The rain battered the stained glass windows of the Valenzuela estate. The sound was deafening. It sounded like heavy stones hitting the glass, completely drowning out the violence happening inside the grand hall.
Two massive private bodyguards twisted Tina's arms behind her back. They dragged her out of the second-floor corridor. Her shoes scraped against the expensive carpet, leaving long, ugly marks.
Tina kicked her legs. She fought with every ounce of strength in her small body. Her arms screamed in pain, but she did not let go of the object against her chest. It was a rosewood urn carved with lily patterns. She curled her body around it, turning herself into a human shield.
The bodyguard on her left grunted in annoyance. He shoved her forward. The force was too much. Tina tumbled down the last few steps of the grand staircase. She hit the marble floor of the hall with a sickening thud.
A sharp pain exploded in her knees. It traveled straight up her spine. Tina bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. She refused to scream. Instead, she immediately curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, wrapping both arms securely around the rosewood urn.
Cathi Finley sat in the single leather sofa by the massive fireplace. She crossed her legs. She slowly swirled the bourbon in her crystal glass. The amber liquid hit the ice cubes, making a soft clinking sound.
Cathi reached into her designer bag. She pulled out a legal document stamped with a heavy red seal. She threw it onto the floor right in front of Tina's face. She smiled. It was a cold, practiced smile. She announced that as of this minute, Tina was stripped of all family rights and evicted from the property.
Tina slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull air into her lungs. She stared at Cathi and asked how she could legally alter the trust fund her grandfather had left specifically for her.
Footsteps echoed from the top of the stairs. Felicia Roberts walked down. She wore an expensive silk robe that trailed behind her. She looked down at Tina and laughed. She called Tina a nameless stray dog who never belonged in this house anyway.
Felicia reached the bottom of the stairs. She walked right up to where Tina was curled on the floor. She raised her foot. She drove the sharp, metal heel of her stiletto directly into Tina's already bleeding knee.
Tina flinched. Her whole body jerked from the fresh wave of agony. But she did not look away. She kept her eyes locked on Felicia, her gaze burning with pure, unfiltered hatred.
Felicia hated that look. It made her stomach twist with anger. She bent down suddenly and grabbed the edge of the rosewood urn in Tina's arms. She yanked it hard.
Tina's survival instinct kicked in. She squeezed the box tighter against her chest. She lunged forward and sank her teeth directly into Felicia's wrist.
Felicia let out a high-pitched scream. She ripped her hand back. Without missing a beat, she swung her other hand and slapped Tina across the face. The sound echoed loudly over the rain.
The slap made Tina's ears ring. A high-pitched whine filled her head. Blood pooled in the corner of her mouth and dripped onto her chin. She ignored the stinging in her cheek. She just hugged the urn closer, like a mother protecting a newborn.
Cathi stopped swirling her drink. Her face hardened. She looked at the bodyguards and ordered them to get to work. She told them to take that cursed rosewood urn and throw it out of her house.
The two men stepped forward. One bodyguard placed his heavy leather shoe squarely on the center of Tina's spine. He pressed down hard, pinning her to the marble. The other man grabbed Tina's hands. He forcefully pried her bloody fingers off the wood, one by one.
The urn was ripped from her grasp. The bodyguard held it up and respectfully handed it over to Felicia.
Tina felt her lungs empty. She let out a desperate, raw scream. She pushed against the heavy shoe on her back, trying to claw her way up from the floor to get her mother back.
Felicia looked at the rosewood urn. A malicious smile spread across her face. She lifted the urn high above her head. She looked right into Tina's eyes, and then she threw it down onto the marble floor with all her might.
A sharp, cracking sound filled the hall. The wooden exterior split open. The ceramic liner inside shattered into a hundred pieces. White ash exploded outward, mixing with the sharp shards of ceramic across the floor.
Tina's pupils dilated. Her brain completely shut down. It felt like a physical hand had reached into her chest and ripped her heart out. She could not breathe.
Lightning flashed outside the window. The harsh white light illuminated the pile of ash on the floor and the completely blank, dead look on Tina's face.
A guttural sob ripped from Tina's throat. It did not sound human. She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, ignoring the pain. She reached out with shaking hands, trying to push the white powder back together.
Felicia stepped back in disgust. Then, she deliberately placed her shoe right in the middle of the ash pile. She ground her heel into it, smearing it across the marble.
Something inside Tina snapped. The numbness vanished, replaced by a rush of boiling heat. She grabbed a large, jagged piece of ceramic from the floor. She lunged forward and slashed it hard across Felicia's calf.
Felicia shrieked. She collapsed onto the floor. Bright red blood instantly soaked into the expensive Persian rug beneath her.
Cathi jumped up from the sofa. Her bourbon spilled onto her hand. Her face turned pale with panic. She screamed at the bodyguards to grab the crazy bitch and break her legs right now.
The bodyguard pulled a steel telescopic baton from his belt. He swung it down hard. The metal connected with the center of Tina's back. Tina coughed violently. A spray of blood hit the floor as she collapsed face-down.
The man raised the metal baton again, aiming for the back of her head. Before he could bring it down, the heavy side door of the hall crashed open.
