The days that followed Rebecca's arrival felt like a slow, suffocating crawl. Cinderella knew that every passing moment in the house meant another opportunity for Rebecca to tighten her grip. But Cinderella was no longer willing to lie down and accept the position she had once been forced into. No longer would she let Rebecca and her children walk all over her. She had learned from her past mistakes, and she would fight back—quietly, subtly, but fiercely.
It started with small, insignificant actions—things that, to anyone else, would seem trivial. But to Cinderella, they were the first steps toward regaining control.
It was a Tuesday morning when Rebecca made her first demand of Cinderella. She came to her room while she was making the bed, her heels clicking on the wooden floor as she approached.
"Cinderella, I need you to take care of the laundry today," Rebecca said, her tone light but commanding, as if it were a simple request. "And make sure you iron everything. I don't want anything wrinkled when Desmond gets home."
Cinderella paused for a moment, the fabric of the blanket still clutched in her hands. She could feel Rebecca's eyes on her, waiting for her to comply. The demand felt like a test, an early attempt to remind Cinderella of her place in this house.
"I'm sorry, Rebecca," Cinderella said, her voice cool but firm. "I have other things I need to take care of today." She met Rebecca's gaze without flinching. She had refused before. She would refuse again.
Rebecca's smile faltered for just a second, and Cinderella saw the flash of irritation in her eyes. But she quickly recovered, her expression as flawless as ever. "Very well," she said in a voice that was far too sweet to be sincere. "I'll take care of it myself."
As Rebecca turned and walked away, Cinderella couldn't help but feel a small sense of triumph. It wasn't much, but it was a start. She wasn't going to be manipulated so easily anymore. She could feel the shift within herself, a newfound strength that had been buried for too long.
---
Later that day, Stephen and Penelope were lounging in the living room, their voices drifting to where Cinderella sat at the kitchen table, pretending to read a book. Penelope's high-pitched laugh rang through the house as she shared some trivial story about her latest shopping spree, while Stephen made sarcastic comments, his usual arrogance on full display. They didn't realize that Cinderella was listening closely, gathering every detail of their behavior.
"Can you believe Cinderella still hasn't changed her wardrobe?" Penelope said, her tone dripping with condescension. "It's like she doesn't even try."
Stephen laughed, a sound that grated on Cinderella's nerves. "Why bother? She doesn't have the looks to pull off anything fancy anyway."
Cinderella's jaw tightened, but she kept her face impassive. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her hurt. They didn't understand that their words no longer had the same power over her. She had been through worse. She had survived worse.
A few minutes later, Rebecca entered the room, her footsteps heavy with purpose. She eyed Cinderella with a cold, calculating gaze before turning her attention to the children.
"Why don't you two go upstairs and get ready?" Rebecca said, her voice sugary sweet, as if trying to hide the underlying menace in her tone. "I'm going to have a chat with Cinderella."
Stephen and Penelope exchanged a look before lazily getting up and heading toward the stairs. Rebecca waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke again, her voice low and controlled.
"I noticed you've been... resisting me, Cinderella," she said, her eyes narrowing. "You've been making it clear that you don't intend to follow my rules."
Cinderella remained silent for a moment, not wanting to reveal too much too soon. She needed to keep Rebecca guessing, keep her on edge. She had no intention of letting Rebecca control her any longer.
"I'm just trying to maintain my independence," Cinderella said finally, her tone measured, yet defiant. "I don't see why I should submit to your every command."
Rebecca's smile was a tight, unpleasant thing. "Independence?" she repeated, as if the word were foreign to her. "You don't have the luxury of independence in this house, darling. You live here because I allow it. Don't forget that."
Cinderella met her gaze with unwavering calm. "I don't forget."
The tension in the room crackled, thick and heavy. Rebecca studied her for a moment longer, as if trying to decide whether to push further. But then, as if deciding that she had made her point, she simply smiled.
"Very well. But don't think this is over. I will make sure you remember your place," Rebecca said before turning and walking out of the room, leaving Cinderella standing in the silence of the house.
---
That evening, after Desmond had returned home, Cinderella sat quietly in the living room, reading a book. Rebecca, of course, had already prepared dinner, serving it with the kind of effortlessness that only she could manage. The family gathered around the table, talking and laughing as though everything was perfect. The lies, the manipulations—it was all hidden behind the masks they wore.
Cinderella kept her silence throughout the meal, knowing that her words would only fuel their games. But there was something within her—something deep and unyielding—that kept her from crumbling under the weight of their falsehoods. She had made her decision: she would resist, but in subtle ways, in ways they would never suspect. She wouldn't confront them head-on. No, she had learned the hard way that doing so only gave them more power. Instead, she would resist with silence, with defiance in the smallest of actions.
The next day, Rebecca asked Cinderella to help with the cleaning. It wasn't an unreasonable request, but the way she phrased it—like it was Cinderella's duty—made her blood boil. Cinderella had been asked to do chores before, but Rebecca's approach always made it seem like she was entitled to Cinderella's time.
"I think I'll pass today," Cinderella said, her voice light but firm. "I've got a few things to finish up in my room."
Rebecca's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't say anything at first. Instead, she simply nodded, a cold smile creeping across her face. "Of course. You've got more important things to do, don't you?" she said, her words sharp as daggers beneath the sugar-coated tone.
Cinderella didn't answer, just turned away and headed upstairs to her room. As she passed the stairs, she could feel Rebecca's eyes burning into her back, but she didn't look back. She wasn't afraid of her anymore.
---
Days turned into weeks, and with each passing day, Cinderella's resistance grew stronger. Every time Rebecca made a demand, Cinderella found a way to politely refuse or redirect it. It wasn't just the physical tasks that Cinderella fought against—it was the subtle manipulation, the constant undermining of her confidence and self-worth. Rebecca was playing a game, but Cinderella was playing smarter.
The lies were becoming more blatant, the tension more palpable. But Cinderella could feel the shift. The more Rebecca tried to assert control, the more Cinderella pushed back. She was no longer the frightened girl she had once been. She was someone who had learned how to survive—how to fight back without anyone noticing.
She wasn't just resisting Rebecca's control. She was reclaiming her power.
---
The battle had only just begun.