Chapter 3 : She's No Cinderella

Ella

Disoriented and groggy, I sit up in my bed from the nightmare I've been having. I take a few deep breaths, looking around the guest room as I take in my surroundings. I calm myself slowly, memories of the previous days blurring together.

I'm at Rachel's house. George has chosen another woman over his bride.

Charlotte is... pregnant.

Those words shoot through my veins like an ice storm. A chill shivers down my spine, and I find myself shaking.

"Bastard."

It's the word that gets me up, but a piercing headache and sudden sweats knock me back.

I feel my forehead. God, is that a fever? Maybe that's why I feel so shitty.

It takes me another ten minutes to stand. I wrap a light blanket around my shoulders as I head for the kitchen to see my best friend.

"Morning, Ella. You still look like shit."

Rachel is perfectly coiffed this morning, like always. Her ponytail is already tied up tight, and those signature black heels boost her up to give her the perfect shape. It's a wonder she hasn't been flocked to by people through the years. I can't remember the last time she brought up a potential date.

Of course, dating both men and women has advantages, but according to her, it has just as many disadvantages. As long as Rachel's happy, then that's all I care about.

"Am I sick?" I manage to ask, the sentence bringing a couple of coughs. Shit.

"You had a high fever last night. Thank God I came to the apartment when I did. Someone's got to give a damn about you."

My lips tug upwards, and I feel grateful for the greatest friend I could have.

In the background, I hear the television talking as I sit at Rachel's breakfast nook.

"Reports have been confirmed as of this morning that the singer is indeed pregnant. Thankfully the fetus has been thoroughly checked out since the accident that Miss Deluca was involved in—"

My eyes widen, but Rachel is faster, snapping the remote at the screen and turning it off.

I look around, still feeling shitty. "Where's my phone, Rach?"

She doesn't answer, picking up her coffee cup and scrolling through her own device. I wait, watching the slow sip and return of the mug to the counter.

"Rachel."

"No, you're not getting your phone, idiot. It's everywhere online right now. The last thing I want is you going into distress over all of this again."

I look at the crease on my friend's forehead, and I do see the worry behind her eyes. I see the need to take care of my heart.

"Please just let me see it. No use avoiding the inevitable, right?" I try to give her my best puppy dog eyes, but end up coughing again. I'm definitely getting myself some brownie points for sure.

She turns away, but not before she rolls her eyes at me. "News only." The television springs back to life as the reporters' voices return to the house.

"—the discussion online involving her mysterious boyfriend. The little amount of information we've been spoon-fed involves the boyfriend hiring the city's top doctors to give her round-the-clock care. Seems to be a very caring boyfriend, and maybe even baby daddy?"

"Might need to vomit," I gag.

"Trash can to your left or sink to your right. Either way, don't aim for my new shag rug or I'll chop off your hair in your sleep."

"You're the only person who'd be able to get away with it," I deadpan.

"You know, what I don't understand is how you're so calm about all of this. The news is making a mockery of your life, talking as though your husband is some handsome Prince Charming off to save his Princess, his true love. But George and Charlotte are in the spotlight while you're here, and it pisses me the fuck off."

Rachel's hands have made it to her hips, and she is pursing her lips as she watches the news. Her dark makeup gives off the perfect smokey eye as she taps her heel repeatedly on her floor.

"What am I going to do, Rach? I mean, really. If George loved me, this wouldn't be happening, and Charlotte wouldn't be pregnant with his baby while he is married to me. I'm upset, but there's no reason to spout hatred and get even. What would the world even think about me? They barely know I exist. The last thing I need is to bring my own name into this."

"I can't believe that Charlotte took care of George after his accident all those years ago. I mean, what does that woman know about medical science and vegetative states?"

That feeling of overwhelming anxiety tries to creep back in at her words. Of course Charlotte wasn't involved in his healing process.

Of course, I'm the real woman who saved his life.

"Is he doing it out of gratitude? And if that's the case, does that mean he absolutely MUST be with her? God, and getting her pregnant on top of it all—"

"It doesn't matter anymore, Rach." I let my voice break through the rest of her sentence, no longer caring about the subject.

I can sit here and whine about my past mistakes and faults, but it won't solve my current problems. Hell, it's not even going to solve many of my future problems.

"Do you have anything to eat? I'm starved. My stomach's been growling for hours."

Rachel studies me, but when she realizes the change in subject is one I want to stay permanent, she nods her head in the direction of the pantry. "Couple of cereals in the closet. Probably some bread to make toast. Just take it easy, okay?"

If I force myself to eat something for breakfast, maybe it'll help not only my sickness but also my attitude towards everything. Distractions are called such for a reason.

"Gonna use the bathroom first, one second."

