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.