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.

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.

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.