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?"

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."