Chapter 6: The Cinderella Curse

"Eva Monroe's Point Of View''

The first thing that hit me when I opened my eyes was my own face splashed across a glossy tabloid cover. Gold-Digger Bride! From Housemaid to Heiress. The headline practically shouted at me in bold red letters, and the photo—me hanging onto Cassian’s arm in that ridiculous designer gown—told a story I never intended to share. My hands shook as I scrolled through more headlines on my phone. He Fell for the Help... Cassian Cross’s Rebound Romance... Trashy Cinderella Tricks a Billionaire.

The irony? I never really asked for this life.

As I propped myself up in the grand four-poster bed, the sheer opulence felt like a heavy weight pressing down on me. Satin sheets. Velvet drapes. Chandeliers that sparkled like they mocked me. The air was chillier than you'd expect for July.

I looked over at the other side of the bed.

Empty.

Cassian hadn’t come home last night.

By noon, I was dressed in a cream midi dress that probably cost more than my mother’s first car. My heels echoed against the marble floor, sharp and loud like gunfire. Cassian stood by the front door, his sunglasses hiding the redness in his eyes. He smelled like whiskey and something more bitter—regret, maybe.

“Smile,” he muttered as the car door opened and the flashbulbs went off. “We’re a fairy tale, remember?”

I pasted on a grin so brittle it hurt my cheeks. My fingers lightly grazed his arm. He didn’t pull away, but he also didn’t move closer. As has been the case lately, we presented ourselves to the world—a flawless couple trapped in a beautiful cage.

The charity brunch was held in an absurd glass atrium overlooking the bay. Champagne fountains. Shrimp towers. Old money in pearls and pastel silk.

Cassian’s sister, Harper, stood at the grand staircase, exuding an air of authority like a queen poised to take down her latest subject.

“Well, look who decided to show up dressed like the centerpiece,” she called out, her voice carrying enough for everyone around to catch it. “Did you confuse this for a costume ball, Eva?”

I held my ground and smiled. “Better overdressed than underbred.”

Laughter danced around us—polite, yet a bit fragile. Harper’s eyes narrowed, but her friend Jasmine smoothly stepped in to pick up where Harper left off.

Jasmine. Thin, bitter, and always circling like a vulture.

“Eva,” she cooed, eyes trailing down my dress, “you’re so brave to wear off-the-rack. I suppose it’s symbolic.”

“Symbolic?” I asked, tone flat.

“You know,” she leaned in as if sharing a secret, “trying to dress up what’s inherently... common.”

Harper chuckled. “Jazz, be nice. She’s just doing her best. After all, how would she know better? She used to clean toilets.”

“I bet she still uses lemon juice and vinegar,” Jasmine quipped. “Do you scrub Cassian with a sponge too?”

My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but I held his gaze.

“Maybe that’s exactly what he’s into,” Harper chimed in, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Cheap. Disposable. Quiet.

Laughter erupted.

Cassian stood across the room, swirling a drink, eyes on me. He saw it all. Heard it all.

Did nothing.

The rest of the event blurred—smiles with teeth, eyes like knives. I floated through an exhibit on display. I just needed air.

That’s when I noticed her.

A little girl, probably around six or seven, was sitting all by herself near the windows. Her dress looked too stiff, and her curls were way too tight. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she clutched a broken tiara.

I knelt down beside her. “Hey, sweetheart. What happened?”

“I dropped it,” she sniffled. “And now it’s ruined.”

“Let me see.” I took the tiara gently. One plastic gem is missing. The wire bent. “Looks like it just needs some love. Even broken crowns can still shine.”

She blinked up at me. “You’re the lady from the magazines.”

“I am.

But really, I’m just a person who understands what it feels like to not quite fit in.”

Cassian’s voice sliced through the chatter. “Eva.”

I turned. He was watching.

His expression wasn’t cold anymore.

It was curious.

I returned the tiara to the girl and said, “You’re going to be just fine, princess.”

She smiled and ran off.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Cassian said as he approached.

“She needed someone.”

“And who do you have?”

The question stung.

Before I could answer, Harper’s voice rang out behind us. “Oh look, the maid’s found her people.”

Jasmine howled. “Don’t let her babysit, Harper. She might teach them how to steal silverware.”

“Or hide in linen closets until the coast is clear,” Harper added with a poisonous smile. “Classic Eva. Playing house in someone else’s castle.”

My breath caught.

Those words weren’t just cruel.

They were familiar.

Someone else had said them. Years ago. And the room began to tilt.

Cassian turned, eyes dark. “That’s enough.”

Harper’s smile didn’t falter. “No, brother. That was overdue. She doesn’t belong here.

“And no matter how many designer dresses she borrows, that won’t make a difference.”

I tightened my grip on the stem of my champagne flute.

My vision blurred.

Not from anger.

From recognition.

From the realization that I’d traded one cage for another.

“You really thought you could wear our name like a dress and not get it dirty?” Harper sneered.

I turned, choking on silence.

But Cassian wasn’t beside me anymore.

He was striding across the room—fast, purposeful.

Right toward us.