Before Her Heart Was Taken

Tiffany's soul hovered overhead. She watched them rip her heart out—still dripping—and stuff it into a cooler. Destination? Velmont City, Dalvona. For the same girl who'd sold her to traffickers in Nyamara. Outside the OR, Hector stood there, eyes all soft. His assistant called. "Mr. Coxon, we've located Ms. Talwyn. Want me to send someone?" Hector didn't blink. "Don't bother. A girl like that deserves to die." The surgical light flipped green. A doctor strolled out. "Congrats, Mr. Coxon. Surgery went smooth. Ms. Pusey and the baby are doing great!" Hector started crying happy tears. This was the man she had loved for ten years. Chapter 1 Tiffany Talwyn's soul hovered overhead. She watched them rip her heart out—still dripping—and stuff it into a cooler. Destination? Velmont City, Dalvona. For the same girl who'd sold her to traffickers in Nyamara. Outside the OR, Hector Coxon stood there, eyes all soft. Dave, his assistant, called. "Mr. Coxon, we've located Ms. Talwyn. Want me to send someone?" Hector didn't blink. "Don't bother. A girl like that deserves to die." The surgical light flipped green. A doctor strolled out. "Congrats, Mr. Coxon. Surgery went smooth. Ms. Pusey and the baby are doing great!" Hector started crying happy tears. Tiffany did too—except hers were blood tears. She'd loved him. For ten years. Now? She was gone. Cut open. Harvested. Dead. And somehow, it still freaking hurt. Then this booming voice tore through the sky. A blast of gold light wrapped around her, hot and blinding. She shut her eyes. 'Guess this is it. I'm really crossing over.' *** Dark. So dark. Then—boom—light. Something slammed around her throat like a noose. "—Ugh!" She choked, gasping. Her voice was wrecked. Eyes snapped open. Hector. "Charlotte made you dinner out of kindness. You smashed the plate and pushed her down the stairs! I should've left you to rot." He slammed her into the wall. His shadow towered over her. What the heck? Wasn't I dead? Her brain couldn't catch up. She couldn't breathe. His grip was crushing her windpipe. "Hector, I... I'm sorry." Panic hit hard. Her face turned red. Toes barely touched the ground. Her neck made this awful creak. Tears slid hot down her cheeks. Just when she thought he'd kill her, Hector let go. She collapsed, coughing like she'd swallowed fire. "Consider yourself lucky. Charlotte's in the hospital. If anything happens to her, this'll be your last breath." He looked at the butler. "Esteban. Get the chain. She broke the rules. Lock her up. No one touches that door unless I say so." Of course. Every time she messed up, Hector had Esteban chain her in that basement. No light. No air. Just wet, moldy rot. She was claustrophobic—lost it every time. Screamed. Sobbed. There was a camera in the corner. By day two, she'd be kneeling under it, slamming her head on the floor, begging. And Hector? He'd be watching. Only when he was satisfied—when he thought she'd learned her lesson—did he let her out. Like he was doing her a favor. Today was no different. They threw her in like trash. Tiffany hit the cold, slimy floor and didn't move. Her neck throbbed. She touched it, breathing slow. Silence stretched. Then her bitter laugh broke through the dark. "I came back..." Chapter 2 Tiffany had lost count of the punishments—each one crueler than the last. Took her a minute to even remember what set it off this time. Rosalind Talwyn, her so-called foster mom, had called out of nowhere, whining for money. The same woman who ditched her ages ago to chase some random foreign guy. Now that he'd bailed, Rosalind came crawling back, full of drama, acting like the victim. Tiffany was still arguing on the phone when Charlotte Pusey strolled in and caught the tail end. Charlotte. Hector's long-lost first love. She'd moved to Zweizerland with her parents back in high school and popped back up earlier this year. The second she and Hector locked eyes, the sparks were back. Charlotte hated Tiffany. She always had it out for her, sneaking around and stirring crap up. Called her a curse. A nobody's kid. Said she was just like Rosalind—a gold-digging tramp who'd chase anything with a heartbeat. Tiffany snapped. Shoved her. Then just stood there, stunned, as Charlotte smirked... and threw herself down the stairs. There were cameras in the hallway, but Hector didn't even look. He never believed Tiffany. Not that it mattered now. Last time, she trusted him—and it cost her everything. This time, she was done. Done with Hector. Done with Westvale. Done with the prison that had kept her trapped her whole life. *** Drip. Drip. Rain leaked in through the cracks, every drop echoing in the dark. Tiffany jolted up, panic slamming into her like a truck. She couldn't breathe. The claustrophobia was back. Her body went ice cold. