Page 46 of If The Shoe Fits

This is a scene I want no part of.

My pulse is racing, my instincts screaming at me to step back, to let this play out without me. But then Wulfy speaks, and his words pin me to the spot.

“Stop it right now,” he growls, his voice low and full of authority.

The room goes deathly quiet.

“You and I, and everyone else here who is acquainted with Madora Troy, know that is simply not true, Cynthia.”

Cyndi freezes, her eyes darting up to meet her father’s.

“And,” Wulfy continues, his voice softer now but no less commanding, “if you insist on spreading lies about one of the most honorable people in this Academy, then we’re going to have an even bigger problem than we already do.”

Cyndi’s cheeks flush a deep crimson, and for once, she looks utterly at a loss for words.

“Now,” Wulfy says, his golden eyes glowing faintly as he guides her to the slipper display, “try the slippers on.”

His voice is low, firm, and undeniable.

The room holds its collective breath, all eyes on Cyndi as she hesitates, glancing nervously at the glowing glass slippers.

For the first time all evening, the confidence she usually wears like armor seems to falter.

She looks up at Wulfy, then at me, her mouth opening and closing like she wants to protest but can’t find the words.

Finally, with a huff, she bends down and reaches for the slippers.

And I can’t help but wonder—what will they reveal about her?

I bite my lip and watch as the typically hoity and proud Cyndi steps forward in her pale blue gown, which I admit is a marvelous color on her with her blonde hair and sapphire eyes. She bites her lip and sits, attempting to slide her foot into the slippers.

They don’t fit.

She focuses, tries again, using a different angle.

But no matter how hard she tries to force them on, the shoes will not bend or grow to match her feet.

Cyndi hisses and stomps, then in a fit of anger I should have seen coming, she lifts her other foot, which is clad in a seriously spiked stiletto, and she brings it crashing down on the glass slipper, shattering it into a million pieces.

The entire ballroom gasps—and my heart is hanging on tenterhooks.

chapter eighteen

“This is stupid!” Cyndi screeches, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. “Of course, it doesn’t fit me! Pop, I told you how wicked she is! We should leave this stupid town. It was so much better before we came here!”

Her beautiful, crystal-covered gown swishes dramatically as her hands fly to her face. Tears spill over, and her face crumples under the weight of emotions she can no longer hide.

“Cyndi,” I say, stepping forward despite every instinct screaming at me to stay out of this.

She is still just a teenager, and the way she is so obviously upset, well, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

My voice is soft but steady as I ask, “If I have ever hurt you, I am sorry for it. But why do you hate me so much?”

Her sobs hitch for a moment, and she peeks at me through her fingers, her expression a mixture of guilt and defiance. Before she can respond, Wulfy steps in, his voice calm but firm.

“No, this is not you, Madora,” he says, wrapping his arms around his daughter and pulling her close despite her resistance. “You have done nothing.”

The crowd shifts uneasily, a few students and chaperones beginning to lose interest and wander away, but most remain rooted to the spot.

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