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.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Hector kept swinging, rain hammering down as his cane slammed into her legs.

Thuds. Screams. They echoed off the mansion walls.

Her blue jeans turned crimson, blood spreading fast.

Rain rinsed her torn skin, made it pale—then the bleeding started all over again.

By the time it stopped, she couldn't scream anymore. Her legs were dead weight.

Even with the rain, her body still jerked from the pain.

Esteban and the bodyguards? They couldn't even watch.

Hector dropped the cane. "Lock her in the basement. No sunlight till Charlotte walks again."

Tiffany didn't panic.

She never even woke up.

First came the cold sweats. Then fever. Then seizures.

Eventually, she couldn't feel her legs at all.

Time blurred. The basement was just shadows and pain.

The door creaked open sometimes—probably Esteban with meds.

She couldn't tell. Had no clue how long she'd been down there.

Just pain. Then blackout.

Again and again—until someone hauled her into a car.

Tiffany's eyes fluttered open.

Esteban.

"Poor kid... you've got your whole life ahead of you. If your legs are shot, that's it."

"...Esteban."

"Shh. Don't talk. Today's Hector's wedding—no one's watching the house. I've already talked to the driver. He's taking you to the hospital."

He slipped a small bag into her hands. "Your IDs are inside. If you don't wanna come back... don't."

Tears blurred her vision.

Two lifetimes consumed by anguish —and the one who saved her was the quiet butler who'd barely said a word.

The black sedan vanished down the mountain.

Esteban watched the car disappear, then turned back to the mansion.

He had no idea what Hector would do when he found out.

Didn't matter. He couldn't watch that girl suffer anymore.

He was old. Almost out of time.

But Tiffany? She was still just a kid. Her story couldn't end like this.

Even Hector—he was young too. Maybe there was still time for him not to drown in regret.

Tiffany didn't know any of that.

She never went to the hospital.

She told the driver to take her to campus.

It was Hector's wedding day—and the deadline for the volunteer teaching program.

Her last shot. She had to make it.

But by the time she dragged her shattered legs out of the car, it was over.

The bus was gone.

And Hector had already taken her off the list.

First, it was the heart transplant. Now this.

For the second time in two lives, Tiffany felt what real despair tasted like.

The driver took her to the hospital.

While he handled the paperwork—she vanished.

Twenty minutes later, she hit the rooftop.

The northern wind howled.

From the twenty-eighth floor, Westvale stretched forever.

She leaned on the railing, eyes heavy with sorrow.

Such a gorgeous city. Roads went everywhere.

And for her? It'd been a cage. Twice.

Enough.

She'd already died once.

What could top getting her heart ripped out? Her legs crushed?

Tiffany shut her eyes, ready to let go—

Then a voice behind her:

"Taffy, let me take you away."

That name...

She spun around.

"It's been five years. Do you still remember me?"