The next day couldn't come fast enough.
Cinderella barely slept the night before. Her mind kept spinning, flipping through all the angles, trying to figure out what Silvester had seen—what had finally clicked in his mind about Rebecca. He'd always been cautious, skeptical even, but now he was beginning to understand. That mattered. That changed everything.
She met him at the quiet corner of the city park, far away from prying eyes and whispering ears. The tall trees stretched above them like guardians, their branches swaying gently in the spring breeze. The morning sun was soft, painting everything gold. For a moment, it almost felt like peace.
Silvester was already waiting for her on a bench, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, eyes narrowed in thought. He looked up as she approached, standing quickly.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," she returned, her voice calm but alert. "What's going on?"
He motioned for her to sit beside him, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby.
"I should've seen it sooner," he said. "Rebecca. Penelope. The things they've been doing behind your back—it's worse than I thought."
Cinderella didn't respond right away. She simply let him speak, knowing he needed to get it out.
Silvester ran a hand through his dark curls. "Yesterday, I overheard Penelope talking on the phone. She didn't know I was around. She was bragging to someone about how she was going to frame you for something—said you'd finally 'learn your place.'"
Cinderella's breath caught. "What kind of framing?"
"She didn't say exactly. But she mentioned the school's upcoming art competition. Something about 'switching entries' or 'stealing files.' I wasn't sure what it meant, but I followed her after school. She snuck into the art room and… Cinderella, she messed with your painting."
"My painting?" Her voice sharpened.
"You know, the one for the regional contest—the one everyone's been talking about?" Silvester's eyes were fierce now. "She took it down and replaced it with her own. Then she left yours in the supply closet and locked it."
Cinderella's stomach twisted. That painting had taken weeks to finish, and it was her best work yet. It wasn't just a competition entry—it was her voice, her emotions, everything she'd been through in the last few months.
"I got it back," Silvester added. "Before the judges came to view the entries this morning. I put yours back on display and tossed hers in the trash. The teacher never suspected anything. She just assumed Penelope missed the deadline."
A slow smile curved on Cinderella's lips. "You saved me."
"I just did what was right," he said. "But that's not all. After I got your painting back up, I did a little digging. You were right about Rebecca. There's something off about her. Too many people from her past just… vanished."
Cinderella blinked. "Vanished?"
"Not literally. I mean connections—old friends, family. She has no one from her past. No old photos, no records before she moved to this city." He pulled out his phone and showed her a screenshot of a message board post. "Look at this. Someone mentioned a 'Rebecca Collins' in an old forum from another state. Said she scammed a family out of thousands pretending to be a caretaker before vanishing."
Cinderella's lips tightened.
"Different surname," Silvester said, "but the same photo. I cross-referenced it with her Facebook. It's her, Cinderella. Rebecca isn't even her real name."
A chill ran through her body. The lies ran deeper than she'd thought. But she stayed composed, nodding slowly.
"Thank you, Silvester," she said. "You've done more than you know."
"So what now?" he asked.
"Now?" Her eyes sparkled with calm determination. "Now we let them make their next move. We won't confront Rebecca yet. I have something else I need to do first."
They parted ways shortly after, but Cinderella walked away with her head high, a new sense of power bubbling just beneath the surface. The incident with the painting had nearly cost her a shot at winning the competition—and with it, a chance at a scholarship. But now, thanks to Silvester, not only had her piece been displayed as intended, but Penelope had publicly humiliated herself.
Later that day at school, Penelope threw a fit in front of everyone, accusing the art lecturer of sabotaging her work. But no one took her seriously. The lecturer reminded her that deadlines had passed, and Penelope hadn't submitted anything. It was her word against the system, and in front of so many students, her tantrum only made her look immature and desperate.
Cinderella watched the scene unfold with a cool gaze from across the hallway. She didn't speak, didn't engage—she didn't have to. The whispers among the studMoents said it all.
"Penelope's losing it."
"Did you see her scream at the lecturer?"
"She's obsessed with bringing Cinderella down. It's creepy."
The tide was turning. Cinderella had spent weeks rebuilding herself—academically, socially, emotionally. Now people were starting to see her for who she truly was, not the version of her twisted by Rebecca and Penelope's rumors. They admired her work, her resilience, and most of all, her refusal to stoop to the level of those who hated her.
When she got home that evening, she passed Rebecca in the hallway. The woman barely spared her a glance, but Cinderella could feel it—the tightness in her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. Rebecca knew something was changing. She just didn't know what yet.
Good.
Cinderella made her way to her room, locked the door, and retrieved the envelope of letters once more. She didn't open it this time. She simply looked at it and whispered, "Soon."
---
That night, as Rebecca poured herself a glass of wine in the kitchen, Penelope came stomping in, face red with rage.
"She embarrassed me again!" Penelope growled. "She didn't even have to say a word—everyone was laughing at me!"
Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Because you acted like a fool. You should've been more careful."
"She's getting stronger," Penelope hissed. "And people are starting to like her. Even Silvester is on her side now."
Rebecca's hand paused midair, the wine bottle halfway to her lips. "What did you say?"
"Silvester," Penelope repeated. "He's always hanging around her. He defends her. And now everyone else is doing the same."
Rebecca placed the glass down gently, her fingers tightening around the stem. "Then we need to act fast. We can't let her gather more allies. She's up to something—I can feel it."
Penelope looked worried now. "What if she knows something?"
Rebecca's expression turned cold, her eyes narrowing. "Then we'll make sure she can't prove it."
---
Upstairs, Cinderella leaned out her window, staring up at the stars.
A bitter victory, yes—but a necessary one.
Penelope had stumbled, and Rebecca was beginning to unravel. The cracks in their facade were growing wider by the day. And though Cinderella hadn't revealed her full hand yet, she had the upper ground now. The stolen painting incident had exposed Penelope's jealousy, and Silvester had provided information that could destroy Rebecca once and for all.
But it wasn't time yet.
She needed one more piece. One undeniable moment that would tear down the lies they'd built and show everyone the truth.
For now, she would wait. But when the time came…
The final move would be hers.