Chapter Forty-Two – The Aftermath

The house was quieter than it had ever been. The absence of Rebecca's sharp voice, Stephen's pompous arrogance, and Penelope's venomous whispers was a silence so loud, it echoed through the halls. It wasn't peace—no, not yet. But it was the beginning of something else. Something softer.

Desmond Harper sat in his study, eyes fixed on the fireplace though the flames had long since died. He hadn't slept properly in days. Guilt gnawed at him like a relentless tide. He had spent years in the same house as his daughter, treating her like a stranger, while protecting the very woman responsible for tearing their family apart. And now that the truth had come out, he couldn't escape the mirror of his mistakes.

Cinderella, on the other hand, moved through the house with quiet grace. Not indifference—no, not that. But she had changed. There was steel in her spine now, a kind of resolve that made her seem older than her years. She didn't cry. She didn't lash out. She simply lived, and that was what stung Desmond the most.

He found her that morning in the garden, tending to a bed of flowers that had long been neglected. The same garden Caroline had once loved. Cinderella's hands were dirty with soil, her hair pinned up casually, sunlight making her skin glow. She looked so much like Caroline in that moment, Desmond's chest tightened.

"May I join you?" he asked, voice tentative.

Cinderella looked up and simply nodded. He crouched beside her, awkward in his tailored trousers and crisp shirt, but she didn't comment. She offered him a trowel and a pair of gloves.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, and then Desmond cleared his throat. "I owe you more apologies than I can count."

Cinderella didn't look at him. "I know."

He swallowed. "You were just a child. And I—" He paused, choking on the words. "I should have protected you. Instead, I enabled the people who hurt you. I let Rebecca… take everything from you."

Cinderella gently patted down the soil and finally looked at him. "You did. But acknowledging it is a start."

Desmond exhaled, his shoulders sagging. "I want to fix things. If you'll let me."

She looked down at the flowers. "You can't undo what happened. But maybe… we can rebuild something different."

It wasn't forgiveness. Not yet. But it was hope. And that was something.

---

The town was buzzing with whispers. Rebecca Harper—formerly Rebecca Morgan—had been arrested for her role in Caroline Harper's death. Though it had been ruled an accident for years, Cinderella's persistence and Desmond's recent investigation had turned the case upside down. New evidence revealed that Rebecca had deliberately tampered with Caroline's medication, worsening her condition in the final days before the tragic accident which Rebecca had one told the mechanic to tamper with the car brakes. While it was difficult to prove intent to kill, the tampering itself was enough for the authorities to open a case of negligence and malicious intent.

She had been taken into custody on a rainy afternoon. The sky had wept the tears Desmond couldn't shed as the police escorted Rebecca out of the mansion. She wore a defiant look, chin high, eyes cold, but there was no escaping the finality of it. Cinderella watched from her window, arms folded across her chest. She didn't smile. She didn't celebrate. She just… watched.

Stephen and Penelope had not been arrested. Not yet. But they had been stripped of every privilege they once took for granted. No more luxury cars, no more designer clothes, no more house staff catering to their whims. Desmond had revoked their access to his accounts and put them under close watch. They were to stay in the house—no more school abroad, no more parties, no more influence. They were prisoners in the very castle they once ruled.

Cinderella rarely saw them now. When she did, it was only in passing. Stephen avoided her entirely, humiliated and broken. Penelope tried, once, to speak to her. She had stopped her in the hallway, eyes red-rimmed, mouth trembling.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far," she whispered.

Cinderella had looked at her with an emotionless calm. "You meant for it to go far enough."

Penelope had no reply to that.

---

Desmond began making changes in the household. He reopened Caroline's charity fund, something Rebecca had shut down years ago. He reached out to the staff who had been dismissed unjustly. The old cook returned, smiling at Cinderella like she'd just come home from a long journey. Even the house began to change. The dark paintings Rebecca had hung were taken down. The rooms were filled with light again.

Cinderella was offered everything—her own wing, access to finances, the opportunity to take over some of the family's businesses—but she refused most of it. She needed to earn her own freedom, not be handed it out of guilt.

She enrolled in classes again, started writing more, planning her future with meticulous determination. Desmond watched from a distance, heart swelling with pride and sorrow all at once.

Silvester, too, remained present. He didn't push. He sent texts, dropped by to check in, left flowers by her window with little notes: "You're stronger than all of them." "Don't forget how brilliant you are." "You inspire me."

They hadn't spoken of love. Much. But the warmth was there, simmering quietly beneath their interactions.

---

One evening, Desmond called Cinderella into the living room. The fire crackled softly, and on the table were several old photo albums. He looked nervous.

"These were your mother's," he said, gesturing to them. "I thought you should have them."

Cinderella sat down slowly, her hand resting on the leather cover of the first album. She opened it, and there was Caroline—smiling, radiant, alive.

Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't cry. She traced her mother's face with her fingertips.

"She was beautiful," she said softly.

"She was everything," Desmond replied, his voice cracking.

They sat together that night, turning the pages of the past. There was pain, yes. But also joy. Memory. Healing. A part of Cinderella was filled with so much joy knowing fully well she had defeated her enemies.

And in that moment, the aftermath didn't feel so heavy anymore.