Page 16 of Cinderella and the Daddy
"Leo, I'm sure your dad can handle?—"
“Please?" The kid deploys those big eyes like weapons. "You use better voices for the characters."
She glances at me. I give a slight nod.
“Alright, then,” she smiles and gently touches his head.
I think she’s seen his back by now. Viktor told me they went swimming together. She seems to know not to touch his back.
Leo holds her hand while I walk behind them back to his room.
Leo's room smells like crayons, clean sheets, and the faint vanilla of the nightlight that keeps the darkness at bay. His drawings cover every surface; stick figure families with too many smiles,houses with crooked chimneys, and dogs that look suspiciously like Mac.
“Which story tonight?” Cindy asks, settling into the chair I bought for these moments. It's never felt right when I use it—too formal, too much like the distance I've spent three years trying to bridge. But she fills it perfectly, tucking one leg beneath her like she's always belonged here.
“The dragon one,” Leo says, already drowsy. “But make him Russian this time. Like Papa.”
The words hit like shrapnel. In Leo's world, Russian means safety. It means the man who pulled him from hell and promised him heaven. It means me.
Cindy's eyes find mine over his head, and I see understanding there. Recognition of how fragile this moment is, how easily it could shatter.
"Which story tonight?" she asks, smoothing his hair back from his forehead with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.
"The one about the dragon," Leo says sleepily.
Cindy's voice weaves through the darkness, telling stories of brave princesses and misunderstood dragons who just want to protect their treasures. Leo's breathing deepens, his small body relaxing into the kind of trust I thought was lost forever.
She leans down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and my chest constricts.
“Sweet dreams, little love,” she whispers.
“Night, Mama.”
The word slips out on a sigh, and the world tilts sideways. Cindy goes statue-still, her hand frozen against his hair. I watch color drain from her face—see panic flood her system like poison.
She starts to pull away, but Leo's fingers tangle in her shirt, holding her close even in sleep. His face is peaceful in a way I haven't seen since before Anya destroyed him.
“Mama,” he whispers again, and something breaks open in my chest.
She slowly withdraws her hand and steps away.
I step to the side and allow her to pass me. I stand there until I hear her door close.
I look back at Leo, who has drifted off to sleep.
Holy shit. What did I do?
5
CINDY
Two weeks in LukaMarkovic’s world feels less like survival and more like captivity dressed in silk. Endless food, an open bar, a theater, two pools—the whole fantasy package.
Too bad fantasies still have locks on the doors.
I don’t know where I stand here—hostage, guest, house pet? The roles keep changing.
I’ve stopped planning escapes. Mac’s happy. Leo’s laughter has filled the quiet corners. Even the staff have startedseeingme instead of pretending they don’t.
