The air around Penelope felt suffocating as she stood in front of the mirror, running a brush through her honey-blonde hair. Her reflection stared back at her—flawless on the outside, but the storm behind her eyes gave her away. No matter how perfectly she dressed, no matter how sweetly she smiled, she couldn't hide the truth.
Silvester was slipping through her fingers.
Again.
And this time, Cinderella was the reason.
Penelope's fingers gripped the brush tighter, her knuckles whitening. She had watched from the sidelines for weeks now—watched how Silvester lingered longer when speaking to Cinderella, how his eyes lit up at her laughter, how his shoulders relaxed in her presence. Even now, when he thought no one noticed, he looked for her. Always her.
It had started to feel like a cruel joke. Cinderella, the outcast. The girl she and Stephen had dismissed, belittled, mocked. The girl they thought they could control.
Now that same girl had won Silvester's interest—his real interest.
Penelope wouldn't have it.
Not without one last fight.
Penelope adjusted the collar of her silk blouse, dabbing a touch of perfume at her neck before stepping out of her room. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her face was calm—serene, even. It was the performance of her life, and she was determined to deliver it flawlessly.
Downstairs in the university café, she knew where Silvester usually spent his afternoons. A quiet corner by the window, coffee in hand, laptop open. And like clockwork, there he was.
She inhaled deeply and walked over, heels clicking gently against the floor.
"Silvester," she greeted softly, with a rehearsed smile.
He looked up, surprised but not rude. "Penelope."
"Do you have a moment?"
He gave a small nod, closing his laptop slowly. "What's up?"
She sat across from him, her hands neatly folded. "I just wanted to talk. About... us."
He frowned slightly. "There is no 'us,' Penelope."
She forced a small, melancholic laugh. "I know. But there was. And maybe it's silly, but I can't help but wonder what went wrong."
Silvester's gaze was steady. "You know what went wrong."
Penelope leaned in slightly. "I wasn't perfect, I admit. But everything I did... I did because I cared about you."
"Manipulating me? Lying about Cinderella?" he asked bluntly. "That's not what caring looks like."
Her breath hitched. "I was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared that someone like her—"
He raised a hand. "Don't do that."
She blinked, thrown off by his calm firmness.
"Don't speak about her like that. Cinderella is—" he paused, searching for the right word, "—real. She's honest. She's been through hell, and yet she's still standing. That's more than I can say for most people."
The jealousy in Penelope's chest surged, hot and choking. "She's fooled you. You think she's pure and innocent, but you don't know the things she's capable of."
Silvester's brow rose. "Really? And what is she capable of, Penelope? Standing up to your bullying? Not letting you crush her under your designer heel?"
Penelope's expression faltered. "I... I just thought if I reminded you of what we had—"
"There's nothing left to remind me of," he said flatly. "You're trying to play a game you already lost."
His words, though calmly delivered, hit her like a slap. The tears that pooled in her eyes were real this time, not conjured.
"I loved you," she whispered. "Maybe I didn't show it the right way, but I loved you."
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Then let go. Let me be happy—with whoever I choose."
She looked down, defeated. "You've already chosen her, haven't you?"
He didn't answer, and that said everything.
Penelope stood slowly, swallowing the sob that rose in her throat. "You'll regret this."
Silvester looked at her, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "I already regret wasting my time pretending you were someone you're not."
She turned sharply and walked away, her heels echoing like a funeral march across the tiled floor.
---
Back at home, Penelope stormed into her room, slamming the door shut. Her breath was ragged, hands shaking with fury. For the first time in her life, things weren't going her way. She had always been the queen bee, the one everyone adored or feared. But now?
She was the villain in her own story.
And it infuriated her.
She tore off her earrings, flinging them across the room, then collapsed onto her bed. Her tears came hot and fast, soaking the pillow beneath her.
"Why her?" she whispered into the silence. "Why her?"
---
Meanwhile, Cinderella sat by the large oak tree on campus, the journal still clutched to her chest. The same journal that held the last fragments of her mother's truth. The breeze rustled the pages gently, and her eyes skimmed over the words she had nearly memorized.
He's been distant lately. I wonder if he's hiding something. Rebecca is always around. Smiling, helping, whispering things I can't hear.
Her stomach clenched. The lies had gone on far too long.
She was jolted out of her thoughts by a familiar voice.
"Hey."
She turned. Silvester stood there, hands in his pockets, his gaze soft.
"Hey," she said, moving over slightly so he could sit.
"I saw Penelope today," he began.
Cinderella nodded. "Let me guess. She made a scene?"
"Actually," he said, surprised, "she tried being... emotional. Honest, even."
"And did it work?" she asked, trying to sound casual, though her pulse quickened.
He looked at her, a gentle smile on his face. "No. Not this time."
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"I told her it was over for good. And I told her I was done being manipulated."
Cinderella gave a small smile. "I'm proud of you."
He leaned in slightly. "You've helped me see things more clearly. You're kind... even when no one deserves it. And you don't fake things."
There was a long pause between them, and their eyes met. For a moment, the world seemed to slow.
"Cinderella," he said softly, "I don't want to pretend anymore. Not about how I feel."
Her heart pounded. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," he said, his voice low and real, "I like you. Maybe more than I've ever liked anyone."
She blinked. "Even after everything I've been through?"
"Because of everything you've been through."
He reached for her hand, and for once, she didn't pull away. His fingers were warm, grounding.
It wasn't fireworks. It wasn't explosive.
It was something better.
Safe.
True.
Later that evening, Penelope stared out her window, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, her throat sore from screaming into her pillow.
She had no tricks left. No plans.
Cinderella had won.
And for the first time, Penelope didn't just feel defeated.
She felt forgotten.