The Jilted Heiress's Ruthless Return To Power

The metal teeth of the zipper ground together with a harsh scraping sound. Dakota pulled it closed, sealing the faded canvas backpack. She slung the worn strap over her right shoulder. The coarse fabric rubbed against her collarbone. She did not look back at the room. There was nothing left in this space that belonged to her.

The heavy carved wooden door of the guest bedroom slammed open. It hit the wall with a dull thud that rattled the picture frames in the hallway.

Brande Walton stepped into the room. The sharp clicks of her high heels stabbed into the hardwood floor. Her eyes swept over the bare walls and the small backpack, her upper lip curling in disgust.

Erling Walton followed closely behind his wife. He crossed his arms over his chest. His chin tilted upward, looking down the bridge of his nose at the girl they had raised for years.

Cindy Walton peeked out from behind her parents. A wide, uncontrollable smile stretched across her face. Her eyes darted around the room, making sure Dakota was actually leaving.

"Get your things and get out," Brande said. Her voice was flat and cold. "This is no longer your home. You do not belong here."

Erling reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a crisp piece of paper. He flicked his wrist, tossing the check onto the edge of the stripped mattress.

"There is a check for five hundred dollars," Erling said. He spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "That is more than enough for a bus ticket back to whatever slum your real parents live in. Do not ever contact us again."

Dakota looked at the piece of paper resting on the bed. Her chest did not tighten. Her breathing remained perfectly even. She did not reach for it.

"I do not need your money," Dakota said. Her voice was completely steady. "I am only taking what is mine."

Cindy pushed past her mother. Her eyes locked onto the bulging front pocket of Dakota's backpack. Her fingers twitched.

"Her bag looks completely stuffed," Cindy said. Her voice pitched higher. "She definitely stole something from us. Probably my jewelry."

Brande's face flushed red. The veins in her neck stood out.

"Open that bag right now," Brande demanded. "Empty it on the floor. I want to see every single item."

Dakota shifted her weight. She turned her body slightly to the side, keeping the backpack shielded behind her right shoulder. Her muscles coiled, ready to move.

Erling took a heavy step forward. His face turned purple with rage. He pointed a thick finger directly at Dakota's face.

"If you do not open that bag, I will call the estate security," Erling shouted. "They will strip it off you."

Dakota let out a short, breathy laugh. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone.

"I can call the police for you," Dakota said. She raised her left hand and pointed toward the corner of the ceiling in the hallway. "There is a twenty-four-hour security camera right there. It records audio. Let them see who is trying to rob who."

Erling's eyes snapped to the black dome on the ceiling. The muscles in his jaw locked. He swallowed hard. The police arriving at the Walton estate would cause a scandal.

Cindy saw her father hesitate. She let out an angry huff and lunged forward. Her hands reached out, her manicured nails aiming straight for the canvas strap on Dakota's shoulder.

Dakota's eyes narrowed. She dropped her left shoulder and stepped backward in one fluid motion.

Cindy's hands grasped empty air. Her momentum carried her forward. Her ankle twisted sharply in her high heels. She let out a yelp and crashed heavily against the wooden bed frame.

Dakota looked down at Cindy clutching her ankle.

"Do not touch things that do not belong to you," Dakota said. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Brande rushed forward and grabbed Cindy's arm, pulling her upright.

"You ungrateful little bitch," Brande spat. Her chest heaved. "Your real parents are bottom-feeding trash. You deserve to rot in poverty with them."

Dakota's eyes went completely dead.

"People at the bottom at least know what shame is," Dakota said.

Erling's face twisted into an ugly snarl. He pointed toward the open door.

"Get out of my house," Erling roared. "Get out."

Dakota shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her washed-out jacket. She kept her spine perfectly straight. She walked past them, her boots making soft, even sounds on the floorboards.

She stepped out into the hallway. The thick, expensive carpet absorbed her footsteps. She did not walk faster. She did not look down.