Aidan Vance, the elderly estate butler, charged into the room. He was holding a double-barreled shotgun. He aimed the dark, hollow barrels directly at the bodyguard's chest.
Aidan's eyes were red and watery. His hands shook slightly, but his voice was loud. He ordered everyone to step back. He swore he would pull the trigger if anyone touched another hair on the girl's head.
Cathi dropped behind the leather sofa. She covered her head and screamed at the guards to kill the old man.
The bodyguards froze, their eyes fixed on the shotgun. Aidan did not waste a second. He grabbed Tina by the back of her shirt and hauled her up. He pulled her behind him, keeping the gun pointed forward as he backed toward the main entrance.
Aidan pushed the heavy oak doors open. The violent wind and freezing rain instantly rushed into the hall. He dragged the heavily bleeding Tina out into the pitch-black storm.
The freezing rain felt like sharp needles hitting Tina's skin. She ran down the muddy mountain road. Aidan kept a tight grip on her wrist, pulling her forward.
Every step sent a violent shockwave of pain up Tina's spine. The metallic taste of blood coated the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, trying not to choke on it.
Aidan was old, and his breathing was ragged. But he did not slow down. He yelled over the sound of the storm, telling her they had to reach the interstate highway at the bottom of the hill.
A loud engine roar cut through the sound of the rain. Two sets of blinding headlights pierced the darkness behind them. Two black SUVs were speeding down the mountain road, heading straight for them.
The lead SUV slammed on its brakes. The tires slid in the mud, blocking the narrow road completely. Four bodyguards jumped out into the rain. They flicked open steel switchblades. They formed a circle around Tina and Aidan.
The head bodyguard wiped the rain from his face. He stepped closer. He smiled and said the madam gave clear orders. Someone had to die tonight.
Aidan raised the shotgun again. He aimed it at the man's face and pulled the trigger. A hollow click sounded. The rainwater had soaked the gunpowder. The gun was useless.
The bodyguard laughed out loud. He lunged forward and kicked the heavy wooden stock of the gun. The weapon flew out of Aidan's hands and clattered onto the asphalt.
Tina screamed. She threw herself at the bodyguard. She tried to use her nails and teeth to keep him away from the old man. The man simply pulled his arm back and punched her hard in the stomach.
All the air left Tina's lungs. She dropped to her knees in the muddy water. Her stomach cramped so violently she could not even gasp for breath.
The bodyguard stood over her. He raised the switchblade high, aiming the sharp point right at the center of her chest.
Aidan let out a desperate yell. He threw his entire body weight forward, landing directly on top of Tina just as the blade came down.
A sickening, wet sound echoed in the night. The steel blade sank deep into Aidan's back.
Aidan let out a low grunt. Hot blood poured from the wound instantly. It mixed with the cold rain, turning the puddle beneath them a dark, horrifying red.
Tina's eyes stretched wide. She stared at the man who had protected her since she was a baby. He was sliding off her, his body going limp. A raw, tearing scream ripped from her throat.
The bodyguard pulled the bloody knife out of Aidan's back. He turned his attention back to Tina. She was completely frozen, her eyes empty. He raised the blade again.
Suddenly, a row of massive, intimidating matrix headlights lit up the highway ahead. The bright beams cut through the storm like a physical force.
Six identical, bulletproof Maybachs rolled to a stop, completely blocking the rest of the road. They moved silently, like ghosts in the night.
The bodyguards stopped moving. The sheer presence of the convoy made them freeze. They raised their hands to shield their eyes from the blinding lights.
The rear door of the middle, extended Maybach slowly opened. A black carbon-fiber umbrella was pushed out into the rain.
Long legs clad in custom-tailored trousers stepped out. Ingram Santiago, the CEO of the Santiago Corporation, planted his expensive leather shoes onto the wet asphalt.
Ingram wore a solid black suit. His eyes were like glacial ice. He slowly scanned the blood on the ground and the men holding knives.
His executive assistant, Palmer, stood right behind him holding the umbrella. Palmer lowered his head and asked quietly if they should clear the garbage blocking the road.
The bodyguards finally saw the specific crest on the Maybach license plates. Their faces drained of color. Their legs started to shake. They backed away slowly.
Ingram did not look at the men. His eyes locked onto the girl lying in the muddy water. She was barely breathing.
Tina forced her eyes open. Her vision was blurry. She saw the man standing above her. She reached out with a trembling, blood-soaked hand. She grabbed the fabric of his suit pants. She squeezed it weakly.
Ingram looked down. He saw the extreme, desperate will to live in her eyes. Something tight pulled at the center of his chest.
He opened his mouth and said one word. "Down." Instantly, the heavily armed security personnel from the convoy drew their weapons. They forced Cathi's bodyguards face-down into the mud.
Aidan turned his head slightly. He saw that Tina was safe. His chest stopped moving. His eyes closed. He was gone.
Tina stared at Aidan's still face. The last string holding her sanity together snapped. Her eyes rolled back, and she passed out completely at Ingram's feet.
