Before Her Heart Was Taken

Charlotte suddenly jumped in. "Hector, don't scare her." Her voice wavered, just a little.

Hector finally let go.

He motioned her over and pulled her into his arms, way too gently. "Charlotte, are you happy now?"

She glanced at Tiffany but didn't answer.

Hector let out a cold laugh. "Tiffany, if Charlotte's upset, then I'm upset. And if I'm upset, you don't get to be happy either."

He pointed toward the door. "You know what to do."

Tiffany's heart dropped.

It was January—freezing in Westvale. Night had already settled in.

He wanted her gone. Dead, even.

But after what happened in that basement, she couldn't face going back.

She closed her eyes, slipped off her coat and shoes, and turned without a word.

Barefoot, in just a thin sweater, she knelt on the icy grass outside the steps.

Charlotte said, "Hector, this is too much. It's freezing. Tiffany's still a girl—she'll get frostbite like this."

"She's used to it."

"But—"

"Enough. Stop worrying about her. Let's do something more fun."

The front door shut behind them, locking out Charlotte's fake concern—and Hector's cold indifference.

The cold was savage.

Wind sliced through her clothes, biting down to the bone.

Tiffany's skin went pale, lips turning blue. She curled up tight, hugging herself just to stop shaking.

A window was cracked open somewhere.

From inside came soft moans—syrupy sweet—and a man's heavy breathing.

Her throat tightened.

They were in the living room...

"Ah—Hector, be gentle. Mmm, Tiffany's still outside."

"Let her freeze. Don't lose focus, baby."

...

The sounds stabbed into her like knives.

Tiffany clenched her jaw, slapped a hand over her left ear.

It went on and on.

Only after they were done did the door finally open.

Hector stood shirtless, holding a breathless Charlotte as he stared down at Tiffany.

"Go back to your room. The wedding's in a few days. Charlotte wants you as a bridesmaid. Get checked at the hospital tomorrow. If you mess this up, you know what happens."

Tiffany barely managed to crawl back inside.

Her limbs were stiff with cold. It took half an hour in the tub just to feel human again.

The cut on her forehead, raw and swollen from the cold, started bleeding.

She shut her eyes.

Just one more week.

Maybe it was all the pain catching up—but by midnight, she was burning with fever.

***

The next morning, Esteban had to drag her out of bed. Weak and dizzy, Tiffany tumbled straight down the stairs.

Hector, sitting at the dining table, barely glanced up. "Fishing for pity already?"

"Tiffany, are you okay?" Charlotte rushed over, dripping fake concern.

But the second she touched her shoulder, Tiffany flinched hard and shoved her away. "Don't touch me!"

"Tiffany!" Hector shot to his feet. "Don't you dare disrespect her!"

She didn't answer.

Her whole body shook, breath coming in short, tight gasps from Charlotte's touch.

"...Hector."

Still on the floor, she reached out without thinking.

His expression shifted.

He knelt down, fingers brushing her collarbone.

"Tiffany, your skin hunger... it's flaring up, isn't it?"