Stealing Cinderella Read online A. Zavarelli

Categories Genre: Angst, BDSM, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Stealing Cinderella

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

A. Zavarelli

Book Information:

Every royal has their dirty little secret. His was… me.
It should have been simple. Go to the ball, meet the prince, and secure his patronage for my favorite charity.
But beneath the mask, the brooding beast of a man was not at all who I expected. He was dark and intense and eerily quiet.
When I left, I could still feel the ghost of his touch branded into my skin.
He haunted my dreams, but I never expected to see him again. Then he came for me.
And he took me. And I learned that his darkness was a void I never could have conceived.
He’s the crown prince of Norway. And, now, I’m his captive.
Books by Author:

A. Zavarelli



“Where are we going, Papa?”

He squeezes my hand in his as we walk alongside a bustling London street. All around us, there are new sights and smells and sounds. A double-decker bus whizzes by, and a group of women in heels scurries past as they rush to catch it. England is so different from the tiny village in France where I come from, and I want to absorb every detail while I can.

“I promised you we would explore the city.” He smiles down at me. “Now we’re here, so let’s explore.”

“It’s getting late.” Narcissa glances at her watch, her eyebrows pinching together. “And it’s a long ride back to Kent. We should call the driver soon.”

“Ahh, but I dismissed the driver for the evening.” My father offers me a mischievous wink. “Ella wants to take the train.”

“The train?” my stepsisters cry out in unison. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Even though they don’t seem to have the same sense of adventure, I can’t help admiring the girls as they go on to discount all the reasons we should avoid a train. With their posh British accents and smart red dresses, they remind me of the Parisian fashionistas on TV.

Magnolia’s hair is long and dark while Lavinia’s is blonde like mine. But theirs contradict my wild curls by flowing like a silky river over their dainty shoulders. Their skin is fair and smooth, complexions Narcissa insists they maintain by avoiding the sun. It’s easy to see they take after their mother, who I’ve already decided is the most beautiful of all. Even more stunning than the actresses from the old French films my father used to watch.

Narcissa is tall and willowy with a grace I could only ever hope to possess, and I often find myself imitating her accent when she’s not around. It’s not difficult to see why my father fell in love with her. Whenever she looks at him, his eyes shine with admiration for her. But whenever she looks at me, her eyes fade to pools of black, and I shrink back into my invisible shell.

“Henri.” Narcissa pouts. “The train is filthy. It’s been such a lovely evening in the city. Let’s not spoil it with this silly nonsense.”

My father glances down at me, and the smile slips from my face. I do want to ride the train, but I also want to make my stepmother happy because it seems as if I never do.

When my father moved us from the only village I’d ever known to make a home with Narcissa and her daughters, he said it would be our grandest adventure yet. But so far, I have not managed to find my place within the family.

Narcissa is the queen of our household, shopping and primping to keep herself beautiful at all times. And my father is the king because he makes all the money to support us. Magnolia and Lavinia are definitely the princesses with their lavish wardrobes and lofty aspirations. But when it comes to me, nothing makes me particularly special or notable, and truthfully, I’m not really sure where I fit in.

“It’s one train ride,” my father insists, urging us forward. “A little adventure will be good for all of us.”

Behind my father’s back, Narcissa’s icy gaze slips to me, and it chills me to the bone. Turning my attention to the pavement, I focus on the cracks as we trudge on. The smell of kebab shops and hot fries lingers in the air, and even though we just ate, my stomach rumbles for more. Someday, I want to try those restaurants too. As we get closer to the train station, those smells disappear, and a quiet stillness settles over the group as my father directs us to the ticket station and then to the platform.

“It’s freezing up here,” Lavinia wails. “Do we have to wait outside?”

“Are you sure the train even comes this late?” Narcissa peers around the empty platform uncertainly.

The conversation that follows fades away as I study the Overground map, checking off all the places we’ll stop on the way back to Cranbrook. A thrill shoots through my veins as I consider what the train will look like inside. Perhaps like one of my father’s old movies where everyone is dressed in fancy clothing, the men carrying their briefcases and the women in those funny hats. Papa and I never had any reason to take the train back in France, but now that we live in England, he promises we’ll take it often to see the places around us.

Papa’s voice sneaks back into my consciousness as he appears at my side, and I’m on the verge of pointing out some of the stops when he grabs me by the arm and shoves me behind him. My heart thrashes like crazy when I feel the tremor in his grip. Instinctively, I know something is wrong before I tune back into my senses, and everything blasts me all at once, like radio static.