The visit from Lucy and Darla left Cinder feeling heavy with worry. For the next two days, she moved around the mansion like a ghost, expecting Clovis to send her away at any moment. She cooked his meals with extra care, but he said nothing about her stepfamily. He was as silent and distant as ever.
Then, on Thursday, everything changed.
Cinder heard the slam of his office door from the kitchen. A few minutes later, his angry voice echoed down the hall, shouting at someone on the phone. She could hear words like "failure" and "unacceptable." The mansion, usually so quiet, felt charged with his stormy mood.
At exactly six o'clock, Clovis stormed into the dining room. He did not sit. He stood at the head of the table, his face dark.
"Cinder!" he snapped, his voice sharp. "Dinner. Now. I don't have all night."
Cinder's hands trembled. She had prepared an elaborate meal—a beef dish that required hours of slow cooking. But looking at him now, she knew it was wrong. Fancy food wouldn't help a storm like this.
"Right away, sir," she said softly.
She went back to the kitchen. She looked at the beautiful beef. Then, she looked at the simple ingredients in the pantry. She made a quick decision.
Ten minutes later, she walked into the dining room. She placed a single bowl and a plate in front of him.
Clovis stared at the food. It was a bowl of creamy tomato soup, with a golden, crispy grilled cheese sandwich on the side. It was the kind of food you eat when you are sad or tired. It was not the food of a billionaire.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"It's dinner, sir," Cinder said, her voice gentle but not afraid. She did not leave. She waited.
He was silent for a long moment. Then, he picked up the spoon. He tasted the soup. It was rich and warm. He took a bite of the sandwich. The cheese was perfectly melted, the bread buttery and crisp. It was simple. It was perfect.
He ate another spoonful of soup. Then another. The angry lines on his face began to soften. The tightness in his shoulders started to fade. He didn't say a word. He just ate, slowly, until the bowl was empty and the sandwich was gone.
He finally looked up at Cinder. She was still standing there, a look of quiet understanding on her face. The storm in his eyes had calmed.
"Thank you," he said. His voice was quiet. It was not the cold, formal voice he always used. It was different. It was real.
A small, warm feeling bloomed in Cinder's chest. "You're welcome, Mr. Blackwood."
He nodded, and for a single second, his eyes met hers. It was just a moment, but it was the first real connection they had ever shared. It was a small spark in the quiet, cold mansion. And for both of them, it felt like the start of something new.