The sun filtered through the blinds of Cinderella's off-campus apartment, casting pale lines across her notebook-strewn desk. It was Saturday morning, and the air was quiet—too quiet. Her roommate had gone home for the weekend, leaving Cinderella with the kind of silence that let memories creep in uninvited.
She stared at her laptop, the screen still frozen on the paused CCTV footage she'd acquired the night before—footage from the hospital where her mother, Caroline Harper, had taken her last breath.
Cinderella had spent weeks digging through every thread she could find. Her hacking friend from class, Teju, had helped her gain access to certain private files, claiming he was "just doing it for the thrill," but she knew he did it for her. She hadn't told him why—at least, not everything. Only that she was chasing the ghost of a wronged woman.
Her eyes scanned the footage again, her breath hitching as she pressed play.
There it was. The blurry hallway outside her mother's hospital room. Caroline had been recovering steadily—until she wasn't.
The timestamp read: 9:52 PM. Just hours before the nurses discovered her mother had slipped into a coma.
She fast-forwarded. 9:57 PM.
Then, movement.
A woman—slender, long brown hair tied into a bun. Rebecca.
Her stepmother.
Cinderella leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. Rebecca glanced around furtively before slipping into Caroline's room. She wasn't carrying anything suspicious—but her presence alone raised every red flag.
Rebecca wasn't listed as a visitor that day. Cinderella had checked the logs. More importantly, Desmond was away on a business trip. There was no reason for her to be at the hospital at that hour.
A surge of nausea rolled through her, followed by an eerie calm. She paused the video again, took a screenshot, and saved it in a new folder she titled: Proof – Caroline's Death.
She exhaled slowly, her hand shaking as it hovered over the keyboard. For years, she'd suspected. For years, she'd lived under the same roof as the woman who might have murdered her mother. Now, she had something that felt dangerously close to the truth.
But this wasn't a courtroom. She needed more than a blurry video to win this battle.
Cinderella closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. Her heart thundered in her chest. She wasn't ready to confront Rebecca yet—not without gathering everything. Not without a plan.
Not without backup.
She reached for her phone and sent a text to Teju:
"I need your help again. Urgent. Meet me at the library at 2."
---
By 2:00 PM, the university library was quiet, save for a few scattered students buried in books. Teju slouched into the seat across from her, a dark hoodie pulled low over his face like a cliché hacker from a movie.
"You look like you're auditioning for a spy thriller," Cinderella whispered.
Teju smirked. "Just trying to stay off campus security's radar. What's up?"
Cinderella glanced around, then opened her laptop and slid it toward him. "I need you to enhance this video. Get me a clearer view. And if there's a way to recover audio, I need that too."
He raised an eyebrow, watching the paused footage. "You serious?"
She nodded. "Dead serious."
"Alright," he said slowly, "I'll do it. But Cin… you're not just chasing ghosts, are you?"
"I'm chasing justice."
Teju held her gaze for a beat too long, then nodded and pulled the laptop toward him. "Give me 48 hours."
---
Two days passed in a blur of lectures and fake smiles. Cinderella floated through campus like a phantom—focused, distant, and always thinking ten steps ahead. She hardly ate, barely slept. Her world was beginning to spin around that single folder of evidence.
On Monday evening, Teju called.
"Library. Now."
Her heart skipped. She arrived in record time and found him already booting up his machine.
"I cleaned it up as best I could," he said. "Check this out."
The footage began again—but this time, it was sharper. Clearer. Rebecca's features were unmistakable. She looked around, opened the door quietly, and stepped inside.
"I boosted the audio too, though most of it was garbage," Teju added. "But... I got a snippet."
He clicked play on a short audio file. There was static—then footsteps. Then Rebecca's voice, low but unmistakable.
"…You always thought he'd choose you. Poor thing."
Another pause.
"You shouldn't have come back from that accident. But don't worry. You won't have to suffer much longer."
Cinderella's blood ran cold.
Teju sat back, looking pale. "Cinderella... what the hell is this?"
"My mother," she whispered. "She didn't die because of illness. Rebecca finished what the accident didn't."
He covered his mouth with his hand. "You... you have to go to the police."
"No," she said, voice steel. "Not yet. This isn't just about law. It's about truth. It's about making sure she doesn't wriggle out of this like she always has. I'm going to expose her. But on my terms."
Teju nodded slowly. "Okay. So what now?"
"Now," Cinderella said, standing, "I start building the case. Step by step. Piece by piece. I've got a snake in my house—and it's time to tighten the net."
---
Later that night, Cinderella sat on her bed, her fingers gliding across a notepad filled with scribbles, arrows, and plans. She mapped every connection she could remember—every moment of manipulation, every time Rebecca had twisted Desmond's love to shield her evil.
But more than that, she jotted down people who could help her. Teju was already in. Professor Annalise, who had always encouraged her storytelling and logical thinking—maybe she could help frame the narrative. Auntie Moji, her late mother's best friend, might remember things from that night—details Desmond never asked about.
This wasn't about vengeance. It was about taking her life back. About speaking for her mother, who could no longer speak for herself.
Her phone buzzed.
Silvester:
Hey. Just checking in. You good? Haven't heard from you in a while.
Cinderella stared at the message for a long moment. Silvester had been surprisingly kind lately, ever since their last meeting. But she wasn't sure she could let him in again—not yet. Not with so much chaos brewing.
Still, she replied.
Cinderella:
Yeah. Just busy. Thanks for checking.
His reply came almost instantly.
Silvester:
If you need anything—anything at all—just say the word.
She looked at the screen and smiled faintly. She didn't know if she could trust him fully, but maybe... just maybe, she wasn't as alone as she thought.
---
Back in the house she no longer called home, Rebecca stared at her phone. A familiar tingle of discomfort crawled up her spine.
She didn't know why, but something felt off.
Cinderella had gone quiet—and Rebecca knew from experience that Cinderella's silence was more dangerous than her rage.
She clicked open Desmond's calendar and noted he'd be away next week for a board retreat. Her eyes narrowed.
Time to reestablish control.
"Penelope!" she called.
Penelope appeared in the doorway, phone in hand, eyes bored.
"Keep tabs on your little stepsister at school. Make sure she's not... up to anything. And if she is, report it immediately."
Penelope scoffed. "I'm not your spy."
Rebecca's gaze turned sharp. "You will be, if you ever want to win Silvester back."
That got her attention.
Penelope straightened, expression sharpening. "Fine. I'll check in on her."
Rebecca smiled. "Good girl."
But her smile faded the moment Penelope left. There was a chill in her bones that wouldn't go away.
She didn't know Cinderella had finally seen the truth.
And Cinderella? She was done playing by Rebecca's rules.
She was going to destroy them—one secret at a time.