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Judging by how wrecked she felt, she'd been locked in here at least eight hours. Her feet were chained. No way to stand. So she crawled—inch by inch—toward the door. "Open up! Hector, I'm sorry, please! Esteban! Hector! Somebody—please, open the door..." She knew Hector was watching the monitor. Esteban was right outside. She hated begging. But the fear was too much. It felt like a thousand spiked hands tearing through her, poisoning her blood, shredding her from the inside out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please let me go, Hector! I don't love you anymore—I swear I don't!" She collapsed, sobbing—completely unhinged. Then started slamming her head against the wall. Harder. Louder. The air reeked of blood—sharp, metallic, dizzying. She thought this might be it. Bang! The door flew open. Hector stormed in and yanked her up by the hair. "You got a death wish or what? Begging didn't work, so now you're trying to guilt-trip me?" Blood streaked her face. Her head jerked back in his grip. "I... didn't," she whispered, trembling all over. "Please, just let me out." Hector sneered and shoved her aside. Then kicked her chin up with his foot. "Charlotte begged me to go easy on you. So fine—this time, I'll let it slide. But this is your last warning. Get those pathetic feelings for me outta your head. I will never love someone like you." Tiffany had loved Hector. He'd known since she was seventeen. She was the third kid in the family. Deaf in one ear. She was then taken away by Rosalind—a prostitute—who saw her as retirement insurance. Rosalind was always dragging in new guys. Every time, she'd lock little Tiffany in the tiny, damp kitchen. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes days. That's where the claustrophobia began. Chapter 3 Later, Rosalind sank her claws into Hector's dad, Benjamin. After pushing Veronica—Hector's mom—out of the picture, she moved herself and twelve-year-old Tiffany into the Coxon Estate. And just like that, Tiffany got a new shadow. Hector, five years older, was fiery, and always treated her like his favorite chew toy. When he was in a good mood, he'd buy her candy or take her to the amusement park. When he wasn't—he'd shove her down the stairs, dunk her in the pool, or toss her outside in the dead of winter. Once Tiffany grew into her looks, Hector started treating his "sister" a little too nicely. And yeah—Tiffany caught feelings. But two years ago, in the middle of the night, he pinned her to the bed—whispering Charlotte's name. That's when it hit her. She'd never been anything more than a stand-in. *** Tiffany jolted awake. White hospital ceiling. Blinding lights. "You're awake." Her whole body froze. Charlotte was sitting right there beside the bed. "What are you doing here?" "You little tramp—always faking pain to seduce my man. You think I'd leave you here unsupervised?" "You seriously have nothing better to do." Tiffany turned her head, done looking at her. Silence. Then Charlotte let out a soft laugh—and suddenly grabbed her hand. Tiffany yanked back, startled. Charlotte's eyes sparkled with fake tears. "I'm so sorry, Tiffany. I didn't know Hector locked you in the basement for me. I had no idea you'd get hurt that bad. "You didn't mean to push me that day, right? I know you've got... issues. Probably just lost it for a sec. I don't blame you, really. "It was Hector who went too far. But I talked to him—he won't do it again. Please forgive me, okay? I feel awful." Tiffany couldn't take her two-faced act anymore. She yanked her hand back. "Get off me. Don't touch me." She barely touched her, but Charlotte went flying—screaming like she'd been punched—toppling to the floor with her chair. "Tiffany, what are you doing?!" Hector's voice, full of rage, exploded from the doorway. He rushed in, scooped Charlotte into his arms, then spun and slapped Tiffany hard across the face. "You've seriously lost it! Charlotte came here in good faith, trying to make peace, and you dare lay a hand on her?" Blood filled Tiffany's