean-blue eyes, this stranger had hazelnut-brown ones—and he looked so fine, he almost didn't look like a pirate.

But she knew he was.