Chapter 91

Chapter 91
Cindy's POV

I sat on the floor of my room for what felt like hours, tears streaming down my face. The image of Bianca's perfect hand on John's arm played over and over in my mind like a broken record. The way she called him Marco. The way she looked at him was like he belonged to her.
But as the tears dried on my cheeks, something else began to build inside me. Something hot and fierce and dangerous.
Anger.
I was tired of crying. Tired of feeling sorry for myself. Tired of hiding in this beautiful prison while John lived his perfect life with his perfect Italian girlfriend downstairs.
I needed answers. I needed to know if I was really free from Big Jim's debt, or if this was all just another lie. Another broken promise from a man who had already shattered my heart once.
I stood up slowly, my legs shaking not from weakness this time, but from pure rage. I walked to the mirror and stared at my reflection. My eyes were red and swollen from crying, but there was something new there, too. Something that hadn't been there before.
Fire.
I marched out of my room and down the hallway, my bare feet silent on the marble floor. I knew exactly where John's room was - I had heard the maids talking about it. The master bedroom at the end of the hall.
When I reached his door, I didn't hesitate. I knocked hard, my knuckles making sharp sounds against the wood.
"Come in," came his deep voice from inside.
I pushed the door open and stepped into his room. It was massive, decorated in dark colors with expensive furniture everywhere. The bed was enormous, unmade, like he had just gotten out of it. The smell of his cologne hung in the air, making my heart race despite my anger.
John was standing by the window, still wearing that black tank top that showed off his muscles. When he turned around and saw me, his eyes widened in surprise.
"Cindy? What are you doing here?"
The sound of my name on his lips made something twist in my chest, but I pushed the feeling away. I wasn't here to feel sorry for myself anymore.
"Take me to Big Jim," I said, my voice coming out stronger than I expected.
John stared at me like I had lost my mind. "What? No. Absolutely not. You're not strong enough to-"
"I'm not asking for your opinion," I interrupted, crossing my arms over my chest. "I said take me to Big Jim. If you're not going to take me, I'll just go myself. How about that?"
John's face went pale. He took a step toward me, his hands raised like he was trying to calm down a wild animal. "Cindy, listen to me. The doctor said you need rest. You're still recovering-"
"I need to see Big Jim," I said, my voice getting louder. "Whether I'm alive or dead after that is not your business."
John's face twisted with pain, like my words had physically hurt him. "Cindy, you've changed so much..."
Something inside me snapped. "I'm Sasha," I said, my voice cold as ice. "Don't call me Cindy."
John's eyes filled with something that looked like heartbreak. He reached out his hand toward me, like he wanted to touch my face. "Cindy-"
"Are you taking me or not?" I cut him off, stepping back from his reaching hand.
We stared at each other in complete silence. The air between us felt electric, charged with all the pain and anger and hurt that had been building between us for weeks. I could see the war going on behind his dark eyes - the battle between wanting to protect me and knowing he couldn't control me anymore.
His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles working. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. He looked like he was fighting every instinct he had.
The tension was so thick I could barely breathe. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. Neither of us moved. Neither of us blinked. It was like the whole world had stopped, waiting to see who would break first.
Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. "I'll get dressed," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
I turned around and walked back toward the door, but before I stepped out, I heard him whisper, "Cindy..."
I didn't turn around. I couldn't. If I looked at him one more time, I might break.
I closed his door behind me and leaned against it, pressing my hand to my chest. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it might explode.
"What the hell was that?" I whispered to myself.
I walked back to my room like I was in a dream. My legs felt weak, but not from sickness this time. From whatever had just happened between John and me in that room.
I went straight to my wardrobe and stared at all the clothes Maria had bought for me. Pretty dresses in soft colors. Cardigans and skirts that made me look sweet and innocent. Clothes that reminded me of the old Cindy - the naive girl who believed in fairy tales and happy endings.
Something dark and angry rose up in my chest. I grabbed an armful of the dresses and threw them on the floor. Then I stepped on them, grinding them under my bare feet.
"I'm not going to let them walk over me ever again," I said out loud, my voice shaking with rage. "I won't become sweet, naive Cindy anymore."
I reached for one of the few black dresses in the wardrobe - a simple sheath dress that went to my knees. But simple wasn't what I wanted. I grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk and cut the dress short, making it hit mid-thigh. Then I cut the neckline lower, making it show more skin.
I pulled my short hair back into a severe style that made my face look sharper, more dangerous. I found red lipstick in the makeup Maria had brought me and painted my lips bright red. I slipped on black boots that had heels high enough to make me taller, stronger.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. This wasn't the broken girl who had collapsed on the stairs two weeks ago. This wasn't sweet, innocent Cindy who believed in love and happy endings.
This was someone new. Someone harder. Someone who wouldn't be pushed around anymore.
I walked out of my room and down the hallway, my heels clicking on the marble floor like a warning. When I reached the front door, John was already there waiting for me, his car keys in his hand.
When he saw me, he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes traveled from my face to my dress to my boots and back again. His jaw dropped open.
"What are you wearing, Cindy?" he said, his voice sounding strangled. "You can't go out looking like that."
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "What do you mean? This is how I dress now. And I am Sasha. Stop calling me Cindy, for Christ's sake. Stop stressing me out."
John stared at me like he was seeing a ghost. His face had gone completely white, and his hands were shaking slightly.
"John," I said, my voice sharp as a knife. "Are you taking me, or should I call an Uber?"
He continued to stare at me for a long moment, his eyes filled with something that looked like pain. Finally, he walked to his car and opened the passenger door for me.
I rolled my eyes again and slid into the seat beside him, making sure to cross my legs in a way that showed off the short hem of my dress.
John got into the driver's seat and immediately threw his jacket over my lap, covering my exposed legs.
"Stop trying to be who you're not," he said, his voice low and intense. "Don't let what happened define you. This is not you, and you are not Sasha. You're not a doll for entertainment. You're human, and you deserve all the happiness. You deserve peace too, Cindy."
I stared at him, feeling something crack inside my chest at the pain in his voice. But I couldn't let myself feel sorry for him. I couldn't let myself care.
"Are you done lecturing?" I said, my voice cold as ice. "Or is there more?"
John's face crumpled like I had slapped him. He looked away from me and started the car without another word.
I reached over and turned the radio up as loud as it would go, filling the car with music so I wouldn't have to listen to him try to talk to me. Then I turned to stare out the window, refusing to look at him as he pulled out of the driveway.
But as the mansion disappeared behind us, I had to fight back tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. I pressed my lips together hard, tasting the bitter flavor of my red lipstick, and forced myself to stay strong.
I wouldn't let him see me cry. I wouldn't let him see how much his words had affected me. I wouldn't let him know that deep down, underneath all this anger and pain, I was still just a scared girl who wanted someone to love her.
But those days were over. Sweet, naive Cindy was dead. And Sasha was going to make sure she stayed that way.