The sun peeked through the heavy curtains of the Harper mansion, its warmth doing little to melt the frost that had settled in the house since the latest storm of truth broke loose. Whispers filled the hallways—mostly from the staff who exchanged glances and half-spoken thoughts. Everyone could feel it: the silence that followed chaos, the eye of a hurricane that promised it wasn't done yet.
Stephen Harper returned that morning.
He stepped into the grand foyer with a rolling suitcase and a confident stride, taller and more refined than when he left. His time abroad had matured him, yet his sharp eyes still held that familiar superiority.
"Welcome home, Master Stephen," one of the maids greeted.
He offered a nod but didn't stop to chat. He didn't need to. His presence alone stirred the house.
He walked up the stairs, dropping his bag in his room before making a beeline for the kitchen, where he knew he'd find Penelope.
"Did she do it?" he asked as soon as he spotted her pouring herself a glass of juice.
Penelope looked up, a wicked smirk tugging at her lips. "She did. Daddy dearest is in pieces."
Stephen chuckled, but it lacked humor. "And the old man?"
"Drowning in guilt," Penelope replied. "But there's a problem."
He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Silvester's back… and he's sniffing around Cinderella again."
Stephen's smile vanished.
Silvester hadn't stepped foot into the mansion, but he didn't need to. He had started waiting for Cinderella after class, walking her to the gate, sharing lunch breaks, exchanging glances that held more than just teenage flutters. His presence was gentle, respectful—but filled with intent.
And Penelope had noticed it.
"He's a distraction," she said through clenched teeth. "And worse, she likes him."
Stephen didn't like that. Not one bit.
---
Outside the school, Cinderella stood by the gate, adjusting her bag on her shoulder when Silvester approached, his usual calm smile in place.
"You're early," she said, tilting her head.
"I figured I'd get ahead of the competition," he joked.
She laughed softly. It was the first time in days her smile wasn't forced.
They started walking, slow and easy. No rush. No pressure.
"I heard Stephen's back," he said eventually.
Cinderella nodded. "Yeah. He arrived this morning."
"You okay?"
She hesitated. "I will be."
Silvester glanced at her sideways. "You've been through a lot lately."
She didn't reply right away. "The truth always feels like a knife before it becomes freedom."
He looked at her, genuinely impressed. "You're stronger than you think."
She smiled, a little sadly. "You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
As they reached the end of the road where a car waited to pick her up, Cinderella turned to him. "Thanks for walking with me."
He nodded. "Anytime."
She hesitated before opening the car door. "Silvester?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're still here."
His eyes softened. "I'm not going anywhere."
As the car drove off, Penelope watched from a parked vehicle across the road, her jaw tight with rage. Stephen sat beside her, arms crossed.
"She's slipping away," he muttered.
Penelope's eyes narrowed. "Not if we make her fall first."
---
Back at the mansion, Desmond sat alone in the library, staring at an untouched glass of whiskey.
The fire crackled in the hearth, but it didn't warm him.
He had thought himself a man of integrity. A man who had made difficult choices for the sake of love. But now… every choice felt like betrayal.
He had betrayed Caroline.
He had betrayed Cinderella.
And maybe—just maybe—he had betrayed himself.
The silence grew heavier as he replayed every word Cinderella had spoken. Her accusation had echoed in his mind relentlessly.
"You're a cheat."
How had he not seen it sooner?
How had he fallen for Rebecca so blindly?
Desmond leaned back, his eyes closing as he exhaled shakily. The guilt was a noose around his neck, tightening by the hour. He didn't know how to fix what was broken—especially when the cracks were all his doing.
---
That evening, Cinderella sat in her room by the window, watching the sky darken.
Her journal lay open on the desk, but she hadn't written in it.
She thought of her mother's voice. The laughter that once filled this house. The smile that lit up a room.
And she thought of Desmond—of the man who had chosen another woman while her mother was still alive.
A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, expecting a maid.
But it was Stephen.
Her eyes narrowed instantly. "What do you want?"
He stepped inside, hands in his pockets. "You haven't changed much."
"And you haven't changed at all," she replied coolly.
He smirked. "You're still a firecracker."
"What are you doing here, Stephen?"
"I came to see you," he said, moving closer. "We used to talk… remember?"
She stood from her chair. "That was before I knew what you and Penelope really are."
He raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're snakes," she said without hesitation. "You hide behind charm and family names, but you're just as manipulative as Rebecca."
His expression turned cold. "You think you're so much better now, just because Silvester's giving you attention?"
She folded her arms. "No, I think I'm better because I finally know the truth."
Stephen took a step closer. "Be careful, Ella. You don't know everything."
She stared him down. "But I will. And when I do, I'll make sure none of you can lie your way out."
With that, she turned and walked to the door, holding it open. "Goodnight, Stephen."
He lingered for a moment, then stormed out.
Cinderella closed the door, locking it behind him. Her heart was racing—but not from fear.
From determination.
She walked over to her dresser, pulled open the drawer, and retrieved a small flash drive.
On it were files she hadn't revealed yet.
Secrets deeper than even Rebecca's betrayal.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror.
"I'm not done," she whispered. "Not even close."
---
The next day, Silvester waited outside the school again. This time, Cinderella spotted him before he called her name.
He held a coffee cup in one hand, an extra one in the other.
"For the girl who hasn't smiled in days," he said, handing her one.
She chuckled. "You're becoming dangerously charming."
"It's a gift," he teased.
They walked toward the park nearby and sat beneath an old oak tree.
"I'm worried about you," Silvester said after a beat.
"I know."
"And I'm here for you."
She turned to him. "Even if it gets messy?"
He shrugged. "Life's already messy."
They sat in silence, sipping their drinks.
Finally, she looked at him. "Thank you for not treating me like I'm broken."
He met her gaze. "You're not broken. You're rebuilding."
---
Back at the Harper mansion, Desmond stood at the door to Caroline's old room. It hadn't been opened in over a year.
He stepped inside slowly, dust particles dancing in the sunlight.
Everything was as she'd left it.
Her perfume still lingered faintly.
Her favorite scarf hung on the edge of the dresser.
Desmond walked to the center of the room and knelt down.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, he wept—not just for Caroline.
But for the man he once was.