I go to the familiar powder room and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My forehead is sweating, even though I can't feel it. My eyes are drooping, and I realize my throat has gone dry. I wonder if it was a virus I caught, or if I'm run down from the stress, anxiety, and severe life changes.

Could be both.

I splash cold water on my face a few times to help the warmth in my cheeks decrease, and finally start feeling just a tad better. As I dry my face, I watch my reflection again, realizing that the cracks between myself and my husband are already there, and there's no chance they'll ever be fixed. It's time to make a decision. This marriage is DOA.

I know that, and I know George does, too.

I end up making some toast and cereal, feeling my fever slightly improve as I eat. We're chatting about nonsense, and it feels nice to get lost in small talk.

But of course, it's only temporary.

"Breaking news in the Charlotte Deluca case. It seems as though the driver who caused the accident has been identified as a woman named Ella."

My jaw completely drops.

"Police say they are investigating the matter further. The chief of police has reassured residents of Toronto to be on the lookout for this Ella woman. No images of her exist as of yet, but when we get them, you'll be the first to know."

Rachel picks up her phone and starts tapping away as my jaw stays unhinged. How in the ever-loving fuck did this get out?

"Oh, mama," Rachel whispers, garnering my attention. I stare at her, waiting for more information as she reads. When she lifts her head, she sees my intense eyes, and she knows not to make me wait. "Online... people are... cursing you out and demanding your arrest."

I roll my eyes at this pathetic bullshit. Maybe this is all life will be from now on: possible jail time, and hatred for an accident I never caused.

Rachel slams her phone down so hard I genuinely jump in my seat, sending my spoon flying out of the bowl and onto the counter.

"She stole your husband and framed you for the accident! She wants to send you to jail!" She's absolutely fuming right now, and I watch as her dark skin turns a shade of dark pink. Oh, no, when Rachel gets angry, she gets heated, and then there's no stopping her.

"When did you become so easy to bully?!" she snarls. "I can't believe this fucking bitch! I'm going to explode in a second, and I'll be nothing more than my curls and heels!"

Calmly as I can, I state, "She found a way."

"What way?" Rachel bites, rolling her shoulders back. "I'm about to kick someone's ass, I swear."

I lean in and whisper in Rachel's ear, explaining exactly what I mean to my best friend so she's on the exact same page.

When I pull away, I see the awe in her eyes. She smirks, pats my shoulder and says, "Now, that is the Ella I know and love."

I stand up straight again. "I'll handle this. Now's the time. I'm going to get that divorce."

"You're so calm and serious, I'm shocked. But I'm also surprised you're going to drop him like he's nothing more than a stepping stone on your path to happiness."

I nod. "It's time."

"Glad you've finally come to your senses, Ella. Get rid of that man quickly and swiftly," she says, slapping her hands together as if to rid herself of the filthy man. "Let George be with whoever he wants. We won't accompany him any longer!"

I nod, smirking. "Yeah, I won't accompany him. You're right."

"I never liked the prick anyway. I love you, but never understood why you married him. So, you have my full, wholehearted blessing to dump the bastard."

I go to my bag in the corner of the room, reaching in and grabbing the divorce agreement to hand over to the other woman. She takes it and skims it, rolling her dark blue eyes with distaste.

"It states you leave with nothing." She returns my gaze. "Is leaving with nothing too cheap for George?"

The truth is, I'm not lacking in money. Not in the goddamn slightest.

"I mean, you ARE the daughter of the financial tycoon of Toronto. You're definitely no poor Cinderella," she muses. "So, you know, maybe it's best if you drive a stake through the heart of that heartless dick."

"Sounds like a great idea," I tell her.

"Just do one thing, babe. Be confident when you meet with George later. Give him the performance of a goddamn lifetime."

My full smile returns to my face. It's been a long time since I've been able to smile like this. "Oh, I assure you, Rach. I haven't forgotten. Time to bust out some old garb."

I exit the elevator on George's law firm's floor a few hours later, strutting down the hall in the outfit I handpicked: a midi-length black dress, somewhat skintight, and a black blazer that I've purposely left unbuttoned to project the power and body confidence I'm aiming for. It's been a while since I stepped into these red-bottomed Christian Louboutin heels that perk my ass up to the perfect degree.

I look like a goddamn Goddess. My long brown hair is stacked in a bun on top of my head, in play for later, and I let my sunglasses shield my eyes as though I'm the VIP of the century. The best part? The makeup perfectly shows off the features I've missed.

In short, I'm here to play dirty and win at every damn turn.

Miss Cates, who yelled at me yesterday, stands quickly upon my arrival at her desk.

"Page Mr. Wickham. Tell him Ella will be waiting in his office for him."

"Of course, ma'am, of course. Right away."

An attitude change. How could I POSSIBLY have known that was coming?

I bite my cherry-red lip as I make my way down the hall. I look forward to being welcomed into George's office.

Whether he wants to or not.