Chapter 28: I’ve Got Somewhere to Be

Two Hours Ago— CYNTHIA'S POV...

The golden glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the grand restroom. Cynthia stood in front of the massive wall mirror, the space around her gleaming with the kind of luxury only Manhattan’s elite could afford. Marble countertops stretched endlessly, polished to a shine that reflected the chandelier above. She leaned closer to the mirror, her face taut with concentration as she applied the final stroke of her eyeliner. She paused, tilting her head slightly, inspecting her work.

“Not bad,” she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible over the faint hum of the central air conditioning.

Her lip gloss was next. She twisted the cap off the shimmering tube, raising it to her lips when— BANG!

The sound of her bedroom door slamming open made her jump. The lip gloss slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the pristine tile floor. Cynthia froze, her heart pounding as a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Are we up to Somewhere, dear sister?” Megan’s tone dripped with venom as she sauntered into the restroom, her heels clicking against the tiles with a deliberate rhythm.

Cynthia straightened, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as she stared at her reflection, her composure wavering. “What do you want, Megan?” she asked, her voice calm but firm. She bent down to retrieve the lip gloss, careful to mask her irritation.

Megan crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway with a sneer. “Answer my question, Cynthia. Where do you think you’re going?”

Cynthia straightened, placing the lip gloss on the counter with measured precision. “I don’t have time for all these,” she said flatly, turning her attention back to the mirror. Her fingers moved to adjust the delicate necklace resting against her collarbone.

“Oh, I'll show you— you have time,” Megan hissed, stepping further into the room. “You need to remember your place in this house. Or have you forgotten already?”

Cynthia paused, her hands stilling. She turned to face Megan, her eyes narrowing. “I remember quite well. You made it loud and clear yesterday. Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

Megan let out a derisive laugh, her eyes glinting with malice. “You still don’t get it, do you?” She stepped closer, her heels scraping against the tile. “You’re nothing more than a glorified maid here now. The concept of ‘personal space’ doesn’t apply to you anymore.”

Cynthia’s lips twitched into a faint, sardonic smile. She turned back to the mirror, her unease visible in the slight tremble of her hands. “Whatever,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

“Whatever?” Megan’s voice rose, her fury bubbling to the surface. “Stop whatever you’re doing and go make me some dinner. A proper, homemade meal. Now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Cynthia’s fingers curled into fists on the counter as she slowly turned to face Megan. Her gaze was piercing, sizing up the woman standing before her. After a tense moment, she broke the silence. “You’re kidding, right?” Her voice was laced with disbelief.

“I’m not,” Megan shot back, her tone unwavering.

Cynthia let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing in the luxurious restroom. “Make me,” she said coolly, her voice a low challenge. She placed the lip gloss down on the counter deliberately, her movements slow and controlled.

Megan’s face twisted in rage. “You little—” She lunged forward, her arms outstretched. But Cynthia was ready. With a swift move, she sidestepped the attack, using Megan’s momentum against her. She shoved Megan hard, sending her sprawling onto the cold, unforgiving floor.

Megan’s cry of pain was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. Cynthia stood over her, her chest heaving as she pointed a trembling finger. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit!” she yelled, her voice cracking with raw emotion.

Megan glared up at her from the floor, her eyes blazing with humiliation and anger, but Cynthia didn’t wait for a response. She stormed out of the restroom, her heels clicking with determination. She grabbed her purse and phone from the massive king-sized bed, her movements hurried and erratic. Without a second glance, she bolted out of the bedroom and down the grand staircase of the estate.

The opulent foyer blurred past her as she reached the massive double doors. Outside, the driveway stretched before her, lined with luxury SUVs and sports cars. She climbed into a sleek black SUV, her hands trembling as she gripped the steering wheel. The engine roared to life, and she sped out of the estate, the tires screeching against the cobblestone.

The Manhattan skyline loomed ahead as Cynthia navigated through the bustling streets, her mind racing. The confrontation replayed in her head like a broken record. Her jaw tightened, and before she realized it, tears were streaming down her face. She pulled into a public parking lot and killed the engine, resting her forehead against the steering wheel.

The sobs came unbidden, her shoulders shaking as she let out all the frustration and pain she had bottled up. The weight of the past few days, the endless taunts, and the constant belittling felt suffocating. She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears, but they kept coming.

Minutes turned into an hour, then almost two. The city’s noise faded into the background as she sat there, lost in her thoughts. Finally, she lifted her head, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror and grimaced. Her makeup was ruined, streaked and smeared from her tears.

With a shaky hand, she wiped her face, trying to salvage what was left of her appearance. Her fingers trembled as she fixed her eyeliner and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss. Her resolve hardened as she stared at her reflection. “I’ve got somewhere to be,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.