Page 31 of Cinderella and the Daddy

Thirty minutes later, I can see Leo is exhausted. I’m about to step in, like I’m his mom or something, when Luka calls it.

“Good job, son. Go get some water and your snack.”

Luka removes the gloves from his hands.

Leo grins at me. “Did you see me, Cindy? I killed that bag!”

“Yeah, you did. You’re the toughest five-year-old I’ve ever seen.”

He runs out of the gym to get his snack.

Luka puts away the gloves and pretty much ignores me.

As usual.

"Where's Leo's mother?" The question tumbles out before I can stop it.

I watch the transformation happen in real-time. Every muscle in Luka's body locks down, his expression shifting from engaged to carved stone between one heartbeat and the next. It's like watching armor snap into place.

"She's gone." Each word drops like a stone into still water.

But I catch something else in his eyes—a flash of rage so pure it makes me step back. Not at me. At her. At the woman who should have protected Leo and chose not to.

"Gone like dead, or gone like abandoned him?" I press, even though every instinct screams at me to drop it.

His jaw works like he's chewing glass. "Does it matter? Gone is gone. Leo is mine. That's all you need to know."

Except it's not. Because I see that little boy flinch when women raise their voices. See how he hoards food in his room like someone who's been hungry before. See the scars on his back that no child should carry.

"It matters," I say quietly. "Because he still wakes up afraid she'll come back."

The words hit their mark. Luka's mask cracks, just for a second, showing something raw underneath. "She won't. I made sure of that."

The certainty in his voice tells me everything I need to know. Leo's mother is the kind of gone you don't come back from.

It’s weird. I know it’s weird. I know Leo isn’t Luka’s biological son. Did he kidnap him? That seems like a huge burden to take on just for fun. And there’s no denying Luka loves that boy and vice versa.

“Are we going anywhere today?” I ask.

“No.”

His clipped answers—and the fact he’s not looking at me—tells me he doesn’t want me around.

Message received.

I leave the gym and make my way to the kitchen. The nanny is there, getting Leo fixed up with some apple slices and chocolate milk.

I join him, choosing to munch on some cheese and crackers for our mid-morning snack.

"Come on, Leo," I say, after finishing our snacks. "Want to help me in the garage? I've got some tools that need cleaning."

The boy's face brightens immediately. "Really? Can I use the cool rags?"

"The coolest rags," I promise.

The garage is my sanctuary in this place. Surrounded by engines and tools and the familiar smell of motor oil and metal, I can almost pretend I'm back in my old life.

Almost.