mouth. She clutched her swollen cheek, too stunned to speak. Charlotte clung to Hector—limp, pitiful—whispering for him to calm down, even as her eyes gleamed with victory. Tiffany knew she'd walked straight into her trap. Again. A wave of helplessness crushed her. One look at Hector's stormy face, and she didn't even bother explaining. It all ended in silence. Hector rushed Charlotte off to get checked out, terrified her little tumble had done real damage. Tiffany just watched him go, the corner of her mouth curling into a bitter smile. This was the guy she'd wasted her last life on—so obsessed, so blind, she'd thrown everything away for him. That afternoon, she left the hospital alone. Her college advisor had just dropped a notice in the student group: an overseas volunteer teaching gig in Zafaria. One year. Juniors and seniors only. She needed this. Bad. Chapter 4 Tiffany went to a private college in Westvale—one the Coxons basically owned. Everyone knew Hector was her "brother." The advisor scanned her screen. "This program's in Zafaria. It's tough. You won't be back in Dalvona till it's over. You sure?" Tiffany nodded. "Training's in Southport next week, right? I'm good." The advisor paused. Tiffany wasn't just any student. "You tell your brother? Your dad? This is kinda last minute. Maybe I should loop them in—" "No need!" she cut in fast. "They already know. Super supportive. Said it'd be a great opportunity. All good." "Alright then, you're in." Tiffany finally exhaled. The Coxons ran everything—politics, business, the whole deal. Back when Benjamin was head-over-heels for Rosalind, there were talks of making Tiffany part of the family for real. But thanks to his messy ties with Veronica—and Hector losing his mind over it—the divorce never happened. Officially, Benjamin called her his foster kid. As for Rosalind? After she betrayed him, he claimed she left Dalvona for treatment. When Charlotte came back, Tiffany was supposed to be kicked out. But then Veronica collapsed and never woke up. Hector snapped. Took it out on Tiffany. And in the end, he got her killed. Not this time. *** By the time Tiffany got back to Hector's mansion, it was already dark. He was on the couch, gently fussing over Charlotte's bruised arm. When he saw Tiffany, he barely looked up. "Charlotte can barely walk, and look at you—prancing around like it's no big deal." His voice oozed blame. Tiffany didn't flinch. "I'm sorry. It was my fault." She kicked off her shoes and headed upstairs. "Stop." She turned, deadpan. "What now?" "What kind of attitude is that?" His face darkened. "Charlotte heard you discharged yourself and came here worried sick. And you act like this? Apologize. Now." Tiffany felt drained. She wanted to ask—what did she even do wrong? Why was it always on her to say sorry? To Charlotte. To him. To everyone. But she stayed quiet. She was leaving soon anyway. No point arguing with someone she was already cutting out of her life. So she forced a smile. "Alright, Hector. I'm sorry, Ms. Pusey. Didn't mean to keep you waiting. Your wedding's next week, right? Wishing you both a long, blissful life. Chained together forever. Happy now?" Charlotte stiffened. "Tiffany, we're gonna be family. If you've got a problem with me, just say it. No need for the snide remarks." Tiffany said nothing. Just kept that same fake smile, waiting for Hector to let her go. But he didn't. And just when she started to wonder if playing nice wasn't enough, Hector stood up and walked over. "Hector?" "When will you ever learn?" He tilted her chin up, leaned in close, and whispered in her good ear, "All I did was bring Charlotte home. Is that really enough to make you this jealous?" Tiffany stayed silent. Chapter 5 Charlotte suddenly jumped in. "Hector, don't scare her." Her voice wavered, just a little. Hector finally let go. He motioned her over and pulled her into his arms, way too gently. "Charlotte, are you happy now?" She glanced at Tiffany but didn't answer. Hector let out a cold laugh. "Tiffany, if Charlotte's upset, then I'm upset. And if I'm upset, you don't get to be happy either." He pointed toward the door. "You know what to do." Tiffany's heart dropped. It was January—freezing in Westvale. Night had already settled in. He wanted her gone. Dead, even. But after what happened in that basement, she couldn't face going back. She closed her eyes, slipped off her coat and shoes, and turned without a word. Barefoot, in