Page 9 of Cinderella and the Daddy
I smile and close the door.
Not exactly free, but at least I’m not locked in.
I notice the door to the closet is open. When I turn on the light, I freeze.
The closet is filled with clothes. I step forward and grab one of the new pairs of jeans.
My size.
I check the rest of the things: shirts, sweaters, and even a few dresses.
All new. The tags are still attached.
“What the hell?”
After taking advantage of the amazing shower and slipping into a pair of new panties and silky pajamas, I climb into bed.
I close my eyes and take it all in.
Why does being stolen feel safer than home ever did?
3
CINDY
Two days in my gilded cage, and I'm still waiting for the axe to fall.
I’ve mapped out most of the compound during my supervised wanderings. The guard—a mountain of a man named Viktor—follows me everywhere but doesn’t seem to care where I go as long as I stay within the gates.
The housekeeper has stocked my room with everything from designer toiletries to my own personalAmericansnacks, as she calls them.
But no one is talking to me.
I’m still being treated like a pariah. None of them look me in the eye. If I ask a question, they pretend they don’t understand.
And that is bullshit because I hear them speaking in English all the time.
But no one is actively trying to kill me or insult me. I haven’t been forced to scrub the floors or the toilets.
So all in all, pretty civilized for a kidnapping. How crazy is it that I had to be kidnapped to escape my life as Cinderella?
I still don’t have my dog. Or my phone. No purse. No ID.
And Luka has vanished. No sign of him since that first dinner. Part of me wonders if he even lives here.
I need to find him and ask about Mac.
That's how I find myself sneaking away from Viktor during his afternoon smoke break. I told Luka I wouldn’t run—ifmy demands were met.
Yes, yes, I’m the kidnappee making demands from my kidnapper. I held up my end of the agreement. I didn’t try to escape.
But if he wasn’t going to get my dog, then I was going to try to escape.
I’m pretty sure I know where the exit is. And the garage. It takes me a few wrong turns in this labyrinth, but when I push open a door, my breath catches.
Polished concrete floors gleam under LED lighting. Tool chests that cost more than most people's cars line the walls. And in the center, like a dark altar, sits the Boss 429.
"Fuck me," I whisper in awe.
