The following morning, silence hung over the mansion like a thick fog.
The air was heavy, stiff with tension. Desmond didn't leave his study. He hadn't touched his breakfast. And for once, Rebecca didn't even try to pretend. She moved through the house like a shadow—eyes watchful, lips pursed. The entire household felt like it was standing on the edge of something about to crack.
Cinderella didn't speak to either of them. She kept to herself—quiet but focused. Her heart was sore, but her mind was sharper than ever.
The time for hiding had passed.
Meanwhile, behind closed doors, Desmond had finally reached his limit. He had seen something—something that made him realize Rebecca had also cheated on him.
He stood by the window of his private lounge, looking down at the driveway as if searching for an escape. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned to face Rebecca, who stood stiffly near the door, arms folded.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice low.
Rebecca shifted, keeping her expression neutral. "About what?"
"You and me," he said sharply. "And what really happened before Caroline died."
She tensed, then forced a calm tone. "Desmond, we've been through this. You're just shaken by what Cinderella said. She's grieving. She's angry. She doesn't understand—"
"She understands enough," Desmond snapped, cutting her off. "And so do I. I know you cheated on me too."
Rebecca's lips thinned. "I didn't cheat on you. Not with anyone. And I certainly didn't do anything to hurt Caroline."
"You expect me to believe that? After everything?" His eyes burned into hers. "The way you eased into my life when she was still alive. The way you always knew the right things to say. I should've asked more questions. I should've seen the signs."
Rebecca's voice turned cold. "So now you're going to believe your daughter over me?"
"She's not just my daughter—she was Caroline's daughter too." His voice cracked. "And I should've protected her from this… from all of it."
Rebecca took a step closer, softening her voice. "Desmond, listen to me. I loved you. I still do. But if you push me away now, you'll lose everything we've built."
Desmond's face twisted. "Everything we've built was built on ashes."
The words hung between them like a final verdict.
Rebecca said nothing more. She turned and walked out, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor.
Desmond sank into the nearest chair and buried his face in his hands.
---
Upstairs, Cinderella sat by her desk, slowly flipping through the pages of her mother's old journal. Caroline's handwriting was neat, elegant, and full of love—even in her final entries. But it was the pain behind the words that made Cinderella's chest tighten.
"He doesn't look at me the way he used to. Sometimes, I feel like I'm disappearing in my own home."
"Rebecca has been around more often. I don't trust her. Something in her smile makes my skin crawl. But Desmond says I'm being paranoid."
Cinderella closed the journal and pressed it to her chest, her eyes stinging again.
She wasn't just fighting for herself anymore. She was fighting for her mother.
A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She didn't answer.
The door creaked open.
Desmond stepped in, looking as if he'd aged years in just one day. His voice was quiet. "Can we talk?"
Cinderella looked at him, her eyes cool but unreadable. "What is there left to say?"
"I confronted her. She cheated on me," he said, walking in slowly. "She denied everything. But I... I don't know what to believe anymore."
She said nothing.
"I wanted to protect you," he added. "I thought I was doing the right thing. But now I realize—maybe I was just protecting myself."
"You were," she said simply. "You chose comfort over truth."
Desmond nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."
Cinderella stared at him, her face unreadable.
Then, quietly, she said, "You should be."
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Defeated, he turned to leave.
But just as he reached the door, Cinderella spoke again—so soft it almost didn't reach him.
"I'm not done, Dad."
He turned.
She met his eyes, a fire in hers he hadn't seen before. "There's more. And when the next truth comes out, don't try to stop me."
He swallowed hard. "What are you planning to do?"
"I'm going to tear this lie down," she said. "Brick by brick."
Throughout the day, Silvester had checked on her more than once.
A soft knock on her door.
"Cindy?" His voice was gentle, like a balm against the storm inside her.
"I brought you something to eat… and tea. You've been up here all day."
"I'm fine," she called out, not opening the door.
A pause.
"Okay. But if you need anything, I'm here."
He never pushed. Never asked questions. He just stayed close, quietly watching, quietly waiting. And for Cinderella, that meant more than words could express.
Later that evening, Desmond sat alone in the lounge, the lights dim, the silence deafening.
He stared into nothing, his mind racing through the memories—Caroline's laughter, the tension that slowly crept into their marriage, the lies he ignored, and the truths he was too cowardly to face.
How did I let it all spiral this far?
His heart ached with guilt, but also with doubt.
Had I been blind? Or did I choose blindness because it was easier than confronting the truth?
He rubbed his temples, his thoughts spinning like a storm. And through it all, one voice echoed loudest—Cinderella's.
"You chose comfort over truth."
He did. And now he feared the cost.
Upstairs, Cinderella stared into the mirror. Then, slowly, she smiled—a small, grim smile.
Her reflection stared back at her—broken, but unbowed.
She was ready.
The reckoning had just begun.