just a thin sweater, she knelt on the icy grass outside the steps. Charlotte said, "Hector, this is too much. It's freezing. Tiffany's still a girl—she'll get frostbite like this." "She's used to it." "But—" "Enough. Stop worrying about her. Let's do something more fun." The front door shut behind them, locking out Charlotte's fake concern—and Hector's cold indifference. The cold was savage. Wind sliced through her clothes, biting down to the bone. Tiffany's skin went pale, lips turning blue. She curled up tight, hugging herself just to stop shaking. A window was cracked open somewhere. From inside came soft moans—syrupy sweet—and a man's heavy breathing. Her throat tightened. They were in the living room... "Ah—Hector, be gentle. Mmm, Tiffany's still outside." "Let her freeze. Don't lose focus, baby." ... The sounds stabbed into her like knives. Tiffany clenched her jaw, slapped a hand over her left ear. It went on and on. Only after they were done did the door finally open. Hector stood shirtless, holding a breathless Charlotte as he stared down at Tiffany. "Go back to your room. The wedding's in a few days. Charlotte wants you as a bridesmaid. Get checked at the hospital tomorrow. If you mess this up, you know what happens." Tiffany barely managed to crawl back inside. Her limbs were stiff with cold. It took half an hour in the tub just to feel human again. The cut on her forehead, raw and swollen from the cold, started bleeding. She shut her eyes. Just one more week. Maybe it was all the pain catching up—but by midnight, she was burning with fever. *** The next morning, Esteban had to drag her out of bed. Weak and dizzy, Tiffany tumbled straight down the stairs. Hector, sitting at the dining table, barely glanced up. "Fishing for pity already?" "Tiffany, are you okay?" Charlotte rushed over, dripping fake concern. But the second she touched her shoulder, Tiffany flinched hard and shoved her away. "Don't touch me!" "Tiffany!" Hector shot to his feet. "Don't you dare disrespect her!" She didn't answer. Her whole body shook, breath coming in short, tight gasps from Charlotte's touch. "...Hector." Still on the floor, she reached out without thinking. His expression shifted. He knelt down, fingers brushing her collarbone. "Tiffany, your skin hunger... it's flaring up, isn't it?" Chapter 6 "Hector, you—" Charlotte started. He turned and raised a hand to shut her up. She bit her lip, fuming, but stayed quiet. Tiffany couldn't even process their tension. All she felt was the light brush of his finger on her collarbone. A soft whimper slipped out as she leaned up, instinctively chasing his touch. Her skin burned for contact. "Hector, please... just hold me. That's all." Like some desperate stray, she clung to him, shameless and shaking. Somewhere inside, she screamed at herself to stop. But her body didn't listen. "You really want it that bad?" Hector smirked. His fingers drifted lower, undoing her buttons one by one. "No one's around. Strip down, and maybe I'll give you that hug you're begging for." Tiffany jolted, the haze snapping. Charlotte couldn't take it. "Hector!" she shouted. He didn't flinch. Just knelt there, staring down at Tiffany. "I've never been the patient type," he said. "And looks like you're falling apart too." That sick bastard. He'd done this before—used her skin hunger to break her down, make her beg like some toy, humiliate her in front of Charlotte, strip her dignity inch by inch. The need came rushing back, worse than ever. Tiffany watched, helpless, as her own fingers started unbuttoning her blouse. Her body didn't feel like hers anymore. "No! I can't—!" "Can't?" Hector's lip curled. "Your body says otherwise." A sharp, burning hatred surged in her chest. She hated how weak she felt—hated his twisted control even more. "I'm not letting you humiliate me again!" She bit down hard on her tongue, sharp enough to make herself flinch. Blood filled her mouth. She wiped it off, pushed to her feet. Then, to the sound of Charlotte's scream, she bolted—and threw herself into the icy pool outside. The freezing water hit like a slap, killing every last flicker of want. Tiffany couldn't swim. She didn't fight it—just let the water drag her under. Somewhere, faint through her left ear, she heard Hector shouting her name. A splash. Something—or someone—hit the water after her. "Tiffany!" The voice got closer. But she was already slipping. Too tired. Before she could