"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."

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?"