The dining room of the Harper mansion sparkled like a royal court that evening. Chandeliers glittered above the long mahogany table dressed in crystal, silver, and the finest china. Desmond had called for a formal dinner — a gathering meant to reintroduce Stephen to the family and their closest allies after years abroad.
It was his final holiday as a university student, and Desmond, still wrestling with guilt, wanted to make amends by giving his son a warm welcome.
Cinderella sat near the end of the table, dressed in a modest emerald gown. She hadn't wanted to attend, but Silvester had urged her to be there — not out of duty, but to face what needed to be faced. He was seated across from her, his gaze quietly protective. Their shared glances were fleeting, but meaningful.
Stephen arrived like a storm in a tailored suit, smiling and charming everyone in sight. But Cinderella could sense it—the tension beneath his grin, the coldness in his eyes when they met hers.
The moment she saw that flicker of something cruel behind his charm, she knew he was planning something.
The guests were mid-course into their meals when Desmond stood up and raised his glass.
"To Stephen," he said with a proud smile. "My son, who's about to graduate with top honors. I've missed having you home, and I'm proud of the man you've become."
Everyone clapped, except Cinderella. She offered a faint smile, her gut uneasy.
Stephen stood next, the glass in his hand glinting under the light. "Thank you, Father. It's good to be home." Then his eyes flicked toward Cinderella. "It's especially good to see the family all... together again."
Cinderella stiffened.
"And since we're all here," Stephen continued, walking slowly around the table like a performer before an audience, "I feel it's time to address something that's been clouding this family for too long."
Desmond blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Stephen stopped behind Cinderella's chair. "Her," he said, gesturing. "Cinderella. The girl who's suddenly become the center of attention. The girl who's been whispering in corners, snooping through old files, turning everyone against one another."
Gasps rang out from the table.
Cinderella stood, calm but alert. "You've had too much wine, Stephen."
"No," he said sharply. "I've had too much silence. I watched from a distance while you twisted Dad against Rebecca, while you played the victim."
Silvester's eyes narrowed from across the table. "You're making a fool of yourself."
Stephen ignored him. "You're all being manipulated by her—can't you see it? Ever since she returned, there's been tension. Division. It's no coincidence."
Cinderella turned toward Desmond. "Are you going to let him do this?"
Desmond hesitated. "Stephen, this isn't the time."
"This is exactly the time," Stephen snapped. "Because tonight, I brought proof."
He pulled a small stack of papers from his jacket, slapping them onto the table. "These are email threads. Messages between Cinderella and people in town. Gossip. Lies. Her plans to smear Rebecca and—"
"Those are fake," Cinderella said, her voice steely.
Stephen smirked. "Of course you'd say that."
Desmond leaned forward, reaching for the papers. He flipped through them — and his face changed. "These aren't even in her writing style. They're poorly edited screenshots."
Stephen faltered. "No, they're real. She's been plotting this for months."
Cinderella took a step forward. "You forged evidence against me. Why, Stephen? Because you're scared of the truth?"
Stephen flushed. "Because you're not one of us. You don't belong here."
Silvester stood up now, fury simmering. "She belongs more than you ever have."
The room went silent.
Stephen looked around, expecting support. But the guests were murmuring in confusion, their expressions turning judgmental. Rebecca, seated at the far end, looked away in shame.
Desmond slowly rose to his feet.
"I organized this dinner to bring us together," he said, voice low. "Not to stage a public ambush."
"Dad—"
"I've been blind for too long," Desmond interrupted. "I let lies guide my decisions, let pride silence my instincts. But not anymore."
He turned to Cinderella. "I'm sorry. Again. For everything."
Cinderella nodded stiffly, but her eyes didn't leave Stephen's.
"You tried to disgrace me," she said. "But you only exposed yourself."
Stephen's face twisted in frustration. "I was trying to protect this family!"
Desmond stepped closer to him. "No. You were trying to protect your pride. And in doing so, you've embarrassed this entire family in front of our friends."
Stephen's hands curled into fists. "So what now? You choose her over your son?"
Desmond's voice didn't rise, but it was firm. "I choose truth. I choose accountability."
The guests began excusing themselves quietly, tension still heavy in the air.
Stephen, left standing in his humiliation, glared at Silvester before storming out of the room.
Only after the front door slammed did Desmond speak again.
"I should've seen this long ago."
Cinderella sighed. "Some truths take time."
---
Later that night, Cinderella stepped onto the balcony for air. Silvester joined her a moment later.
"I'm sorry it had to happen that way," he said gently.
"I'm not," she replied. "It was bound to happen eventually."
Silvester looked at her, then touched her shoulder lightly. "You were brave tonight."
"I'm tired of being quiet," she said. "Tired of letting people walk over me."
"You've changed," he said with admiration. "You're... stronger."
Cinderella looked up at the stars. "I had no choice."
He smiled. "I'm glad you didn't give up."
She turned toward him, her eyes softening. "Thanks for being here."
Silvester hesitated, then tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "I'm not going anywhere."
Cinderella felt a flutter, one she hadn't felt in a long time. But for now, she didn't speak. She simply leaned her head gently against his shoulder.
And in that moment, beneath the stars, with the storm behind her and more ahead, she felt — for the first time in a long while — that she wasn't alone.