The Heiress They Destroyed Had a Daughter Like Me

My mother married the old bachelor, and seven months later, I was born full-term.

She was the village disgrace. Notorious for it.

To raise me, she let the old bachelor send her to the beds of other men.

She scraped and suffered to put me through school.

But I skipped class, picked fights, and raised hell at every turn.

The neighbor's kid threw a rock at me. I broke his leg.

My uncle's son called me a bastard. I kicked him between the legs hard enough to end his bloodline.

The old bachelor put his hands on me. I cracked his skull open with a brick.

Every time I caused trouble, people came to our door.

My mother would drop to her knees in front of them, slamming her forehead against the ground until blood ran down her face, begging them to let me go.

They'd beat her half to death, but she'd still hold me tight against her chest, crying, pleading with me:

"Margot Hayward, I'm begging you, please stop fighting. Please."

"I'm afraid one day I won't be able to protect you anymore..."

I thought she was nagging. So I gave in, grudgingly, and promised I wouldn't raise my hand again.

Then, when I was eighteen, the wealthiest family in the city sent someone to take my mother away.

They said she was their real daughter, swapped at birth by the nanny.

A month later, she was sent back.

When I saw her body, not a single patch of skin left unbroken, I trembled with excitement.

She was dead.

Finally, no one could tell me what to do.

...

My mother's corpse was wrapped in a white sheet and dumped in the uneven dirt of our yard.

The dried blood on the fabric had turned black, making the savage scars across her body even more grotesque.

The one who brought her back was the Harding family's butler.

He wore an expensive suit, pinched his nose, and cast a look of disgust at the body on the ground.

Then he lifted his chin and looked me over, head to toe.

Like I was something filthy.

According to him, my mother had sticky fingers. She stole things. Worse, she was jealous of the fake heiress, tried to take her room, and abused the fake heiress's daughter.

She'd even cut up the fake heiress's clothes, poisoned her food, and tried to push her down the stairs.

In the end, she got what she deserved and fell to her death herself.

The Hardings were ashamed of her. They refused to acknowledge her as one of their own.

Her body wouldn't even be allowed into the family cemetery.

But they were generous people. They pitied me and were willing to take this little bastard back to the Harding estate out of the goodness of their hearts.

I stared at the body on the ground.

Her face had rotted beyond recognition.

A month ago, when they came to take her, she'd held my hand and wept with joy.

She told me that once she'd settled in with her real parents, she'd send for me. After that, no one would ever bully me again.

She was going to watch me study, get into a good college, land a good job, marry a good man, and live a happy life.

Too bad. She was a cold corpse now,

and she'd never see any of it.

I didn't say a word.

I grabbed the iron shovel, dug a hole behind the house, hoisted her thin, small body over my shoulder, and threw her in.

Like burying a dead dog.

Not even a coffin.

When I got in the car to leave, the butler started lecturing me, his finger jabbing so close it nearly touched my forehead:

"You're nothing but a bastard born to a cheap woman. Don't go dreaming about things that don't belong to you."

"Miss Caroline is kind enough to bring you back. You should be grateful."

"When you see Miss Caroline, you bow and greet her properly. Know your place..."

"..."

God, he was loud.

I dug a finger in my ear, then grabbed the finger he was pointing at me and snapped it. One clean crack. Then I punched his two front teeth out.

My worn-out shoe pressed into his face, and my voice was ice cold:

"I don't care whose dog you are."

"In front of me, I'm the master and you're the mutt."

The moment I stepped into the Hardings' gilded mansion,

a glass shattered at my feet.