The three Waltons stood in the doorway of the bedroom. They stared at her back as if she were a disease leaving their home.

Dakota reached the top of the grand staircase. She walked down the steps. Several maids were dusting the banisters. They stopped and stared at her. Dakota ignored their wide eyes. She walked straight across the marble foyer toward the massive front doors.

Dakota pushed the heavy mahogany doors open. The cold morning air hit her face, stinging her cheeks. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sharp scent of pine trees. She stepped off the porch and began walking down the long, private driveway covered in crushed white gravel.

The sound of frantic footsteps crunching against the stones echoed behind her.

Cindy ran down the driveway. Her chest heaved, and her face was red from exertion. She sprinted past Dakota and planted herself directly in the middle of the path, blocking the way.

"Give me the bag," Cindy panted. Her eyes were wild with frustration. "You are not leaving with it."

Dakota stopped. She stared at the spoiled girl in front of her. Her jaw clenched.

Cindy did not wait for an answer. She reached out with both hands, aiming to rip the canvas strap off Dakota's shoulder.

Dakota's left hand shot out. Her fingers clamped down on Cindy's right wrist like a steel vice. Dakota twisted her grip sharply to the left.

A sharp cry tore from Cindy's throat. Pain shot up her arm, forcing her fingers to spring open.

Dakota did not let go. She pulled Cindy's wrist downward, throwing the girl off balance. Dakota raised her right hand high into the air. Her palm sliced through the cold wind.

The slap echoed across the empty driveway. The impact stung Dakota's palm.

Cindy's head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint instantly bloomed across her left cheek. She stumbled backward, her hands flying up to cover her face. Her eyes widened in absolute shock.

"You hit me," Cindy screamed. Her voice cracked. "You worthless piece of trash. You actually hit me."

Dakota flexed her right hand, shaking off the numbness in her fingers.

"That is the penalty for putting your hands on me," Dakota said. Her voice was ice.

Cindy's face twisted with pure hatred. She dropped her hands, a vicious smile forming on her lips.

"You think you are so tough," Cindy sneered. "Euless and I are getting engaged next month."

Dakota heard the name of her former fiancé. Her heart did not skip a beat. Her breathing remained steady.

"He was sick of you," Cindy bragged. She took a step closer, trying to reclaim her power. "He said you were boring. He always wanted me."

Dakota looked at Cindy's triumphant face. She let out a soft, mocking laugh.

"Congratulations," Dakota said. "You picked up the garbage I threw away. Keep it."

The smug look vanished from Cindy's face. Her face turned purple. She let out a scream of rage and lunged forward again, her hands raised to scratch Dakota's face.

Dakota did not step back. She simply stared at Cindy. A heavy, suffocating pressure radiated from Dakota's posture.

Cindy hit that invisible wall of pressure. Her feet stopped moving. Her hands dropped to her sides. She suddenly felt very cold.

"I hope you and that dog are very happy together," Dakota said. She turned her back on Cindy and continued walking down the gravel path.

Cindy stood frozen on the driveway. Her fists shook at her sides.

"You are going to die in the gutter," Cindy screamed at Dakota's back.

Dakota reached the massive wrought-iron gates of the estate. She stepped through the pedestrian opening. The heavy metal clanged shut behind her, cutting off Cindy's voice.

She stood on the edge of the public road. She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the text message from the transport company.

A terrible, grinding noise shattered the quiet morning. It sounded like metal chewing on metal.

A rusted Ford sedan chugged around the corner. The blue paint was peeling off the hood. Thick black smoke poured out of the tailpipe, leaving a dark cloud in the air.

The car jerked toward the curb. The brakes squealed loudly as the vehicle stopped right in front of Dakota's boots.

The passenger window rolled down with a painful screech. A middle-aged man with a kind, apologetic face leaned over the center console.

"Are you Miss Dakota?" the man asked. He wiped sweat from his forehead.

