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?"

"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?"