It started with her shoes.
Cinderella had just slipped on her ballet flats outside the locker room when she noticed it—something sticky squished beneath her heel. She stepped out and turned her foot to see the bottom covered in gum. Not one or two pieces—at least six, mashed in with purpose.
Her eyes narrowed.
Penelope stood a few feet away by the hallway mirror, reapplying lip gloss while laughing with a group of girls. Her reflection caught Cinderella's in the mirror, and for a split second, her mouth twitched into a victorious smile before disappearing behind an innocent pout.
Cinderella didn't flinch. She simply peeled off the gum-covered shoes, tossed them into the nearest trash can, and pulled a pair of clean sneakers from her locker. Always keep a spare—lesson learned from her first life.
She tied the laces tight, lifted her chin, and walked straight past Penelope.
"Oh my gosh," Penelope gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock concern. "Did someone do that to your shoes? That's so gross."
"Really gross," one of her friends echoed.
Cinderella paused, then smiled. "You're right. It is disgusting what some people are capable of when they feel threatened."
Penelope blinked, her smile wavering. "Threatened?"
Cinderella leaned a little closer. "You'll find out why soon enough."
And with that, she walked away.
At home, the bullying had taken on new dimensions. Subtle sabotage turned into deliberate attacks. Her laundry mysteriously went missing from the washing machine, only to reappear days later soaked in bleach. Her textbooks were moved, pages torn. Her favorite mug—Caroline's—was shattered in the sink with no explanation.
Stephen seemed to relish it.
He'd leave his dirty socks outside her door. Drop crude comments under his breath when Desmond wasn't around. Once, he even tried to trip her on the stairs, disguising it as an accident.
"You should really watch your step," he said, smirking when she caught herself on the railing.
"I will," she replied coolly. "Maybe you should, too."
Rebecca, of course, played the role of peacemaker—never directly involved but always nearby, watching with a smile that never reached her eyes.
Cinderella understood now: they were tightening the screws, trying to isolate and provoke her into an emotional outburst, something they could twist and present to Desmond as proof of her instability. But she wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.
Not anymore.
This time, she would be deliberate. Strategic.
And her first target? Penelope.
At school, Penelope was more than just another mean girl—she had influence. Pretty, rich, and charming when she needed to be, she had a small circle of admirers who followed her like sheep. But Cinderella had one thing Penelope didn't: history.
She had lived this before.
And she knew exactly where the cracks would form.
She started by befriending Heather Mason—a quiet, observant girl who used to be Penelope's closest friend until a brutal rumor two years ago sent her spiraling. In this timeline, that hadn't happened yet. But it would.
Unless Cinderella got there first.
"Hey," she said one afternoon at the library, sliding into the seat across from Heather. "You're in my chemistry class, right?"
Heather looked up, surprised. "Yeah… Cinderella, right?"
"That's me," she smiled. "I was wondering if you had the notes from Monday. I missed a few things."
Heather blinked. "You want my notes?"
"Why not? I heard you're the only one who actually pays attention in class."
Heather hesitated, then slowly smiled. "Well, yeah. Sure."
Within a week, they were study partners.
Within two, Heather was opening up.
"Penelope used to be my friend," she said one day, flipping through flashcards. "But now… it's like everything's a competition. You can't even sneeze around her without being judged."
"She only values people she can control," Cinderella replied. "But people are starting to see that."
Heather looked at her for a long moment. "Are you planning something?"
Cinderella smiled faintly. "I'm just getting started."
Penelope began to notice the shift.
Heather started sitting next to Cinderella in the cafeteria instead of with Penelope's group. A few other students followed—quietly at first, then openly. Cinderella used charm and subtle truths, never outright lies, planting seeds about Penelope's manipulations, her tendency to talk behind her friends' backs.
People remembered. People talked.
It was slow, but it was happening.
And Penelope hated it.
One afternoon, as Cinderella walked to her locker, Penelope stormed up to her, eyes blazing.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" she hissed.
"Getting my books," Cinderella said, opening her locker casually.
"Don't play dumb. You're turning people against me."
Cinderella closed the locker slowly and turned. "Or maybe they're just finally seeing you for who you are."
Penelope scoffed. "You're jealous. You're pathetic. You'll always be nothing."
"Funny," Cinderella said with a tilt of her head. "That's exactly what you're afraid people will see in you."
Penelope slapped her.
The hallway gasped. The echo of skin on skin rang loud and clear.
Cinderella's cheek burned, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped closer and whispered, "Thanks for doing that in public. You just made my job easier."
She turned and walked away, the eyes of half the school following her. No tears. No retreat.
Heather caught up to her a few minutes later, wide-eyed. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Cinderella said. "This was necessary."
The bruise on her cheek would fade. The fallout from Penelope's slap would not.
That night, Desmond noticed the mark.
He stood at the doorway to her room, a frown etched into his features. "What happened?"
Cinderella didn't lie. "Penelope hit me."
"What? Why would she—"
"Because I stood up to her. She's your stepdaughter now. Ask her."
Desmond looked troubled, as though he didn't want to believe it. "I'll talk to Rebecca."
"Don't," Cinderella said. "She'll just spin it. Like always."
Desmond's shoulders dropped. He looked tired—older. "Cinderella… I don't know what's going on anymore."
"I do," she said softly. "I'm just waiting for you to open your eyes."
He didn't respond. He just nodded once and left.
Later that night, as the house fell quiet and the world outside dimmed, Cinderella sat on her bed, her journal open.
April 22nd.
The bullying has escalated. But so has my resistance.
Penelope has cracked. Publicly. Stephen is getting bolder.
Rebecca is watching more closely.
But they don't know I've already started dismantling their kingdom.
One pawn at a time.
She closed the journal and smiled to herself.
The dangerous game had begun.
And Cinderella was no longer the hunted.
She was the hunter.