Before Her Heart Was Taken

Tiffany's soul hovered overhead.

She watched them rip her heart out—still dripping—and stuff it into a cooler. Destination? Velmont City, Dalvona. For the same girl who'd sold her to traffickers in Nyamara.

Outside the OR, Hector stood there, eyes all soft.

His assistant called. "Mr. Coxon, we've located Ms. Talwyn. Want me to send someone?"

Hector didn't blink. "Don't bother. A girl like that deserves to die."

The surgical light flipped green. A doctor strolled out. "Congrats, Mr. Coxon. Surgery went smooth. Ms. Pusey and the baby are doing great!"

Hector started crying happy tears.

This was the man she had loved for ten years.

Tiffany Talwyn's soul hovered overhead.

She watched them rip her heart out—still dripping—and stuff it into a cooler. Destination? Velmont City, Dalvona. For the same girl who'd sold her to traffickers in Nyamara.

Outside the OR, Hector Coxon stood there, eyes all soft.

Dave, his assistant, called. "Mr. Coxon, we've located Ms. Talwyn. Want me to send someone?"

Hector didn't blink. "Don't bother. A girl like that deserves to die."

The surgical light flipped green. A doctor strolled out. "Congrats, Mr. Coxon. Surgery went smooth. Ms. Pusey and the baby are doing great!"

Hector started crying happy tears.

Tiffany did too—except hers were blood tears.

She'd loved him. For ten years.

Now? She was gone. Cut open. Harvested. Dead. And somehow, it still freaking hurt.

Then this booming voice tore through the sky. A blast of gold light wrapped around her, hot and blinding.

She shut her eyes. 'Guess this is it. I'm really crossing over.'

***

Dark. So dark. Then—boom—light.

Something slammed around her throat like a noose.

"—Ugh!"

She choked, gasping. Her voice was wrecked. Eyes snapped open.

Hector.

"Charlotte made you dinner out of kindness. You smashed the plate and pushed her down the stairs! I should've left you to rot."

He slammed her into the wall. His shadow towered over her.

What the heck?

Wasn't I dead?

Her brain couldn't catch up. She couldn't breathe. His grip was crushing her windpipe.

"Hector, I... I'm sorry."

Panic hit hard. Her face turned red. Toes barely touched the ground. Her neck made this awful creak.

Tears slid hot down her cheeks.

Just when she thought he'd kill her, Hector let go.

She collapsed, coughing like she'd swallowed fire.

"Consider yourself lucky. Charlotte's in the hospital. If anything happens to her, this'll be your last breath."

He looked at the butler. "Esteban. Get the chain. She broke the rules. Lock her up. No one touches that door unless I say so."

Of course.

Every time she messed up, Hector had Esteban chain her in that basement.

No light. No air. Just wet, moldy rot.

She was claustrophobic—lost it every time. Screamed. Sobbed.

There was a camera in the corner. By day two, she'd be kneeling under it, slamming her head on the floor, begging.

And Hector? He'd be watching.

Only when he was satisfied—when he thought she'd learned her lesson—did he let her out. Like he was doing her a favor.

Today was no different.

They threw her in like trash.

Tiffany hit the cold, slimy floor and didn't move. Her neck throbbed.

She touched it, breathing slow.

Silence stretched.

Then her bitter laugh broke through the dark.

"I came back..."