Chapter Thirty-One – Truth Revealed

The memorial for Caroline Harper was held on a quiet Saturday afternoon, beneath a sky so blue it felt almost wrong. The chapel was filled with fresh white lilies—Caroline's favorite—and a soft melody played in the background as people took their seats. Cinderella sat in the front row, dressed in a simple black dress, her fingers tightly gripping the locket her mother had given her years ago.

It had been Caroline's birthday. Cinderella wanted to honor her memory without letting grief swallow her whole, but being surrounded by people who pretended to care made it harder. Especially when Rebecca sat just a few feet away, dressed in mourning black and dabbing fake tears with a handkerchief. It took every ounce of strength for Cinderella not to scream.

Desmond looked visibly older, more fragile than usual. His eyes remained fixed on the large portrait of Caroline placed at the altar, his expression unreadable. Cinderella could see the pain on his face—the guilt, the confusion, the love he had never truly let go of.

When it was her turn to speak, Cinderella stood slowly and made her way to the podium. She looked out at the crowd, then at her father.

"I don't have many words today," she said softly. "Just memories. My mother was the kind of person who gave her love without asking for anything in return. She was kind, brilliant, and full of warmth. She didn't deserve what happened to her. She deserved the truth. And someday… she will have it."

Her voice trembled slightly at the end, and her eyes locked briefly with Rebecca's. The woman stiffened, her expression faltering for just a second. But Cinderella didn't say more. She couldn't—not today. Not with Desmond looking so broken.

Later that evening, back in her dorm, Cinderella replayed the funeral in her mind over and over. She had the evidence. She had everything she needed to destroy Rebecca. But something about her father's quiet grief made her pause. If she dropped the truth now—at the height of his mourning—it might crush him.

So she waited… but only for a little longer.

The next week passed in a blur.

Rebecca's carefully constructed mask began to crack at the edges. Her once effortless charm grew brittle. The house staff whispered behind closed doors about her sudden temper—how she lashed out over minor things, how she screamed at Penelope for accidentally knocking over a glass of juice. Most tellingly, she spent her nights locked in the study, whispering frantically into her phone. Cinderella didn't need to eavesdrop to know she was desperate.

Cinderella watched it all unfold with a quiet, simmering calm.

The next week passed in a blur.

Rebecca's perfect mask had begun to crack. She snapped at the staff, screamed at Penelope for spilling juice, and locked herself in the study every evening, speaking in frantic, hushed tones. But Cinderella no longer cared what she was hiding—because she already knew the truth that mattered most.

It was time.

She didn't announce it. She waited until the house had quieted for the night, until she found Desmond alone in the library, seated in his leather chair with a glass of scotch in one hand and a picture of Caroline in the other.

He looked tired. Worn. Almost human.

"Dad," she said, stepping into the room.

He looked up, startled. "Ella. What's wrong?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she walked over and sat down across from him. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed a simple brown folder on the table between them.

"There's something you need to know," she said, voice calm but heavy with emotion. "Something I've known for years. I stayed quiet… but I can't anymore."

Desmond leaned forward slowly and opened the folder. Inside were a few carefully printed documents—financial transfers, appointment logs, hotel bills. Nothing explicit. But everything undeniable.

And all of it dated before Caroline's death.

The silence between them thickened.

"What… what is this?" he asked, though part of him already knew.

Cinderella met his gaze with hollow eyes. "You were with her," she said. "Rebecca. Before Mom even died."

Desmond flinched as if she'd slapped him.

"I knew," she continued, voice shaking now. "I knew it back then. I wasn't stupid. I saw the way you looked at her. The secret conversations. The business trips that didn't make sense. Mom knew too. She just… never wanted me to see her break."

"Ella—" Desmond started, but she cut him off.

"No. Let me finish." Her voice rose, edged with pain. "You broke her. You crushed the woman who stood by you through everything. And while she cried herself to sleep, you were already with someone else. You cheated on her, Dad. You're a cheat."

His face crumpled, eyes widening with horror.

The door creaked open behind them.

Rebecca stood there, pale and tense. "What is this about?" she asked quickly, eyes darting to the folder.

Cinderella turned to her slowly. "Don't bother. He knows. And stop pretending like you didn't help destroy our family."

Rebecca's voice shook. "Ella, sweetheart, that's not fair. Things weren't black and white. Your mother and Desmond—things had fallen apart long before I—"

"Don't," Cinderella said sharply, rising to her feet. "Don't insult my mother's memory with that lie. You think I didn't know? You think I didn't see through you from the beginning? Spare me the cover-up story, Rebecca. Just spare me."

Rebecca's mouth opened and closed. She had no more lies left to spin.

Cinderella turned back to Desmond.

"I used to look up to you," she whispered. "Even after Mom died. Even after the cold moved in. I still hoped… that maybe you were just broken, grieving. But now I know—you were never the man she thought you were."

Desmond stood quickly, reaching out to her. "Ella, please—listen to me. I was lost. I made a mistake. I thought Caroline had stopped loving me, I—"

"You don't get to rewrite the past," she said, stepping away from his touch. Tears welled in her eyes but didn't fall. "You don't get to turn her pain into your excuse."

Desmond's hand dropped.

There was nothing left to say.

Cinderella backed away toward the door, voice thick with emotion. "You're a cheat, Dad. And now I see you clearly."

And then, she turned and walked away—tears streaming silently down her cheeks, her heart breaking all over again.

Behind her, Desmond collapsed into the chair, the photograph of Caroline slipping from his hands and landing face-down on the floor.

The truth had finally been spoken.

And it had shattered everything.

Later that night, Cinderella lay on her bed, her face still damp with tears. The moonlight spilled through her window, silver and cold, casting long shadows on the floor.

She stared at the ceiling, heart heavy but strangely lighter than it had been in years.

Then, a slow, tired smile curved her lips.

"That's one secret down," she whispered to herself. "I'll be dropping them one after the other… but first, I needed to deal with my dad's own before I explode the bomb."

Her smile faded. Her eyes hardened.

The truth wasn't done unraveling. Not even close.

And soon, the next one would fall.