The air felt heavier than usual, like the sky itself was holding its breath. Cinderella stood by her dorm room window, watching the wind sway the branches of the trees outside. It was a peaceful view—but inside her chest, a storm was brewing.
Her room was quiet. Too quiet. Her laptop screen had dimmed, left untouched for the last thirty minutes while her mind raced in every direction. She had gone over every detail—every piece of evidence she had gathered. The accident, the reports, the photos, the insurance claim logs—she had organized it all, carefully cataloging every clue leading back to Rebecca.
The puzzle was complete.
She finally had solid proof that Rebecca had a hand in her mother's death. The affair, the motives, the jealousy, and now the tampered brake system. She hadn't wanted to believe it—not really. For years, she had pushed down her suspicions, told herself that maybe it was fate, just a terrible accident. But no. It wasn't fate. It was cruelty. It was betrayal.
She leaned against the window frame and closed her eyes, steadying herself. The moment she had spent years preparing for was nearly here. But she couldn't afford to move recklessly. Not yet. She wasn't sure about revealing everything.
A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. Cinderella opened it to find her friend Heather, holding two coffee cups and a plastic bag of pastries.
"You've barely eaten today," Heather said, pushing her way in. "So either you're planning a genius move, or you're spiraling."
Cinderella gave a tired smile and hugged her. "Maybe both. Anyway, it's been a while since we saw each other, and I've missed you."
Heather handed her a cup. "You need to talk to someone. You can't carry all of this by yourself."
Heather had been Cinderella's friend in high school, but they went to different universities. Now, she was visiting.
Cinderella hesitated, but Heather had always been loyal. She knew everything that was going on. She had helped Cinderella many times, especially in high school.
"I have everything now," Cinderella whispered. "And Silvester... he's starting to see things too. He texted me again today—said Rebecca has been acting paranoid and tense. He doesn't know the full story yet, but I think he's catching on."
Heather raised her brows. "Are you going to tell him everything?"
"I want to," Cinderella said, staring into her coffee. "But not yet. Timing is everything."
"Agreed," Heather said, taking a bite of her pastry. "And what about your stepbrother?"
Cinderella shook her head. "Stephen's still abroad. He's in his final year—too far away to interfere. Honestly, it's a relief. One less snake to worry about right now."
"Penelope then?"
Cinderella's face hardened slightly. "Penelope's losing her grip. She's been trying to dig into my social life—asking around about who I talk to, trying to stir trouble with my classmates. But no one buys into her drama anymore. I've made sure of that."
"She always was a bit too obsessed with ruining you," Heather muttered.
"She's scared," Cinderella replied. "They all are. Rebecca's nerves are unraveling. I heard from Silvester that she's been calling Desmond constantly—even during meetings—just to 'check in.' But he's been distant. That's another crack forming."
Heather leaned forward, lowering her voice. "So when are you going to do it? Drop the bomb?"
Cinderella exhaled. "Not yet. I'm close, but I need to make sure everything is airtight. Desmond is still emotionally manipulated. I need him to start asking questions on his own. Once he's suspicious, the evidence will hit harder."
"Smart," Heather nodded. "Let them dig their own graves first."
That afternoon, Cinderella sat up late, revisiting the files she'd stored on an encrypted drive. She made copies—one on a flash drive hidden under the lining of her suitcase, another in cloud storage protected with double-password encryption.
She wasn't taking any chances.
That same afternoon, Cinderella met Silvester at their usual spot on campus—the quiet garden behind the art hall. He was already there when she arrived, sitting on a bench, looking unusually serious.
"Hey," she said softly.
He stood up. "Hey."
They both sat. The silence between them wasn't awkward—just tense. It was clear they had too much on their minds to make small talk.
"I think Rebecca's up to something," Silvester said suddenly. "She's been too nosy lately—keeping tabs on my visits."
Cinderella's stomach twisted, but her voice remained calm. "And what do you think she's hiding?"
"I don't know," he said. "But she seems suspicious. And I think I'll keep a close eye on her."
He paused, looking at her. "You've always been strong, you know? Even when everyone else gave in to her games, you never did."
The sincerity in his voice stirred something in her chest.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "That means more than you know."
There was a long pause.
"I wish I could've done more back then," he murmured. "I wish I hadn't believed everything Penelope and Rebecca said about you."
Cinderella looked at him. For a moment, she considered telling him everything—about the affair, the proof, the plan. But she stopped herself.
"Soon," she whispered instead. "Everything will come out soon."
He met her eyes. "And when it does, I'll be on your side."
The words sent a warmth through her, but also a pang of fear. If Rebecca found out he was turning against her, she'd retaliate. She always did.
Back at home, things were falling apart faster than Rebecca could keep up. Penelope had gotten into a heated argument with Desmond over a missing piece of jewelry—something petty, but symbolic. Desmond had scolded her, something he rarely did.
Rebecca's attempts to keep the house in harmony were failing. The walls she had built—built on manipulation, secrets, and half-truths—were starting to crack.
She could feel it.
And Cinderella watched it all from a distance—her steps precise, her timing deliberate, and now, with her old and new allies supporting her.
By evening, Cinderella had one last meeting—with a former family lawyer who had once handled Caroline's estate. She asked subtle questions, presenting herself as curious rather than accusatory. But it paid off. The lawyer remembered details—Rebecca's eagerness to settle matters quickly, her insistence on taking over legal correspondences, and the "anonymous tip" that had suggested Caroline's accident was a suicide.
That tip had been traced back to a number Rebecca once used.
It was the final piece.
Cinderella left the meeting feeling both sick and victorious. Sick because of the depth of the betrayal. Victorious because the calm was nearly over.
The storm was coming.
And Cinderella was ready.