open her eyes, everything went black. *** When Tiffany came to, she was in a hospital. No Charlotte. No Hector. Just the beep of machines and a nurse standing over her. "Miss, you can't be this reckless," the nurse scolded. "You're severely malnourished. If the rescue had been even a little later, you wouldn't have made it out of that water." "How long was I out?" "A full day and night." Her heart thudded. Only five days left until the teaching trip. And her visa? Still not done. No guards this time. The second the nurse left, Tiffany ripped out the IV and slipped away. The mansion was empty. She found the documents in her room, grabbed them, and ran straight to campus. "You made it just in time," her advisor said. "Another hour and you'd've missed it. The director's been on my case. I even called your brother to check on you." Tiffany froze. "You... told my brother?" Chapter 7 Her phone rang, sharp and jarring. Hector. "Where did you go? You're not at the hospital." "I—" "Half an hour. Be home." Click. He hung up. Tiffany stared at her trembling hands. She didn't even say goodbye—just bolted. But the campus was fifty kilometers away, and with traffic, no chance she'd make it in time. An hour later, she stood in front of him, heart pounding. "Hec—ah!" Hector yanked her by the arm and dragged her upstairs, shoving her hard onto the bedroom floor. "What's this?" he barked, pointing at the packed suitcase in the closet. His eyes burned. "You're leaving me?" Tiffany scrambled back, panicked. "No, I'm not. I swear I'm not." "Still lying to me?" he roared. His breath reeked of alcohol. "You're really gonna leave me? After everything I've done for you? When Rosalind ditched you for her lover and took off overseas—who dragged your half-dead body out of that car crash? "When they tried to dump you in some orphanage, who fought for you? I fed you. Clothed you. Gave you an education. Made you the Coxon heiress—and this is how you repay me?" His bloodshot eyes burned, every word laced with fury. He ripped off his tie, letting it drop with his jacket. The stench of liquor choked the air. Panic hit hard. "No, Hector, please—just listen—" She scrambled up, trying to run. He caught her from behind and slammed her onto the bed. "You're mine!" He ripped off her clothes and forced himself inside her. Tiffany had no clue how long the nightmare lasted. She only knew night fell, then dawn crept in, and her body had gone numb from everything he'd done. The sunlight bled through the curtains. Her phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time. That's when Hector finally moved. She didn't say a word. Just lay there, broken, watching him get up, get dressed, take a shower, and casually pick up his phone. "Charlotte. Sorry I missed your call yesterday. "Bachelorette party's done? Dress fitting now? Cool, I'll have the driver grab you. See you at the shop. "Love you too." He said it like he meant nothing. Tiffany let out a bitter laugh. Of course. If he really loved Charlotte, why would he do this to someone else the night before? He tossed his phone aside and looked at her. "Tiffany, you seduced me. I've told you—no matter what games you play, I'll never love you. Don't even think about trapping me with a kid." She laughed—loud, sharp, bitter. "What's so funny?" "That you're ridiculous." She sat up. The blanket slipped, revealing red marks streaked across her torso. Hector flinched and looked away. But her voice cut through like ice. "When you forced yourself on me last night, did Charlotte ever cross your mind? Don't pretend you're some loyal romantic. It's disgusting." After everything, Tiffany was done. She didn't want his approval. No more sweet, obedient lies for scraps of affection. And when he dared to call it seduction—she snapped. "These bruises? That's you. These welts? You gave me those. And the blood on the sheets? That's from you forcing yourself on me." She shoved the truth right in his face. "You assaulted me. You're the sick, shameless freak." Chapter 8 Smack! Tiffany hit the floor hard. Hector's chest was rising fast. "Shut up! Just shut your filthy mouth! You're no better than that trashy mom of yours!" He yanked her up by the hair and dragged her out. "Tough girl, huh? Think you can leave me? Let's see what snaps first—your bones or the door to the basement." Cold chains locked around her ankles. Then—nothing. Just pitch-black silence. She crumpled, pounding the door with everything