The Story Of Cinderella Summary Novels & Stories

Tanya Reed Tanya Reed’s life went up in smoke the night her parents were murdered. Now she’s a survivor, broke, haunted, and desperate for a fresh start. The last thing she expects is to find herself cleaning offices at Lockewood Heights… or standing face-to-face with the man who will upend her fragile world. Hers isn’t a Cinderella story; it’s survival meets power. Damien Lockewood. Billionaire. CEO. Sin wrapped in a tailored suit. He’s cold, ruthless, and untouchable, everything she should hate. And yet, he’s also the man who makes her pulse race, her walls crumble and her panties wet. She’s supposed to be invisible. But one accidental discovery, a discrepancy buried deep in the company’s financial records, puts her squarely on Damien’s radar. He doesn’t do love. She doesn’t do trust. But when desire turns to danger and the lies start to unravel, Tanya learns that the Lockewoods’ secrets are darker than Damien’s reputation, and the same shadow that took her parents might destroy them both. Because somewhere between passion and power lies the truth. And the truth might cost them everything.

My best friend, Kahlan Ellis was invited by an online acquaintance to explore an abandoned school. I told her it was dangerous and urged her not to go. A young woman nearby overheard our conversation, got curious, and went with him instead. Later, the local news blew up with a trending story about how a wealthy heir and a village girl who met during an exploration adventure had fallen in love and lived happily ever after. Around that time, I was preparing to get married. On the night before my wedding, Kahlan pushed me off a high-rise. "If you hadn't stopped me from going back then, I'd have married rich by now! You deserve to die!" It was only then that I realized how much she had resented me all this while for stopping her that day. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn to the day she first asked me to go on that exploration. In the parking garage, Kahlan looked at me excitedly and asked, "Patricia, do you think I should go explore that abandoned school with Robert?"

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days. She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days. On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats. On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron. On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them. That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in. On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping. On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day. I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out. What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies. This time, I was done playing her game.

On the very day I returned home, my would-be mother-in-law slapped a check across my face. “Five million dollars. Walk away from my son. I’ve dealt with gold diggers before, who think a pregnancy can lock a man down. You’re not nearly as smart as you believe.” Before I could say a word, a girl in a white dress shrank behind her, clutching her sleeve with trembling fingers, her eyes brimming with tears. “Mrs. Sterling, please… don’t do this. What if Adrian finds out? And… if he truly cares about her, I’m willing to step aside.” I let out a soft laugh. So that was the story she had written for me. A calculating woman trying to steal her man. I bent down, picked up the check, and tucked it neatly into the deep neckline of Lily Bennett’s dress. “Here. A tip. Your performance wasn’t bad.” Then I pulled out my black card and flicked it onto the table. “Ma’am, I’ll offer you ten million. Keep your son on a leash, and tell him to stop bothering me. I find him revolting.” I paused, then added lightly, “Oh, and one more thing.” I gestured toward the delicate little flower she was guarding so carefully. “The girl you’re protecting? My father brought her home last year. His illegitimate daughter. “If anyone thinks they’re joining my family, they should probably ask the Bennetts for permission first.”

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

Even though I knew cows were sacred to the Indorians, I still supported their biological daughter in her plan to serve beef at the dinner table of Indoria's wealthiest man. In my previous life, the wealthiest man in Indoria had held a nationwide contest to choose a wife. My sister had fought her way to the final round and planned to make a beef and veggie stew for the ultimate cooking challenge. I rushed to stop her, warning that in Indoria's religion, cows were considered holy, and eating beef could have serious legal consequences. However, my sister thought I was deliberately humiliating her for being "uncultured." In a fit of anger, she ran out, only to be struck and killed by a car. My adoptive parents tried to console me, telling me it was not my fault, that it was simply bad luck. Later, thanks to my exceptional cooking skills, I became the wife of Indoria's wealthiest man. Yet on the very day of my wedding, my adoptive parents sold me to the slums. That night, as eight men assaulted me one after another, I cried and demanded to know why. They kicked me viciously and spat: "If you hadn't made things difficult for Janet, she wouldn't have died. You owe her this!" By the end of that night, I had bled to death. Meanwhile, my adoptive parents used the money given by Indoria's wealthiest man to build a lavish tomb for their biological daughter. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister was about to serve her beef and veggie stew to Indoria's wealthiest man.

The new intern always claimed to have the company’s best interests at heart, but her actions told a different story. To cut costs, she secretly swapped the two-thousand-dollar gift basket I had prepared for a client with a knockoff version she bought online for just two dollars, shipping included. During a critical overtime session, she turned off the power to save on electricity. Then, she boldly suggested canceling the company’s annual holiday leave. With a self-righteous expression, she declared, “The company doesn’t support freeloaders. I believe the holiday season is the perfect time to boost sales. I propose everyone work unpaid overtime and dedicate themselves selflessly to the company!” While the employees grumbled in frustration, I stepped up to refute her absurd suggestion and spoke out on behalf of the team. But instead of backing down, she accused me of embezzlement in front of everyone and recommended to the boss that I be fired. The shocking part? The boss agreed. Fine. If that was how they wanted it, I couldn’t wait to see how the company would function without me.

After five years of marriage, Zac Saunders felt the need to protect his son with his mistress. Not only did he pressure me into terminating the pregnancy, but he also conspired with the board of directors to remove me from my position as vice president. He held Jemma Jacobs close, wearing a wicked grin."Samantha Lewis," he sneered, "since you won't obey...""...Jemma take your place from now on," he continued.I pushed his hand away, pulling Jemma in front of me. Ignoring her struggles, I firmly grabbed her hair and forced her to tilt her head back."Come on," I urged, "tell him, who do you belong to?"

After falling head over heels for Joe Smith for three years, I finally got the proposal I had been waiting for. However, on the day of our wedding, he did not show up until the wee hours of the morning. When I found him, Joe was drinking happily with a young girl in his arms. “I’m already tired of her clinginess. She’s a joke. Who else would want her?” Much later, he made me a wedding ring and proposed with my favorite jasmine flowers. But a muscular man opened the door instead. The man had two scratch marks on his neck and smirked at the disheveled Joe. “Isn’t it a bit too shameless of you to propose to a married woman?”

My mother-in-law is extremely frugal. She reuses paper others have discarded, carefully saving the unmarked portions. She even takes the black waste oil from the kitchen range hood and uses it to cook our meals. She says, "Frugality is a virtue—it brings blessings!" I try tirelessly to convince her otherwise, throwing out all her filthy items to protect my family's health. But while she praises me to my face, behind my back, she uses my baby's food scissors to clip her grimy toenails. My child eventually dies of a lung infection, leaving me heartbroken. My mother-in-law, however, points her finger at me, saying I'm unlucky and that I've brought misfortune to their family. Even my husband blames me. In the end, they use a knitting needle to pierce my throat and stab me to death. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day I first see her picking up dirty paper. The first thing I do is hide all the high-quality tissue paper I had stocked up on before my pregnancy, pretending I knew nothing. She calls these blessings, right? Fine. The blessings of this miserly frugality—she can reap them all herself!