They Mourned The Wrong Daughter

Five years in the suffocating depths of the Blackwood forests, where I was sold like cattle by the girl who stole my life.

I ran ninety-nine times.

And ninety-nine times, they dragged me back, treating my body like a canvas for their cruelty. Bones that shattered and mended crookedly. A belly that swelled with forced pregnancies and then hollowed out. A tongue snipped away, piece by agonizing piece, until only a mutilated stump remained.

Before my hundredth attempt, I decided to end it all. I was going to poison every last one of them. But then, crouching in the shadows of the old barn, I overheard Hank, the local foreman, talking to one of his men.

"The ultra-wealthy really know how to amuse themselves," Hank chuckled, spitting tobacco onto the dirt. "Setting up a whole mock-up facility out here in the middle of nowhere just to treat the fake daughter like a rabid dog."

"The poor bitch is too stupid to realize this entire setup was just an elaborate lie to keep her out of the way while Miss Christine carried her pregnancy to term in peace," the other man laughed.

"She can try to escape a thousand times. A fake is just a sewer rat in the end, nothing more than a stepping stone for Christine."

Despair, cold and absolute, swallowed me whole. I didn't hesitate. I uncapped the bottle of agricultural herbicide and drank it down, letting the burning chemical slide down my throat. My lungs caught fire, my stomach melting. I rolled in the dirt, clawing at my chest, but through the agony, a ragged, breathless laugh tore from my throat.

Free. I was finally going to be free.

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed.

I curled into myself, every breath feeling like I was inhaling crushed glass.

A few minutes ago, Hank had shuffled into the room, looking pale and rubbing his hands together nervously. "Mr. Cross... I think we went too far this time. Miss Isla... she might not make it."

Jackie Cross walked to my bedside. He looked down at me, those cold, beautiful eyes I had once loved now completely vacant.

"Isla, you left me no choice."

"You stole Christine's life for eighteen years. You lived in her luxury, slept in her bed. This is your penance. This is what you owe her." He bent down, his icy fingers wiping away the dried blood at the corner of my mouth. "Now that Christine has safely delivered her baby and taken her rightful place as the heir to the Whitmore estate, your punishment is over. I'm bringing you home. You'll work as a maid in my house, and you can still be close to me."

He tossed a glossy shopping bag onto the bed.

"I brought you new clothes. Change, and let's go."

But the poison was already liquefying my lungs. I couldn't move. I couldn't even lift a finger.

Seeing me lie there motionless, Jackies patience thinned.

"Get up. I've explained everything to you. What are you throwing a tantrum for?"

"Did eighteen years as a spoiled princess make you forget who you actually are?"

A bitter wave washed over me. A tantrum? Who was I to throw a tantrum? Who would even care? My parentsthe people who looked at me with pure hatred the moment the truth came out? Or him, the man who couldn't wait to discard me? My life had been an endless nightmare, and now, I wasn't even allowed to die in peace.

My silence infuriates Jackie. His expression darkened, and he turned to Hank, his voice sharp.

"Is this how you've been managing her? She's completely forgotten how to behave."

Hank paled, bowing and scraping. He grabbed my hair and dragged me off the bed, slamming my head against the concrete wall.

Thud.

A sickening crack. Warm blood instantly flooded my vision, blinding me. He did it again. And again. The pain was a blinding white light, my consciousness splintering.

Suddenly, a slender figure burst into the room, throwing herself between us.

It was Christine. Tears streamed down her flawless face as she fell to her knees, clutching Jackie's legs.

"Jackie, please! Don't do this to her!" she sobbed, looking like a tragic angel. "Being taken by those awful people... maybe it was just my destiny. I never blamed her! She's a victim too. Please, just let her go!"

Jackies expression softened instantly, his chest heaving with protective tenderness. He pulled her gently to her feet.

"This isn't your fault, Christine. You're too sweet. She's just ungrateful."

He glared at me.

"Do you hear her? You stole her life, and she still has the grace to forgive you. What more do you want?"

"Get up! Stop playing dead to get attention. If you behave, I will still let you be a maid at my estate."

I opened my mouth, but only a wet, raspy wheeze came out. My lungs felt like lead weights. I knew my time was short. Soon, I would be free.

Hank mutters, "Mr. Cross, that herbicide... it's deadly. Even livestock don't survive three days after drinking it. Miss Isla... she's really dying."

"Shut up!" Jackie snapped.

"Shes a fraud. She spent eighteen years manipulating the Whitmores with her tears. Do you honestly think Im stupid enough to fall for it now?"

Christine clung to Jackie, whimpering, tugging his sleeve. "Jackie, don't be so hard on Isla... even when she poisoned my baby, I forgave her..."

Jackie kissed her temple. "You're too good for this world. If she wants to play the martyr, let's see how long she can keep up the act."

He gestured to his bodyguards. They grabbed me by the wrists and dragged me out like a dead animal, down the sterile hospital hallway, and tied my wrists to the trailer hitch of his SUV.

The engine roars. The car surged forward.

The rough asphalt tore through my skin, leaving a thick smear of crimson on the road. I screameda guttural, voiceless shriek of pure survival instinct. But the driver only accelerated.

Jackie watched from a distance, a cold smirk on his face.

"Look at that. I knew she was faking."

As my bones cracked against the pavement and my throat closed up, my life flashed before my eyes. The girl I used to be. The parents who loved me. The boy who once bought me a star and named it after me, who filled the night sky with fireworks on my eighteenth birthday, whispering, "Isla, I will protect you forever."

