The Glass Slipper (Cinderella 3)
Oh. My. God.
Did I expect anything less, though?
I stare at my phone for a long time letting his text sink in. This is bad. Like really bad. The whole world knows about the fucked-up games I play with Win. The exchange of money. The filthy sex. The degradation.
Tears don’t come.
Instead, a fiery anger burns through my veins in a violent way.
Screw Leo Morelli for doing this.
He thinks I’ll cower and be shamed? Win toughened me up weeks ago when we started our wicked sexual games. Surely I can weather this storm. Especially since the great Winston Constantine is by my side.
Me: You know, I really did try to protect you and your family. Even if you don’t believe that.
Win: I don’t need protection from a poor maid. Don’t be late, Cinderelliott.
I send him a whole bunch of middle-finger emojis mostly because I know it’ll annoy him to see so many and that I wasted my time tapping the button that many times.
Tossing the phone on the bed, I get up and search out my best, most expensive-looking outfit. If I’m going to get accosted by the media, I might as well look worthy to be at Winston’s side. Based on the headline he sent me, they’re painting him as a monster who took advantage of some poor little girl.
I’m not who they think I am.
If I can handle Win, I can handle anything.
* * *
One look in the mirror and I know there’s no way in hell Winston will be able to ignore me. And the press? They’re going to lose their minds. A smug, victorious feeling washes over me. This must be how Win feels when he financially destroys people.
My black Valentino short crepe couture dress is deceiving. The rounded neckline and capped sleeves seem demure, but the pleated-skirt portion and short length scream flirty. When I move, the material swishes around me, drawing the eye to my thighs. My black Rockstud ankle strap pumps with powder-colored piping are studded with platinum-finish embellishments that give the fairly simple dress a flair for the dramatic with such daring shoes. I snag a small Valentino Garavani 03 Rose Edition Atelier nappa hobo bag, decorated with red leather rose petals, and shove all my items into it from my other purse.
I’d considered putting my hair in pigtails just to fuck with Winston, but at the last minute decided not to press my luck. Instead, I pulled my hair back in a high, sleek, no-nonsense ponytail. My eyes are done dramatically in thick liner and heavy mascara. The smokey eyeshadow and plump red lips finish the look.
The whole ensemble doesn’t say, teenager taken advantage of by filthy billionaire.
It also doesn’t say, high-paid whore.
Right now, I look like a million bucks. A billion if we want to get technical. The point is, I’m a lioness, not a mouse. Claws are bared. Looks can kill. I’m going to wreck…someone…today. Win is definitely rubbing off on me.
There won’t be tears today.
Or shame or humiliation or heartache.
No, this is war.
I’m bringing the big guns to the fight. I chose a side, and though it got stressful with Leo blackmailing me, I know I haven’t done anything to sell out the Constantines. Everything I did tell Leo was a lie anyway.
Still Team Constantine.
All the way.
I make sure Shrimp’s cage is left open and he has plenty of food and water. After giving him the usual excessive amount of birdie kisses and praise, I leave him to explore his new domain on his own.
I leave my apartment and head down the elevator. So far, I haven’t encountered any trouble and I refuse to look at my phone. As promised, a black Mercedes is waiting for me at the curb. I recognize the man as one of Win’s fleet of drivers, Daniel. He gives me a polite nod, his eyes flaring with appreciation of my outfit, before opening the car door. That small, impressed look of his does wonders for my ego and I walk taller, chin up, bitch smile affixed.
“Good morning,” I greet, my voice even and not jittery to my surprise.
“Good morning, Miss Elliott. Looking lovely today.”
A genuine grin fights its way through. “Thanks, Daniel.”
He blinks in surprise that I know his name. I’m more than a pretty face which is why Winston likes me though he’ll never admit it. I’m the full package. Brains and a killer ass.
Okay, so maybe I should scale back the self-love. I want to be like Win, not become him. Hiding my amusement, I sit down inside the vehicle and try not to fidget. The ride is smooth and oddly relaxing. I can almost smell a hint of Winston’s familiar cologne lingering in the air.
I miss him.
Not seeing him last night after what went down was hard. Lonely. Sad. I have to believe that he wouldn’t have been so harsh had he not cared. Winston just doesn’t want to care. But I’ve already gotten inside him just as he got inside me.