she had. "Let me out! You psycho! Freakin' rapist! I swear I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Ahhh!" Her mouth tasted like blood. No answer. She collapsed. When you hit rock bottom, even crying gives up on you. No clue how long she was stuck in there. All she remembered was the panic creeping back, claustrophobia choking her. She refused to beg. So she smashed her head into the floor. Blood sprayed. Passing out seemed like a win. Dying? Even better. She curled into a corner and kept slamming her head into the wall. Over and over. "Tiffany! What on earth are you doing? Stop!" The basement door slammed open. Charlotte came running, shrieking, "Esteban! Hector! Somebody call a doctor!" People rushed in. Someone jabbed a sedative into her arm, and everything blurred as they carried her out. In just a few days, she'd lived through more pain than most people see in a lifetime. There wasn't a single spot on her that wasn't bruised. Red and purple blotches covered her skin. A nasty gash split her forehead. Her arms were raw. Even the doctor flinched while treating her. "If possible, she needs a full evaluation. And serious rest." "I'll try to talk her into it," Charlotte said sweetly. "Thanks, doctor." She stood by the bed like she ran the whole stupid house. Tiffany didn't move. She let Charlotte and the doctor fuss over her, but her eyes never left Hector standing in the doorway. Her voice came out cracked. "You happy now?" Hector paused, then shrugged it off. "If you're sick, rest. My wedding's in a few days. If Charlotte hadn't begged, you'd be in way worse shape." "Come on, Hector, don't scare her. She's still just a kid." Charlotte smiled, looping her arm through his. "The hotel says everything's set. You've got a few meetings tomorrow. Tiffany, why don't you come with me to double-check the setup? I'm still a little nervous about it." That's when it hit her—Charlotte hadn't saved her out of kindness. "Will you come?" Charlotte asked again. Tiffany shut her eyes. She didn't get to say no. A lamb doesn't get to argue with the butcher. Even if it was a setup, Charlotte had spoken. That meant she was going. *** The next morning, the driver dropped Tiffany off at the hotel. Charlotte was already camped at the entrance. Said she came to check the wedding setup, but after a quick walk through the hall, she claimed she was tired and dragged Tiffany upstairs to a private room. Charlotte grabbed her hand. "After the wedding, we'll be family. I haven't even given you a gift yet." "No thanks. Couldn't afford whatever strings come with it." Tiffany yanked her hand back, scrubbing it on her jeans. "You've got skin hunger, right? And so far, Hector's the only one you've let touch you." "What's your point?" "You're sick. As your sister-in-law, I should help fix that." Charlotte flashed a nasty grin, leaning in close. "If even a fake brother like Hector gets a pass... shouldn't your real blood be even more acceptable?" Chapter 9 Tiffany shot to her feet. "Tiffany, my daughter! I finally found you!" A plump woman burst in, tears streaming. Behind her came a crowd—six or seven strangers, all crying, yelling her name, reaching for her. "These are your birth parents, your two brothers, your aunt and uncle," Charlotte said sweetly. "Twenty years apart and now a tearful reunion. Oh, and they all know you're the Coxon heiress." Her laugh dripped poison. Tiffany stood frozen. Matilda, the woman who gave birth to her, clung on tight, breathing hard, shrieking in her ear. "Tiffany, we were wrong to leave you. But we had our reasons. Please forgive us—we're your real parents!" "Get off me! Back off! Don't touch me! Don't you dare!" Tiffany's voice cracked. "I'm not your daughter! I don't know any of you!" Her whole body shook. She screamed, tried to shove them off, but they had her surrounded. "You're living it up as an heiress while we're broke in the sticks! Your uncle's factory crashed—he's drowning in debt!" "Your brothers are still single. You've got cash—at least buy them a house, a car, cover their weddings!" "We're family. Don't turn your back. We finally found you—it's time to come home and honor your roots." They cried. Begged. Yelled. Mouths wide. Eyes greedy. Tiffany screamed inside, 'No. Don't touch me!' When her two disgusting, rough brothers reached for a hug, something in her snapped. "Get away from me! Die! All of you—just die!" Her vision blurred. She went wild—biting, clawing, swinging chairs, smashing bottles. The air stank of blood. Chaos exploded. Screams. Curses. Crying. Only Charlotte stood still, leaning on the balcony rail, laughing without a sound. Her eyes locked on the love bites on Tiffany's neck. Her nails dug into her own palms. 