Before Her Heart Was Taken

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."