The Fearless Cinderella
dangerously high and almost daring gravity itself that turned the dress from mere elegance into a weapon.
One wrong move, and it would be scandal.
One right move, and it would be power.
And Cinderella? She didn’t move wrong.
Not tonight.
She straightened her posture, rolling her shoulders back, lifting her chin just enough to command. In the full-length mirror, she didn’t just see herself... she saw the weapon she had become.
This wasn’t just a dress.
This was war paint.
Then a soft knock.
Vera entered, cradling a small velvet box in her hands—black, with the Vergara crest stamped in gold, shimmering in the light.
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