'Tiffany, this time... I'll make sure there's nothing left of you.' She closed her eyes. As the crowd surged forward, Charlotte jumped. "Charlotte!" Hector had just pulled up. His scream tore through the noise. He bolted over, shaking, scooping her up. "Charlotte, no—don't do this—stay with me. Please!" "...Hector... don't... don't blame Tiffany..." Her voice faded. Her eyes shut. The ambulance roared in, then sped off. *** The sky went pitch black. Rain came down in sheets. Tiffany knelt at the mansion gates, wrists tied, waiting for her sentence. "You should be grateful Charlotte lived." Hector strolled down the stairs, umbrella in one hand. He tipped her chin up with his cane, eyes burning. "But her legs are busted. How do you plan to fix that?" Tiffany shut her eyes. Stubborn was in her blood—but too many years under someone else's roof had taught her when to lower her head. This time, begging wasn't gonna save her. She was done begging. "Fine. Have it your way." His voice dropped cold. "Since you won't talk, I'll choose. I want your legs." The cane came down—fast, brutal. "Ahhh!" Her scream tore through the rain. And it was only the start. Chapter 10 Bang! Bang! Bang! Hector kept swinging, rain hammering down as his cane slammed into her legs. Thuds. Screams. They echoed off the mansion walls. Her blue jeans turned crimson, blood spreading fast. Rain rinsed her torn skin, made it pale—then the bleeding started all over again. By the time it stopped, she couldn't scream anymore. Her legs were dead weight. Even with the rain, her body still jerked from the pain. Esteban and the bodyguards? They couldn't even watch. Hector dropped the cane. "Lock her in the basement. No sunlight till Charlotte walks again." Tiffany didn't panic. She never even woke up. First came the cold sweats. Then fever. Then seizures. Eventually, she couldn't feel her legs at all. Time blurred. The basement was just shadows and pain. The door creaked open sometimes—probably Esteban with meds. She couldn't tell. Had no clue how long she'd been down there. Just pain. Then blackout. Again and again—until someone hauled her into a car. Tiffany's eyes fluttered open. Esteban. "Poor kid... you've got your whole life ahead of you. If your legs are shot, that's it." "...Esteban." "Shh. Don't talk. Today's Hector's wedding—no one's watching the house. I've already talked to the driver. He's taking you to the hospital." He slipped a small bag into her hands. "Your IDs are inside. If you don't wanna come back... don't." Tears blurred her vision. Two lifetimes consumed by anguish —and the one who saved her was the quiet butler who'd barely said a word. The black sedan vanished down the mountain. Esteban watched the car disappear, then turned back to the mansion. He had no idea what Hector would do when he found out. Didn't matter. He couldn't watch that girl suffer anymore. He was old. Almost out of time. But Tiffany? She was still just a kid. Her story couldn't end like this. Even Hector—he was young too. Maybe there was still time for him not to drown in regret. Tiffany didn't know any of that. She never went to the hospital. She told the driver to take her to campus. It was Hector's wedding day—and the deadline for the volunteer teaching program. Her last shot. She had to make it. But by the time she dragged her shattered legs out of the car, it was over. The bus was gone. And Hector had already taken her off the list. First, it was the heart transplant. Now this. For the second time in two lives, Tiffany felt what real despair tasted like. The driver took her to the hospital. While he handled the paperwork—she vanished. Twenty minutes later, she hit the rooftop. The northern wind howled. From the twenty-eighth floor, Westvale stretched forever. She leaned on the railing, eyes heavy with sorrow. Such a gorgeous city. Roads went everywhere. And for her? It'd been a cage. Twice. Enough. She'd already died once. What could top getting her heart ripped out? Her legs crushed? Tiffany shut her eyes, ready to let go— Then a voice behind her: "Taffy, let me take you away." That name... She spun around. "It's been five years. Do you still remember me?"