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?"

Tiffany shot to her feet.

"Tiffany, my daughter! I finally found you!"

A plump woman burst in, tears streaming.

Behind her came a crowd—six or seven strangers, all crying, yelling her name, reaching for her.

"These are your birth parents, your two brothers, your aunt and uncle," Charlotte said sweetly. "Twenty years apart and now a tearful reunion. Oh, and they all know you're the Coxon heiress."

Her laugh dripped poison.

Tiffany stood frozen.

Matilda, the woman who gave birth to her, clung on tight, breathing hard, shrieking in her ear.

"Tiffany, we were wrong to leave you. But we had our reasons. Please forgive us—we're your real parents!"

"Get off me! Back off! Don't touch me! Don't you dare!" Tiffany's voice cracked. "I'm not your daughter! I don't know any of you!"

Her whole body shook.

She screamed, tried to shove them off, but they had her surrounded.

"You're living it up as an heiress while we're broke in the sticks! Your uncle's factory crashed—he's drowning in debt!"

"Your brothers are still single. You've got cash—at least buy them a house, a car, cover their weddings!"

"We're family. Don't turn your back. We finally found you—it's time to come home and honor your roots."

They cried. Begged. Yelled.

Mouths wide. Eyes greedy.

Tiffany screamed inside, 'No. Don't touch me!'

When her two disgusting, rough brothers reached for a hug, something in her snapped.

"Get away from me! Die! All of you—just die!"

Her vision blurred.

She went wild—biting, clawing, swinging chairs, smashing bottles. The air stank of blood.

Chaos exploded.

Screams. Curses. Crying.

Only Charlotte stood still, leaning on the balcony rail, laughing without a sound.

Her eyes locked on the love bites on Tiffany's neck. Her nails dug into her own palms.

'Tiffany, this time... I'll make sure there's nothing left of you.'

She closed her eyes.

As the crowd surged forward, Charlotte jumped.

"Charlotte!"

Hector had just pulled up. His scream tore through the noise.

He bolted over, shaking, scooping her up. "Charlotte, no—don't do this—stay with me. Please!"

"...Hector... don't... don't blame Tiffany..."

Her voice faded. Her eyes shut.

The ambulance roared in, then sped off.

***

The sky went pitch black. Rain came down in sheets.

Tiffany knelt at the mansion gates, wrists tied, waiting for her sentence.

"You should be grateful Charlotte lived."

Hector strolled down the stairs, umbrella in one hand.

He tipped her chin up with his cane, eyes burning. "But her legs are busted. How do you plan to fix that?"

Tiffany shut her eyes.

Stubborn was in her blood—but too many years under someone else's roof had taught her when to lower her head.

This time, begging wasn't gonna save her.

She was done begging.

"Fine. Have it your way." His voice dropped cold. "Since you won't talk, I'll choose. I want your legs."

The cane came down—fast, brutal.

"Ahhh!"

Her scream tore through the rain.

And it was only the start.