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.

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?"