REAL CINDERELLAS DON’T HAVE FAIRY GODMOTHERS (1)

Backstage, in the farthest makeup room tucked away from the noise of the theater, I slipped inside undetected. My footsteps were light, urgent. The door shut behind me with a soft but firm click.

My heart pounded against my ribs as if trying to escape, still racing from the final applause—and everything that had happened right before the curtain fell.

I pressed my back to the door, letting the silence swallow me for a moment. Then, I reached up and tugged at the roots of my blonde curls. The hair came away in one swift motion—it was only a wig.

My bundled-up locks tumbled free, cascading in silky pink waves down my back like a cherry-blossom waterfall. They caught the air as I gently shook them free, letting them—and me—breathe.

A quiet sigh slipped from my lips as I tilted my head, letting the air touch my neck and cool the sweat clinging to my skin.

I exhaled deeply and turned to face the mirror.

The girl staring back at me wore the tattered rags of Cinderella—her soot-stained, soaked dress clung to her skin, heavy with cold water. Droplets slipped from the hem, forming puddles beneath her feet.

I touched my cheek—it was red and swollen, the skin blotched from the sting of a slap. My lower lip was split; the bleeding had stopped, but a smear of red still lingered.

No time to wallow.

I peeled the soggy costume off my body, wincing as it clung to my skin like second flesh. I slipped into my usual clothes: a loose black shirt that hung just past my waist and a pair of dark pleated trousers, a little too baggy.

The soft dryness of cotton embraced me, carrying the quiet comfort of being safe again. At last, I pressed a medicated patch to my left cheek, still burning from the slap.

I checked the clock. Nearly midnight.

“I need to get out of here… before someone finds me,” I muttered under my breath.

Just as I turned the lock, the door unlocked with a tiny clack, and I froze.

Standing right in front of me was a tall guy with a lean but toned frame. A glittering jacket clung to his broad shoulders, half-zipped to reveal a sculpted chest.

“Hi, Airi,” he said, voice smooth like warm honey.

“—Yousuke,” I breathed, startled.

“I saw the play,” he said with a slight smirk. “You were shining out there.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, eyes shifting away as I hastily double-checked that all the makeup I had borrowed was neatly put back in its place. Unconsciously, I turned my face slightly, shielding my bruised cheek from his view.

But he had already seen it.

“She really did a number on you this time, didn’t she?” he said, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

I stiffened.

“Don’t you ever think about getting back at her?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I scoffed under my breath. “As if. You know how hard I had to fight just to land the lead in this play.” My voice wavered slightly. “Her dad practically owns this entire theater... and a dozen more across the city.”

I looked down, fingers tightening around my bag. “As long as she doesn’t get in the way of my work, I can handle it.”

I hated how weak I sounded when I’d fought so hard to stand on that stage. But that was the truth. I had clawed my way here, through endless auditions and backstage whispers.

This role meant everything to me—and enduring a little more wouldn’t break me.

Yousuke’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying me. “Still… doesn’t mean you have to take it lying down. If you want, I can help you to get back at her.” he said dryly, as if he actually found the whole thing entertaining.

I forced a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“I’ll live. I’ve taken worse hits. I’m pretty durable, you know.”

And it’s not like he was offering out of kindness. Nothing in this world comes free—there’s always a price. By now, I had learned that lesson countless times.

I’d been around him long enough to see through the act—all that smooth charm was a well-fitted disguise. But underneath it all, he was a snake.

Yousuke opened his mouth to speak, but I stepped past him.

“Now move. It’s late, and I need to get home.”

“Then you don’t need to worry anymore,” Yousuke said, that signature cocky smile tugging at his lips. “I can drop you home. And hey—maybe we could enjoy a long drive… or a late-night date at that beachside hotel I mentioned.”

I didn’t even blink. “No thanks. I just want to go home and rest.”

But he wasn’t listening. As if my words were just background noise, his hands moved forward, aiming to slide around my waist.

I immediately stepped back. “Don’t touch me.”

Yousuke’s brows twitched in irritation. “Aren’t I your boyfriend? It’s been two months and you haven’t even let me hold you. Any other girl would’ve jumped into my arms by now.”

