The Glass Slipper (Cinderella 3)

She doesn’t even flinch at my words. “Because of Layla?”

“Layla is a friend.”

“Oh, that’s right, because of the little girl.” Her forehead wrinkles as she makes a sour face. “I understand you’re almost forty, hon, but that cliché midlife crisis of dating someone half your age is beneath you.” She flicks her wrist as if to dust off the thought. “These are small problems just as my marriage to Duncan is a small problem.”

“Small problems indeed in the grand scheme of things,” I agree. “We should discuss the bigger problems.”

This finally gets her attention.

“Oh?”

“I know about you and Manda.”

She titters out a laugh that makes her tits jiggle. “That she’s my friend. That’s not a secret, darling. We go way back.”

“Way, way back.” I lift a brow at her. “You met her at a retreat, didn’t you?”

“Does it matter where I met her?”

“I think it matters more how you two became to be friends.”

“And how do you think that is?”

“The both of you fucked that sleazy bastard Vincent Morelli. But whereas you got the abortion, she carried hers to term. All three of them.”

She swallows but her lying face remains otherwise unflinching. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I bet that was quite a conversation. The two of you in your jammies, snuggled up by the fire talking about boys at the retreat. How did that even come about anyway? Did you say, ‘Hi, I’m Meredith. I fucked a rat’? Manda confessed that, she too, fucked a rat. Just your usual rich lady gossip.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Meredith snips, losing her cool.

“Ridiculous. Hmm. Was Maggie a part of this rat conversation?”

Her lips thin. “Who?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mer. Maggie. My teenager girlfriend’s dead mother. You know the one. Your bestie is now married to her husband.”

“What does this even matter?” she snaps, pinning me with an angry scowl that probably has Duncan tucking his pathetic tail between his legs anytime she does it.

Me? I’m unimpressed with her dirty looks.

“It matters. Tell me something,” I continue. “Did Maggie mention her own horrible fate that tied her to the Morellis? Here you two had gotten pregnant by one—the same one, in fact—and Manda was paid hush money to keep quiet about her babies, but Maggie was damn near being forced into their family and offered a considerable inheritance to do so.”

“As if I’d ever want to be a part of that rotten family,” she scoffs. “You know I hate them just as much as you do.”

Never.

She could never hate them the way I do.

“Still, it had to sting that the two of you weren’t allowed into the Morelli family. Not even Manda who carried their own flesh and blood.” I cross my arms over my chest and study her fracturing façade. “I bet it made the two of you bitter. You were able to commiserate together at how wrong you’d been done. To moan about all you were owed. I’m getting hotter. I can tell by the look on your face. So whose plan was it to have Maggie killed?”

“I beg your pardon,” Meredith scoffs. “I have no idea who you think I am, but I’m not some thug who has people killed. Seriously, Winny, you’ve lost your damn mind.”

“Don’t insult me,” I growl, my tone harsh and cruel. “I pay good money for the best private investigators. They uncover anything there is to find. No matter how hard you try and hide, nothing is safe when a Constantine goes digging.”

“I didn’t have her killed. Didn’t she die of natural causes?”

“Did she?” I shrug. “I guess I’ll eventually find out for sure. I always do.”

Her phone buzzes in her purse and she takes the opportunity to distract herself from our conversation to pull it out. She reads the text and then tosses it back into her purse.

“The idea to have Maggie killed probably didn’t happen right away, did it?” I goad, poking at her with each word. “Each year on your annual retreats, you both probably started to resent her more and more, especially Manda who was saddled with three Morelli psycho-shits. Maggie had it made with her cushy life with her handsome husband whom she loved and her little princess. She’d chosen love over money and kissed her inheritance goodbye while she still pulled in a sizable income doing speeches. Everything in her life was going perfectly. It wasn’t fair, was it?”

Anger flashes in her eyes. “You think you know everything.”

“I know your stalker isn’t a stalker at all.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mer, Mer, Mer. It’s like you don’t even know who I am.” I pause, letting that sink in. “That’s right, you don’t. You knew me intimately as a vulnerable young man. Not this man. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“Who do you think you saw?” she challenges, defiance making her nostrils flare.