2. How Cinderella Lost Her Shoe.

SADIE’S POV

Because of my past—because of Angelica and the people I once called family—I learned to look for the good in everything. I had to. It was survival.

Casey Anne was one of those rare, good things. In the middle of this glass-and-steel world full of fake smiles and shallow alliances, she was real. Genuine. Loyal.

While most of our coworkers gravitated toward Angelica’s syrupy charm, Casey stood by me. She saw right through the glitter and gloss, and when Angelica struck—whether it was a passive-aggressive jab or an outright insult—Casey never hesitated to fire back. She understood. She knew that sometimes, for me, fighting back wasn’t worth the aftermath. Not when it would follow me home.

Angelica’s taunts were never new. Outdated outfit. Pale complexion. “You look like a washed-out nerd,” she’d whisper just loud enough for others to hear. Same script, different day. I told myself I was used to it. But the truth? It chipped away at me, little by little.

Still, if I didn’t love myself, who else would? That was my quiet mantra. My armor.

One morning, as I sat at my desk, Angelica appeared, plopping a stack of files onto my workspace like I was her personal secretary.

Casey, who’d just stopped by for our usual coffee break chat, didn’t miss a beat.

“Have you ever done your job by yourself?” she asked Angelica dryly, crossing her arms.

Angelica didn’t flinch. “Oh, haven’t you heard? I’m thetop Executive Assistant around here. Number one.” She smirked, letting the word drag off her crimson lips like it was dipped in gold. “I only handle important jobs. Not like... junior assistants.”

Casey and I both knew the truth: Angelica spent more time applying lip gloss than actually doing her work. And if making my life harder counted as productivity, then yes—she was very efficient.

“Sheesh,” Casey muttered, just loud enough for Angelica to hear. “Somebody clearly forgot their meds this morning.”

She turned back to me. “You’re not seriously doing this for her, right? Just toss it back on her desk.”

I glanced at the files, already plotting the fastest escape route. “Not worth the drama. Honestly, this will take five minutes. Arguing with that,” I said, letting the word hang, “would last the whole day.”

“But we have plans,” Casey pouted.

“And we still do,” I assured her with a grin, nudging her away from my desk. “This’ll be quick. I promise.”

It had been six months since we both started working at The Axe Company—a branch under the Prince Company umbrella—and somehow, it felt like I’d known her forever. Unlike me, Casey worked in the finance division. Different departments, same building. The towering Prince Tower was entirely owned by The Axe Co., one of the country’s biggest contracting companies.

That’s why we saw each other every day. Why we shared more than lunch breaks—we shared survival.

Some days, that laughter over cheap coffee was the only therapy we had.

Later that night — Ergates, Café and Bar

“Let’s order another dessert and drinks,” Casey grinned, twirling the straw in her now-empty glass.

I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost eleven, Case…”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I don’t know… it’s kinda late, and I’m already feeling a little buzzed.”

“You just had one glass. How are you this drunk?” she teased, nudging my elbow.

I leaned my cheek into my hand, trying to stop the mild spin in my head. “You know I’m not a drinker.”

“It’s still pouring outside. We’re not walking home in this anyway. Come on, my treat.”

“Pfft—fine. Dessert. But no more drinks. I need to stay vertical.”

Thirty minutes later, the rain had stopped, and the sidewalks were glittering with puddles. We stepped out, half-tipsy, half-determined to keep our shoes dry. Casey, after two mimosas and two daiquiris, was far less steady than me. I tried my best to anchor us both—despite wobbling in my block heels like a newborn giraffe.

As we passed the corner near our office building, I looked up at the towering Prince Tower. Its lights shimmered against the wet pavement like a giant watching us.

“Oh!” Casey suddenly said. “I heard the CEO’s visiting next week. Bit of a bummer though—they say he’s old. I was hoping for one of those book-boyfriend-type CEOs.”

I chuckled as she plopped down on a roadside bench.

I joined her, breathing in the cool, rain-scented night. But then I felt something—small and sharp—in my shoe.

“Ugh, pebble.” I bent forward to slip off my heel and shake it out.

“Wow, you’re really—”

Whoosh!

A sleek black sedan rushed past, hitting a puddle just in front of us.

SPLOOSH!

Dirty water exploded onto us, soaking my dress, coat, and soul. I stared down at my now brown-stained white knit dress. My beige coat looked like it had gone mud-bathing. I blinked, stunned.

“Oh, COME ON!!” I exploded, standing up with one shoe in hand.

And then… I did it.

I threw it.

Hard. Straight. Perfect.

My block heel soared through the night like it had a personal vendetta and—bam!—the strap hooked onto the rear windshield wiper of the car as it drove off into the dark like a villain in a drama.

I stood there, breathless.

Did I really just do that?

The car didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. The driver probably didn’t care—or maybe they didn’t even notice. Either way, my heel was gone.

One shoe down. One sanity point lost.

“What was I thinking?” I muttered. “Apparently, I’m not as sober as I thought.”

“Jerk,” I added under my breath, inspecting the damage to my outfit. It was bad. So bad I’d probably have to spend what little I had on a replacement dress for work. I didn’t have a wardrobe—I had a rotation. One pair of work heels (now half), one pair of Friday-night heels, one pair of flats.

Casey was howling. Actually laughing so hard she had to wipe tears. “Shit, my mouth was open!” she gasped. “And that’s the best cursing you’ve got?”

DAMON PRINCE’S POV

CEO of The Axe Company

The wipers moved only every once in a while, gliding lazily across the windshield.

Rain tapped lightly on the roof, the city lights blurred by moisture across the glass. I was halfway across town before I noticed it.

My eyes flicked to the rearview camera after I felt the soft jolt of the car running through a set of puddles—without slowing down. I hadn’t meant to splash anyone. Wasn’t thinking about pedestrians at all.

I wasn’t used to driving myself.

Usually, there was a driver for this sort of thing. But tonight, I needed the solitude. The silence.

What I didn’t expect was what greeted me on the screen.

A shoe.

Dangling from the back wiper like a forgotten ornament.

I narrowed my eyes.

I wasn’t used to people throwing things at me—certainly not shoes. My reputation didn’t exactly invite that kind of... passion. I could count on one hand the number of people bold enough to yell at me, let alone launch footwear at a moving car.

And the aim? Impressive. The strap was hooked perfectly, like it belonged there.

But it wasn’t just the shoe that stuck with me.

When I’d passed the two women on the sidewalk—barely a glance, a split-second of distraction—I’d caught sight of something clutched in the hand of the woman who stood there, wet and furious.

An ID card.

My company’s logo glared back at me beneath the streetlight. Her name hadn’t registered, but her face had.

Angry. Beautiful. Barefoot.

With a flick of my wrist, I made a sharp U-turn.

I had planned to go straight to my penthouse—but now, I found myself heading back toward Prince Tower.

Something about the moment clung to me. The splash. The shoe. The look on her face.

My jaw clenched as I merged back onto the road.

No one had dared cross me like that in a long time. And no one—no one—had made me smirk the way I just did.

I was intrigued. That night, instead of sleeping, I found myself staring at a single black block heel on my desk.