Page 113 of Cinderella and the Billionaire Boss

“Why?”

“Because nobody understands. Everyone thinks I’m overreacting. Even my sisters. Everyone thinks Dad is witty and charismatic. They don’t see the other side of him.”

“What is the other side?”

“He’s a controlling bastard.” The words burst out of her. “And I was always too fucking weak to stand up to him. Abigail, Evie, and Chrissie all took after him, and they were all rebellious. They managed to give as good as they got. But I took after Mum. She never argues with anyone, and she used to beg me not to argue with him or upset him. I was the baby, the good girl, who did what she was told. I hated confrontation, and he absolutely dominated me. My school years were fucking miserable.”

She wipes away the tears that continue to spill out of her eyes. “It carried on when I went to university. Because he was paying for the course, Dad demanded I live at home rather than on campus. Other kids might have rebelled, slept around, gone to parties, but I was too terrified of his disapproval.” She puts her face in her hands.

My heart aches for her. “Heidi…”

“It’s so hard to explain,” she says, lowering her hands again. “Men—and even a lot of women—don’t have a clue how hard it is for others to stand up for themselves. They say things like, ‘Oh I’d have just told him to fuck off and walked out.’ They make it sound so easy, and they tell you you’re weak. They don’t get how some people are so overbearing. It’s like trying to stand up in a cyclone.”

“Did you ever talk to your sisters or Huxley about it?” I ask curiously.

She shrugs. “My sisters all thought I was exaggerating. They said I was being a wuss and I just needed to stand up to him. Oliver was more understanding, and he tried to help. He spoke to Dad about it once—they had a huge argument. Oliver said that Dad needed to let go a little, give me a bit more freedom. But Dad just turned on him, mocked him, told him to mind his own business. Oliver had his own problems with him.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them clash over the years.”

“He tried to talk me into moving out, to go into halls of residence, or even to live with him. I did think about it, but I backed down in the end. I couldn’t bear the weight of Dad’s disapproval. It’s so hard to explain.”

“Heidi—I understand. My own father is like it, maybe not quite to the extent of yours, and of course I’m a guy, which makes it easier in many ways. But it’s only recently that I realized how long I’ve been trying to get Dad’s approval. It was Alan who told me I’m never going to get it. It was a revelation for me. And liberating. But the point is, I understand. So, anyway, what happened after that?”

“I’d been emailing Grandma—she was the only person I could really talk to about it. She knows what he’s like, of course. She’s seen the way he’s treated Mum sometimes, and she hates it. I was in my last year at university, close to being qualified. I was still living at home. I told her I wanted to leave but I didn’t know if I was strong enough. And she said why not come over to England for a while? I had citizenship because of Mum, so I’d be able to work. As soon as she said it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“What happened when you told your dad?”

She inhales, and blows the breath out slowly. “We had the argument to end all arguments. Dad began by yelling at me, saying I wasn’t going, I was being ridiculous. Normally I’d have caved, but I’d booked my ticket, and I’d done a phone interview with Lucy, my headmistress, and gotten the job, so I felt that I couldn’t back out. And that gave me the courage to stand up to him. I said I was going whether he liked it or not, and I was sick of him trying to control me. He had a meltdown, called me all the names under the sun, said I was ungrateful, told me I was delusional if I thought he’d let me go. I ask what he was going to do—chain me in the cellar?”

“Jesus.”

“I suddenly realized he only had as much power over me as I was willing to give him. He said he’d stop my allowance, even cut me out of his will. I realized that when I was earning my own money and could support myself, I wasn’t beholden to him, so I told him to do it. Like you said, it was liberating.”

She sighs and leans back. All the color has drained from her face. I know it’s tough for her to re-live this. “That last hour at the house was just horrible. I packed my bags, all while he was yelling at me. Mum was in their room, crying. I should have called Oliver or one of my sisters, but I just wanted to get out. I threw everything in two suitcases with him standing over me, shouting. I took them to the front door. He came with me, and he tried to pull the cases out of my hands. I opened the front door, and he stepped in my way and told me to go back indoors. I refused and said I was leaving, and that I hated him. And then…” Her bottom lip trembles, but she lifts her chin. “He hit me.”

My jaw drops. “Ah no.”

“A backhander, across the face.”

“Oh, Heidi…”

“I think he knew he’d gone too far. I walked out, and he didn’t try to stop me. I got my cases, ran to the car, threw them in, and drove away. And I haven’t been back to the house since.”

I’m so shocked, I’m not sure what to say. “Did you tell Huxley or your sisters?”

She shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t think they’d have believed me. I didn’t want to talk about it, anyway. I was so glad to get on that plane, I can’t tell you.”

“Did he mention it the next time you spoke to him?”

“I haven’t.”

I stare at her. “You haven’t spoken to him since you left New Zealand?”

“No. He hasn’t called me, and I haven’t contacted him. I speak to Mum once a month or so. And obviously I’m still in touch with my sisters and Oliver.”

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