The tension in the house had been building like pressure behind a dam—silent, heavy, and inevitable. Cinderella had expected the confrontation would come soon. What she hadn't anticipated was how fast it would boil over.
It started with something as small as a missing necklace.
Cinderella had placed the silver locket—Caroline's locket—on her dresser the night before. It wasn't valuable in money, but it was priceless to her. The locket held a picture of her mother smiling under the sunlight, her hair blowing in the wind, taken the summer before her accident. Cinderella never wore it outside the house, afraid of losing it, but she looked at it every morning.
And now, it was gone.
She tore through her drawers. Checked the floor, under the bed, behind the mirror. Nothing. Her chest tightened. Panic rose in waves.
She marched out of her room and down the hall, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Penelope and Stephen were lounging in the sunroom—Penelope painting her nails while Stephen flipped through a magazine like he owned the place. Neither looked up when she entered.
"Have either of you seen my mother's silver locket?" Cinderella asked, her voice controlled but sharp.
Stephen shrugged lazily. "We don't go into your room, Cinderella."
Penelope glanced up, her smile sugary. "Oh no, did you lose it?"
"I didn't lose it," Cinderella said. "It was on my dresser last night."
"Maybe it walked away," Stephen muttered, and Penelope giggled.
Cinderella's gaze narrowed. "If I find out either of you took it, you'll regret it."
Stephen sat up straighter, cocky now. "And what are you gonna do? Cry about it?"
Cinderella didn't reply. She turned on her heel and walked straight to Rebecca's room.
The door was slightly ajar. She knocked once, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.
Rebecca stood by the vanity, applying a dark shade of lipstick. She met Cinderella's gaze in the mirror.
"Darling, haven't you heard of knocking?" she said lightly.
"I'm not here for games," Cinderella snapped. "Where's my locket?"
Rebecca turned slowly, the lipstick in hand. "Your locket?"
"My mother's. It was on my dresser last night. Now it's gone."
Rebecca's lips curled into that familiar smile—soft, sweet, poisonous. "I wouldn't know anything about it."
Cinderella stepped further into the room. "You've been replacing everything my mother left. Pictures, furniture, even the candles she used to light. You've tried to erase her from this house—but that locket is mine. You don't get to touch it."
Rebecca's smile didn't falter. "Are you accusing me of theft, Cinderella?"
"If the shoe fits."
Rebecca's eyes darkened, the mask slipping for the first time. "You are treading on dangerous ground, little girl."
"No," Cinderella said, her voice rising. "You are. You think you can come in here, paint on a fake smile, and charm your way into everything Caroline built? You're wrong. I see you. I see all of you."
Rebecca stepped forward, her expression chilling. "You don't see half of what you think you do. Desmond trusts me. He listens to me. He believes me. And as far as he's concerned, you're just a troubled, grieving girl lashing out."
Cinderella's heart pounded, but she held her ground. "Then I'll make him see. Eventually, the cracks in your performance will show. People like you can't hold the mask forever."
Rebecca's voice dropped to a whisper, but it dripped with venom. "Desmond is already mine. The more you push, the more you'll look unstable. Keep poking the bear, sweetheart, and you'll find yourself locked out of everything."
Cinderella laughed bitterly. "Go ahead and try. You think you're the first person to bully me into silence? You're not. And you're not nearly as smart as you think."
Before Rebecca could respond, a voice called from the hallway.
"Everything okay in there?"
Desmond.
Rebecca's face instantly changed—anger melting into concern. She turned toward the door and raised her voice just enough to be heard.
"Oh, we're fine, darling. Cinderella's just... upset. She thinks I took something from her."
Desmond appeared in the doorway, frowning. He looked between them. "What's going on?"
Cinderella's fists clenched. "She took my mother's locket. It was on my dresser last night."
Desmond's brow furrowed. "Rebecca? Did you see it?"
"I wouldn't dream of touching her things," Rebecca said innocently. "But I understand she's been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe she misplaced it?"
Cinderella turned to Desmond, desperate for him to see the truth. "She's lying. She's been slowly getting rid of anything that reminds you of Mom. Ask Lydia. Ask Henry. She's—"
"That's enough," Desmond said gently but firmly. "Cinderella, I know how hard this has been on you. But accusing Rebecca like this, without proof…"
"I had proof," she snapped. "But it's gone. Just like everything else."
Rebecca stepped forward, eyes glistening with well-practiced sorrow. "Desmond, I've tried so hard to connect with her. I know I can't replace Caroline, and I don't want to. But I've only ever wanted peace in this house."
Desmond sighed and rubbed his temple. "I think we all need to take a breath. Cinderella, maybe just give it a day. Things turn up."
Cinderella stared at him, betrayal sharp in her chest. "You don't believe me."
"I didn't say that," he said softly.
"You didn't have to."
She walked past them both, holding her head high even though her throat ached. Back in her room, she closed the door, leaned against it, and let the silence wrap around her like a storm cloud. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tear something apart—but she didn't. Instead, she walked to her journal and wrote down everything.
April 14th. 10:42 a.m.
First confrontation with Rebecca. She stole the locket. Denied it.
Desmond believes her. He doesn't see it yet.
But he will.
She underlined the last three words.
He will.
Because now she knew Rebecca's game—and she was done playing it quietly.
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