Before Her Heart Was Taken

Tiffany had lost count of the punishments—each one crueler than the last.

Took her a minute to even remember what set it off this time.

Rosalind Talwyn, her so-called foster mom, had called out of nowhere, whining for money. The same woman who ditched her ages ago to chase some random foreign guy. Now that he'd bailed, Rosalind came crawling back, full of drama, acting like the victim.

Tiffany was still arguing on the phone when Charlotte Pusey strolled in and caught the tail end.

Charlotte. Hector's long-lost first love.

She'd moved to Zweizerland with her parents back in high school and popped back up earlier this year.

The second she and Hector locked eyes, the sparks were back.

Charlotte hated Tiffany. She always had it out for her, sneaking around and stirring crap up.

Called her a curse. A nobody's kid. Said she was just like Rosalind—a gold-digging tramp who'd chase anything with a heartbeat.

Tiffany snapped. Shoved her.

Then just stood there, stunned, as Charlotte smirked... and threw herself down the stairs.

There were cameras in the hallway, but Hector didn't even look.

He never believed Tiffany.

Not that it mattered now.

Last time, she trusted him—and it cost her everything.

This time, she was done. Done with Hector. Done with Westvale. Done with the prison that had kept her trapped her whole life.

***

Drip. Drip.

Rain leaked in through the cracks, every drop echoing in the dark.

Tiffany jolted up, panic slamming into her like a truck. She couldn't breathe.

The claustrophobia was back.

Her body went ice cold. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Judging by how wrecked she felt, she'd been locked in here at least eight hours.

Her feet were chained. No way to stand.

So she crawled—inch by inch—toward the door.

"Open up! Hector, I'm sorry, please! Esteban! Hector! Somebody—please, open the door..."

She knew Hector was watching the monitor. Esteban was right outside.

She hated begging.

But the fear was too much.

It felt like a thousand spiked hands tearing through her, poisoning her blood, shredding her from the inside out.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please let me go, Hector! I don't love you anymore—I swear I don't!"

She collapsed, sobbing—completely unhinged.

Then started slamming her head against the wall.

Harder. Louder.

The air reeked of blood—sharp, metallic, dizzying.

She thought this might be it.

Bang!

The door flew open. Hector stormed in and yanked her up by the hair.

"You got a death wish or what? Begging didn't work, so now you're trying to guilt-trip me?"

Blood streaked her face. Her head jerked back in his grip.

"I... didn't," she whispered, trembling all over. "Please, just let me out."

Hector sneered and shoved her aside.

Then kicked her chin up with his foot.

"Charlotte begged me to go easy on you. So fine—this time, I'll let it slide. But this is your last warning. Get those pathetic feelings for me outta your head. I will never love someone like you."

Tiffany had loved Hector.

He'd known since she was seventeen.

She was the third kid in the family. Deaf in one ear. She was then taken away by Rosalind—a prostitute—who saw her as retirement insurance.

Rosalind was always dragging in new guys. Every time, she'd lock little Tiffany in the tiny, damp kitchen. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes days.

That's where the claustrophobia began.