I met his gaze, voice steady. “I’m not ‘any other girl.’ And definitely not like your exes. Don’t forget—you were the one who came to me. I never asked for this.”

“But you said yes,” he shot back. “Because I’m the Yousuke—top model, actor, and influencer. I told you I could introduce you to some of the best talent agencies. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“You said it yourself,” I said bitterly. “If I’m your ‘contract girlfriend,’ then at least hold up your end of the deal. I’ve waited weeks. Every time you asked me to meet, I sat there for hours with nothing but a cold cup of coffee—and none of your so-called connections ever showed up.”

I clenched my fists, heat rising to my cheeks—not from embarrassment, but rage.

When I first met him on set, I thought he was a nice guy—the way he spoke kindly to everyone gave that impression. I believed that forming a connection with him would help increase my visibility and expand my network, since he had been working in the industry since he was a kid.

It was supposed to be a strategic move.

But the story twisted. Suddenly, I was branded the manipulative nobody who had trapped a star like him. His followers flooded my social media with cruel comments, slandering me with words I wouldn’t dare repeat.

Even my personal mailbox—though I have no idea how they found my email address—was flooded with hateful messages and threats from his fangirls.

I wanted to speak out. To tell the truth.

But Yousuke stopped me. He said he didn’t want anyone to know the truth—that he was sick of all the confessions. He promised that I’d just be his “stand-in” girlfriend, a placeholder. And like a fool, I agreed.

“What’s the problem, Miss Wannabe Princess?” a new voice cut in sharply.

I froze. No… not her.

Sakura.

She strolled in like a storm on heels—playing the part of Lucinda, the wicked stepsister, even offstage. Her arms were folded, smugness dripping from every word. “Yousuke here is doing everything for you, and you’re just brushing him off?”

“This has nothing to do with you, Sakura,” I said coldly.

“Oh, but it does. I can’t just sit back and watch a stuck-up little girl like you break the heart of a kind, innocent guy.” She tilted her head and batted her lashes at Yousuke.

And Yousuke played right into it, letting her pat his arm like he was the victim.

“Oh, if you feel so sorry for him—then what about me,” I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady. “Why did you slap me during the performance, when we clearly agreed in rehearsals, you’d only twist my ear for show?”

Sakura’s expression didn’t falter. In fact, she smiled.

“Oh, that?” she said with a smirk. “Yeah, I remember now. But it looked so bland, y’know? So, I decided to spice things up. Don’t tell me you missed the audience’s reaction? They loved it. Like puppies wagging their tails. It made you shine more as Cinderella. Isn’t that what matters?”

I gritted my teeth. “And the bucket? It was supposed to be mostly empty? But instead, it was filled to the brim with freezing water. I had to act the whole time, drenched and trembling in the cold.”

Sakura giggled, unfazed. “Again, just a little extra touch of reality. Cinderella suffering in rags—what’s more realistic than being drenched in ice water? You pulled it off so well, Miss Perfect. I knew you’d handle it.”

I stared at her. “What if I got sick? Who would’ve played Cinderella next week? Certainly not you—you didn’t even qualify for the role.”

Sakura flinched for just a second. Her smirk faltered. I hit a nerve.

“Hey, I think you’re overdoing it now,” Yousuke cut in, stepping between us.

He turned to Sakura and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “You, okay?”

She didn’t waste a second. With a soft whimper, she leaned into him, burying her face in his chest like she’d rehearsed the scene a hundred times. Yousuke didn’t pull away—he just stood there, letting her cling to him like she was the one who’d been wronged.

“You’re so mean,” she sniffled, her voice muffled against his shirt like the lead in some second-rate drama. Cue the crocodile tears.

“See what you’ve done?” Yousuke snapped at me.

I stared at the two of them—unbelievable.

“I don’t care,” I muttered, looking away, frustration prickling under my skin. I didn’t want to stay in this place a second longer. “See you both at practice.”

I turned on my heel and walked away, not sparing them a final glance. My boots echoed softly across the empty hallway as I approached the theater’s rear exit.

At the sign-out register, I scribbled my name, eager to disappear from this place for the night.

But then—I froze.

The tiny chain on my purse. Broken.

My treasured keychain—the only keepsake I had of her.

It was gone.

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