Chapter 4

Hayley wasn't cuddling Marmalade. She was holding him down on the floor with one hand, her face twisted in a vicious snarl. With her other hand, she was yanking cruelly at his tail.

Marmalade let out a pained, desperate cry and twisted, sinking his teeth into her wrist in self-defense.

"You stupid little beast!" Hayley shrieked, her mask of sweet fragility completely gone. She grabbed the cat by the scruff of his neck and slammed him against the wall. Marmalade cried out, a sound of pure agony.

A blind, white-hot rage exploded in Charlotte's chest. She burst into the room. "What are you doing?!"

She shoved Hayley away from the terrified cat, sending her stumbling backward. Charlotte scooped up Marmalade, who was trembling and whimpering, a smear of blood on his white paws.

"You monster," Charlotte breathed, her voice shaking with fury. She looked at the whimpering animal in her arms, her heart shattering.

Hayley, recovering from the shove, let out a cold, mocking laugh. "He's mine now. Franklin gave him to me. I can do whatever I want with him."

"You are sick," Charlotte whispered, clutching her cat protectively.

That was when she lost control. The weeks of pain, humiliation, and grief coalesced into a single, kinetic burst of fury. She swung her hand and slapped Hayley hard across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room.

Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Franklin emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist. He took in the scene in an instant: Charlotte standing over a crying Hayley, who was clutching her cheek, a red handprint already blooming on her skin.

"Charlotte!" Hayley sobbed, running to him. "She attacked me! And the cat... the cat bit me again! Look!" She held up her wrist, where a clear set of teeth marks were now bleeding freely.

"She was hurting him!" Charlotte yelled, her voice raw. "I saw her! She slammed him against the wall!"

"That's a lie!" Hayley wailed. "I was trying to feed him, and he just went crazy! Then she came in and hit me!"

Franklin' s face was stone. He looked at the bleeding wound on Hayley' s wrist, then at Charlotte' s furious expression. He didn' t need to deliberate. His choice was already made.

"I've had enough of this, Charlotte," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He strode over to Hayley, wrapping a protective arm around her. "This animal is a menace." He turned to a bodyguard who had appeared in the doorway, drawn by the noise. "Take the cat. Get it out of this house."

"What are you going to do?" Charlotte asked, her blood turning to ice.

"He's a danger to Hayley. He needs to be put down," Franklin said, his voice flat and final. "A quick, painless injection. It's more humane this way."

"No!" Charlotte shrieked, a sound of pure animal desperation. She clutched Marmalade to her chest. "You can't! He's my cat! He's all I have left!"

"For God's sake, Charlotte, grow up!" Franklin snapped, his patience gone. "It's an animal! Hayley is a dying human being! My priority is her!"

The bodyguard moved toward her. Charlotte backed away, shielding Marmalade with her body. "Don't touch him! Don't you dare touch him!"

Franklin gave a sharp nod to the bodyguard. The large man lunged, his hands closing around Charlotte's arms. She fought, kicked, and screamed, but she was no match for him. He ripped the terrified cat from her grasp.

Marmalade let out a final, heartbreaking cry as he was carried away.

"Franklin, please!" she sobbed, collapsing to her knees, her strength gone. "Please, don't do this. I'm begging you."

He looked down at her, his face a cold, unreadable mask. "This is for your own good, Charlotte. You're too attached. You're not thinking clearly."

The bodyguard was already out the door. Charlotte scrambled to her feet and ran after him, her bare feet slapping against the cold marble floor. She saw the bodyguard get into a black car, the cat carrier visible on the back seat.

"Marmalade!" she screamed, banging on the car window as it started to pull away. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

The car accelerated, leaving her in a cloud of exhaust. She ran after it, her lungs burning, tears blurring her vision. She ran until her legs gave out, and she stumbled, her knees scraping raw against the asphalt.

She lay there, sobbing, as the car's taillights disappeared into the night. "I hate you," she whispered to the empty road, the words a venomous promise. "Franklin Frye, I hate you."

Her head hit the pavement with a dull thud as the last of her strength abandoned her. The world went dark, and for the second time in as many weeks, she lost consciousness in the wake of his cruelty. Her heart, already broken, now felt like it had been scooped out and trampled into the dust. It was dead. Utterly and completely dead.