Ingram did not hesitate. He bent down. He ignored the mud and the blood. He scooped the unconscious girl up into his arms.
As he lifted her, a small object slipped out of her wet pocket. It fell into the muddy puddle with a tiny splash.
Ingram caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked down. His pupils shrank to pinpricks. His breathing stopped completely.
He held the girl against his chest with one arm. He bent his knees and reached into the cold mud. He picked up the small, pink dolphin charm. His thumb instantly found the letters carved into the back. T.T.
Ingram's eyes darkened. The coldness vanished, replaced by a terrifying intensity. He turned to Palmer. He ordered the convoy to return to the penthouse immediately. He told him to get the best medical team in the city waiting there.
The Maybach convoy sped through the empty streets. It pulled into the private underground garage of a luxury apartment building next to Central Park. The security team had already cleared the entire area.
The car door opened. Ingram stepped out. He was still carrying Tina in his arms. Her blood had soaked completely through his expensive suit jacket, staining his white shirt underneath. He walked straight into his private elevator.
The elevator shot up to the penthouse. The doors slid open. Mrs. Wallace, the senior housekeeper, stood in the foyer. When she saw the blood, she slapped both hands over her mouth in shock.
Ingram ignored her. He walked with long, fast strides down the hallway. He kicked the door of the largest guest room open and gently laid Tina down on the massive bed.
Julian Ashford, one of the top surgeons in the country, rushed into the room carrying a heavy medical case. He was complaining about the rain, but as he pulled on his sterile gloves, he saw the girl.
Julian saw the blood on the bed and the blood covering Ingram. He stopped talking immediately. He opened his case and pulled out trauma shears.
Ingram stood rigidly by the side of the bed. He refused to step back. His eyes were glued to Tina's face. Her skin was the color of dirty snow.
Julian cut away the ruined, wet fabric of Tina's shirt. He exposed her back and stomach. Massive, dark purple bruises covered her skin. Julian's jaw tightened.
He looked up at Ingram. He said her ribs were broken. He said she had internal damage. He told Ingram that if he had brought her in ten minutes later, she would have bled to death from the inside.
Ingram heard those words. The muscles in his jaw ticked. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides.
The surgery took two full hours. Julian wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. He finished the last stitch. He let out a long breath and said she was stable.
Julian pulled off his surgical mask. He looked at Ingram. He asked who this girl was and why Ingram was standing there looking like he was ready to murder someone.
Ingram did not answer the question. He stared at Julian and told him he was sleeping on the couch tonight. He ordered him to monitor her vitals every hour.
Julian rolled his eyes, packed up his bloody tools, and walked out to the living room. He closed the door behind him.
Ingram was finally alone with her. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked down at the bright lights of Manhattan. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the muddy dolphin charm.
He took a clean white handkerchief from his inside pocket. He slowly wiped the mud off the plastic surface. He rubbed the dirt out of the grooves on the bottom until the letters T.T. were perfectly clear.
A soft knock came from the door. Palmer walked in. He held a thin, encrypted tablet. He handed it to Ingram.
Palmer kept his voice low. He reported that the girl's name was Tina Valenzuela. He said she had been violently kicked out of her family estate by her aunt just a few hours ago.
When Ingram heard the name Tina, his fingers clamped down hard on the small charm. The plastic dug into his skin. His knuckles turned completely white.
Memories from thirteen years ago crashed into his brain. The smell of smoke. The heat of the fire. The tiny five-year-old girl who dragged his bleeding body out of the wreckage. Her name was Tina.
Palmer kept talking. He said her mother had just died. He said her cousin broke the urn containing the ashes tonight. He confirmed the old man who died on the road was the family butler.
Ingram's breathing grew heavy. A dark, violent anger burned in his chest. The air in the room felt thick and suffocating.
Palmer asked if he should call the police and report the Valenzuela family for murder.
Ingram let out a cold, harsh laugh. He said the police were too easy. He said he was going to make them bleed for every single thing they did to her.
Ingram turned away from the window. He walked back to the bed. He stood over Tina, looking down at her sleeping face.
He reached out. His long fingers gently brushed the damp hair away from her forehead. His touch was incredibly light.
Her eyebrows were pulled together in pain. Her lips were dry and cracked. She looked so small and fragile against the white pillows.
Ingram's eyes slowly moved down. He looked at the edge of the thick white bandage taped just below her collarbone. His chest tightened.
He knew what was under there. He knew the girl who saved him had a pale pink birthmark shaped like a dolphin right on that spot.
He hovered his fingers over the edge of the medical tape. He wanted to rip it off. He wanted to see it. But he stopped. He pulled his hand back and curled it into a fist.
He would not do it while she was unconscious. He would wait for her to open her eyes.
Julian poked his head into the room. He yawned and told Ingram he smelled like a slaughterhouse and needed to change his clothes.
Ingram turned and walked toward the bathroom. Right before he closed the door, he looked back at the bed one last time.
The look in his eyes was not the look of a cold CEO. It was the look of a man who had been starving for thirteen years and finally found food.
He stepped into the shower. The hot water washed the blood down the drain, but it could not wash away the heavy feeling in his chest.