But that fairytale shattered. A single DNA test stripped me of my name, my family, my humanity. I became the parasite.

I gave up my room, my inheritance, my dignity. But I couldn't give up Jackie. I thought he loved me, not my last name.

Until the night I caught him and Christine outside a hotel. When I demanded answers, he only frowned.

"Isla, the woman I marry must be the Whitmore heiress. Are you?"

The SUV speeds up. The physical agony was secondary to the numbness in my chest.

Then, I hallucinated. I saw the twenty-three-year-old Jackie, wearing a tailored suit, kneeling before me.

With my last ounce of strength, I murmured, "Jackie... let me go... let me die..."

The illusion shattered. The real Jackie stood over me, his face twisted in disgust.

"Stop looking at me with those filthy eyes!"

"If you hadn't pushed Christine down the stairs and caused her miscarriage, you wouldn't be here today! You poisoned her because you couldn't stand that she took your place, your parents, and me."

"Whatever you're suffering now is not even a fraction of what she went through!"

It was always my fault. Because I was the "fake."

When Christine threw herself down the stairs, I was the one who pushed her. When she shattered the family heirlooms, I was the culprit. She even poisoned herself to miscarry her own child, just to rid herself of me forever. A single tear from her, a soft whimper of, "I don't think sister likes me," was enough to seal my fate.

I closed my eyes. I didn't even have the strength to bitter-smile.

Just as I began to drift into unconsciousness, a hand yanked me up by the collar. The pressure on my chest eased slightly, and I gasped for air.

Jackie sneered. "Kowtow to Christine three times. Promise you will serve her as her dog for the rest of your life, and I might let you live."

A hollow laugh echoed in my mind. My legs... they put metal plates in my knees three years ago after my fiftieth escape attempt. I couldn't even stand, let alone bend them to kneel.

"Still playing the proud princess?" Jackie growls, kicking me hard in the ribs.

Christine quickly steps in, grabbing his arm. "Jackie, don't force her. She was raised as a Whitmore. How could she ever humble herself to bow to me? Let it go."

Her "kindness" was the perfect fuel.

Jackie threw her hand off and laughed coldly. "Won't bow? Then I'll make sure she can never stand again."

He nodded to the bodyguard. The SUV shifted into reverse, the engine revving.

Panic, cold and sharp, shot through me. Hank pinned my shoulders to the ground.

Crack.

The heavy tire rolled over my legs. The pain was absolute, white-hot, dividing my body in two.

Jackie watched me writhe in the dirt. "Ready to bow now?"

As the reverse lights flared again, I trembled. I knew what would happen if I didn't. Using my elbows, I dragged my broken body forward, pressing my forehead into the gravel. Once. Twice. Three times. Every movement tore my lungs apart. When I finished, my arms collapsed, and I fell face-first into the blood-soaked dirt.

Suddenly, Christine rushed over and kneels, wrapping her arms around me in a mock embrace. She leaned in, her voice a poisonous whisper in my ear.

"Since you're dying anyway, I'll tell you a secret."

"You actually are the real Whitmore heiress. I paid a fortune to fake that DNA test."

My eyes widened. The blood in my veins turned to ice.

She smiled, a sickeningly sweet expression. "I was always smarter, prettier than you. Why did you get to have the perfect life while I rotted in the dark? I wanted to see the great Isla Whitmore crawl in the dirt. Look at you now. You look like a sewer rat. It's beautiful."

Before I could process the horror, she shoved me away, cupping her hands over her face, crying hysterically as she ran to Jackie.

"Jackie! She tried to bite me! She's insane!"

Before I could make a sound, Jackies heavy boot crashed into my jaw. My teeth shattered, blood pooling in my mouth.

"You crazy, ungrateful bitch!" Jackie screamed. "Even now, you try to hurt her!"

I tried to scream the truth. But my severed tongue could only produce wet, gargling noises. No... I'm the daughter... I'm the real one...

Jackie frowned. "What? Are you still trying to claim Christine is the fake? Still trying to play the victim?"

I nodded desperately.

He backhands me across the face. "I can't believe I ever loved you. To lie like this, even at death's door!"

The tears that slipped down my cheeks were mixed with blood. What a farce. I was the victim, yet I was begging my torturer to believe me.

Jackie turned to the guards. "If she's only going to use that mouth to spit poison and lies, she doesn't need it. Tear out whatever is left of her tongue and throw her in the pool to wake her up. She needs to learn her place."

Hands pinned me down. I watched the metal shears slide into my mouth. Then, a rush of copper, a blinding wave of agony, and absolute silence.

They dragged me to the edge of the estate's swimming pool and threw me in.

The freezing water rushed into my nose and throat. I thrashed wildly, but a hand clamped onto the back of my neck, pushing me deeper. Over and over, until my limbs grew heavy, and the light above the water began to fade.

Through the water, I heard Jackie's muffled, tender voice. "Don't worry, Christine. I've handled her. Once she's a maid in our house, she'll never hurt you again."

A bodyguard whispered, "Mr. Cross... she's stopped moving. She's not coming up."

Jackie sighed impatiently. "Leave her. She's just acting. When she's swallowed enough water, she'll beg for mercy."

Acting.

They stole my parents. My love. My life. What did I have left to act with?

The dark water filled my chest. The pain faded into a quiet, cold weight.

Finally. It was over.