Dakota stared at the rusted door panel. She raised an eyebrow. She reached out, grabbed the loose door handle, and pulled it open.

The rusted Ford rattled violently as Gus pressed the gas pedal. Dakota felt the vibrations traveling up through the floorboards and into her boots. The car slowly pulled away from the curb outside the Walton estate.

Up on the second-floor balcony of the mansion, Erling and Brande stood side by side. Erling held a pair of black binoculars to his eyes.

Brande let out a loud, sharp laugh. The sound carried over the balcony edge.

"Look at that piece of junk," Brande mocked. She pointed a manicured finger at the departing car. "Even our gardeners drive better vehicles. She is right where she belongs."

Erling lowered the binoculars. A cruel smirk sat on his lips.

"She will rot in the slums," Erling said. "She will beg to come back to us in a week."

Cindy walked onto the balcony. She pressed an ice pack against her swollen red cheek. She stared at the trail of black smoke disappearing down the road. Her chest heaved with vindictive pleasure.

Inside the car, Dakota grabbed the plastic handle above the door frame. The vehicle bounced hard over a pothole. Her teeth clicked together.

Gus gripped the steering wheel with both hands. His knuckles were white. He kept glancing at Dakota in the rearview mirror. His face was flushed with embarrassment.

"I am so sorry, Miss," Gus coughed. The smell of burning oil filled the cabin. "The car we arranged broke down on the highway. I had to rent this from a used lot down the street just to get to you on time."

Dakota looked at the cracked dashboard. She gave a small nod.

"It is fine," Dakota said. Her voice was calm. She did not complain about the smell or the shaking.

Gus blinked. He had expected the young lady to scream at him. Her silence made him grip the wheel tighter.

The Ford merged onto a tree-lined highway heading toward the city. The speedometer needle shook as it climbed to forty miles per hour.

A loud, muffled pop sounded from under the hood.

Instantly, a thick cloud of white steam exploded from the front grill. It plastered against the windshield, blinding them.

The car jerked hard. Every red warning light on the dashboard flashed to life. A high-pitched alarm shrieked inside the cabin.

Gus slammed his foot on the brake pedal. He yanked the steering wheel to the right. The tires skidded against the asphalt. The car bumped over the shoulder of the road and rolled to a dead stop under a large oak tree. The engine died completely.

Gus ripped his seatbelt off. He shoved his door open and ran to the front of the car.

A wave of hot steam hit him in the face. Gus coughed violently, waving his arms to clear the air.

Dakota pushed her door open. She stepped out onto the grass. She walked to the front of the car, standing upwind so the steam blew away from her.

Gus peered under the hood. His shoulders slumped. He turned to look at Dakota.

"The radiator blew," Gus said. His voice was full of defeat. "It is completely dead."

Dakota looked up and down the empty highway. Trees lined both sides. There were no buildings in sight.

"How far are we from the city?" Dakota asked.

Gus wiped grease off his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Too far to walk," Gus said. "We cannot get a cab out here. A tow truck will take three hours."

Gus bit his bottom lip. He looked down the road.

"There is a luxury auto dealership just around the corner, less than half a mile up the road," Gus said. He started backing away. "I will run there and just buy a new car. I will be right back."

Dakota paused. Most people would say they were going to call a car. He said he was going to buy one. She did not question him.

"I will wait here," Dakota said. "Be careful."

Gus bowed his head repeatedly. He turned around and started sprinting down the edge of the highway. His heavy boots pounded against the dirt.

Dakota stood alone next to the smoking vehicle. She grabbed her canvas backpack from the passenger seat and set it on the hood of the car.

The wind blew past her, rustling the dry leaves on the ground. She unzipped the side pocket of her bag and pulled out a plastic water bottle. She twisted the cap off and took a slow drink. The cold water slid down her throat.

A sudden, aggressive screech of tires tore through the quiet air. It came from the sharp curve just up the road.

A woman's terrified scream followed the sound of the tires.