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?"