The night was heavy with silence as you caught up to him in the palace garden, your chest tight and trembling with every breath.

“Arthur, please… you have to listen. Cinderella isn’t who she seems. She’s not the pure, innocent girl you believe she is.”

He stiffened, shoulders squaring as though your words had struck a nerve, but when he turned to face you, his eyes were hard, cold. “Enough of your lies, Athena. All you’ve ever done is paint her as a monster to make yourself look better. I won’t let you ruin this.”

Your throat burned, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you forced yourself to speak again, desperate. “I’m not lying. I just don’t want you to regret this—”

“Tomorrow,” he cut you off, his voice sharp, final, “she will be my wife. Let go of your bitterness before you destroy yourself.”

The words struck like a blade. He turned, his figure fading into the distance, and you stood frozen, your heart aching with every step he took away from you. That night, you realized you had lost him forever.

—

Two years passed. You never saw each other again.

But his name always seemed to find its way to you, carried by gossip. Arthur, the loyal husband. Arthur, the golden man of the city. And you? You were nothing more than a villain in everyone’s stories. Yet even in the shadows of their whispers, you found something to hold onto. Your dream.

You opened a small bakery in the corner of the city, just as you had always wanted. At first, no one dared touch your pastries—rumors of poison clung to you like smoke. But eventually, brave souls tried them, and to your surprise, they returned. Word spread. People began to smile at you when they left your shop, carrying boxes of warm bread and sweet tarts. You even donated a portion of your earnings to charity. Still, no matter what you did, no matter how much you gave, whenever Arthur’s name slipped through conversations, the ache in your chest reminded you of a wound that never truly healed.

—

Another year slipped by.

And slowly, the perfect image of Cinderella began to crack. People whispered differently now—stories of her temper, her cruelty behind closed doors. Meanwhile, eyes that once narrowed at you softened. They saw you for who you were becoming, not who they thought you had been.

One afternoon, a villager tilted their head at you, eyes wide. “Athena, your hair… it nearly reaches your feet now. Why haven’t you cut it?”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over the heavy locks that trailed behind you like a shadow. “I’ll only cut my hair when I meet the one.”

It was meant as a passing remark, a truth whispered to the air more than to anyone else.

But fate had a cruel sense of timing.

The bell above the bakery door chimed one quiet evening, and when you turned, tray of bread in your hands, the air left your lungs.

Arthur stood in the doorway.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching, unbearable. His gaze swept over you—your flour-stained apron, the warm glow of the shop, your hair spilling like a river down your back. His voice was low, uncertain. “…Athena.”

The tray nearly slipped from your hands. “…Arthur.”

He stepped closer, hesitation in every movement. “They said you changed. That you’re… different now. But I didn’t want to believe it.”

Your heart twisted, but you forced a small, bitter laugh. “I never needed to change. I’ve always been me. You just never wanted to see it.”

His jaw tightened, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I’ve heard things. About Cinderella. I… didn’t want to think you were right.”

You turned away, carefully placing the bread on the counter, forcing calm into your voice though your hands trembled. “You don’t need to admit anything, Arthur. It doesn’t change what happened.”

His lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I should’ve listened to you.”

You shook your head, placing the bread gently into his hands. “What’s done is done. You made your choice… I made mine.”

“Can we.. at least be acquaintances again?..” He asked.

“My shop’s about to close now. You may leave.”