Stealing Cinderella Read online A. Zavarelli

Categories Genre: Angst, BDSM, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
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“You poisoned him?”

She nods with a finality that indicates she’s made peace with her decision. “It will never be detected.”

“Why?” I study her, trying to understand.

“It was the only thing that made sense.” Her voice hardens. “He failed my son, and I could never forgive him for that. I wouldn’t leave you here with him, Thor. I couldn’t. This was the last thing I could do to protect you, and I would do it again.”

When I don’t respond, her voice fractures, and it fractures me too.

“Please understand, I have no fear of the consequences of my actions. I only fear that you will never forgive me.”

“I forgive you.” I memorize the lines of her face, so I’ll never forget. “I had no love in my heart for him. I realize that now. It was only ever the desire to be loved.”

“Oh, Thorsen.” She brings a trembling hand to her lips, holding back her pain. “I’m so sorry he was incapable of seeing how lucky we were to have a son like you.”

“I don’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says. “I want you to tell me the truth, always. Even if it hurts me. Especially when it hurts. Promise me you will from now on.”

“I promise.”

Through the tears in her eyes, I can see light again. “Now, can we move forward?”

I lean in and kiss her on the cheek before I turn her toward the door, so I can take her back to her room.

“There’s something I have to do first.”

Charlotte hasn’t answered my texts or calls, and I’m beginning to wonder how much of a friend she can really be to Ella. Olivia has been silent too, and my irritation only compounds as the plane taxis in from the runway.

Han called me this morning to alert me he finally had something. A port document stating Ella got off the ferry in London early this morning. As soon as the jet was ready, I was on it. But her friends' sudden silence leaves me with more questions than answers. Now that I’m in London, something feels off, and I can’t identify the reason for this lingering tightness in my chest. It isn’t until I take my phone off airplane mode that a slew of notifications floods in.

There are three missed calls from Olivia and two from Charlotte, along with a handful of texts requesting I call either of them. The tone is unmistakably urgent, and I can’t seem to dial Charlotte fast enough.

“Hello?” She sniffles on the other end of the line.

“It’s me,” I tell her. “Where is she?”

“Ella’s in the hospital!” she cries out.

My heart slows to a crawl, and the phone nearly slips from my grasp. “What?”

“She took something. Olivia found her at the sanctuary, and there was a bottle of Nerium oleander beside her.”

My vision swims, and I feel my body swaying as the plane comes to a halt. This can’t be real. I’m shaking my head, but the words aren’t coming, and when I finally force them out, I don’t recognize my own voice.

“Ella wouldn’t do that.”

“She did!” Charlotte sobs on the other end of the line.

I drag in a breath and try to focus on what I need to do. What is the next logical step? Because right now, I’m too fucking numb to string a sentence together.

“What hospital?” I choke out.

“Hawkhurst,” Charlotte answers.

“How long has it been?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice rises. “Olivia found her thirty minutes ago. We don’t know how long it was before that.”

“I’m on my way.”

I hang up the phone without waiting for a response and meet the driver as I exit the plane, giving him instructions to take me to Hawkhurst right away. When I’m in the car, I dial my mother’s nurse. After a brief argument with her about waking my mother, she puts her on the line.

“Thorsen?” she asks sleepily. “Is everything okay?”

“The antidote.” My words are stilted, barely audible. “What is the antidote for the oleander?”

“Thorsen, no—” She releases a sorrowful sob.

“It isn’t for me, but I need to know right now. Please, Mor… there isn’t time.”

“Charcoal would be the first option,” she responds with jarring breaths between words. “Then intravenous magnesium, possibly atropine. But those have their own risks, particularly if the heart is affected. It depends on the dosage. The entire bottle, it’s highly unlikely any of those things will help. Who took the oleander?”

“I’ll explain later,” I apologize. “I have to go. Just… don’t worry about me.”

I disconnect the call and text the information to Charlotte while asking the driver how far away we are. He tells me we are still forty minutes out, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so fucking useless. When I dial Charlotte again, she answers breathlessly.

“They’ve already given her charcoal,” she says. “And I told the doctor what you said, but they won’t give us any other information.”


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