I Became My Scumbag Son’s Mother To Save My Daughter

The last year of my life, the year the cancer was eating me alive, was the same year my daughter, Clara, married into the Ashworth dynasty. I died believing she was finally safe, set up for a life of storybook happiness. I was wrong. Less than a year later, Preston Ashworth’s so-called “Lost Love”—the one he was supposedly destined for, the woman who returned to turn our world to ash—came back. Serena Hayes. The torment she inflicted, drove Clara into a debilitating depression. Seven months pregnant, and the viper was making her down shots of hard liquor in a VIP room. The rage that exploded in my chest—the sheer, blinding injustice—was enough to finally let go. I took my last, rattling breath. Then, I woke up. I was no longer Clara’s dying mother; I was the formidable Eleanor “Ellie” Sterling, the undisputed matriarch of the family that was systematically destroying her. Preston Ashworth’s mother. I found the location and kicked open the heavy door to the private room. Serena Hayes, a picture of false piety in a flowing silk dress, immediately plastered a smile on her face and rushed over. “Ellie! Mother Ashworth, what a surprise. How you come here?”

Chapter 1 The last year of my life, the year the cancer was eating me alive, was the same year my daughter, Clara, married into the Ashworth dynasty. I died believing she was finally safe, set up for a life of storybook happiness. I was wrong. Less than a year later, Preston Ashworth’s so-called “Lost Love”—the one he was supposedly destined for, the woman who returned to turn our world to ash—came back. Serena Hayes. The torment she inflicted, drove Clara into a debilitating depression. Seven months pregnant, and the viper was making her down shots of hard liquor in a VIP room. The rage that exploded in my chest—the sheer, blinding injustice—was enough to finally let go. I took my last, rattling breath. Then, I woke up. I was no longer Clara’s dying mother; I was the formidable Eleanor “Ellie” Sterling, the undisputed matriarch of the family that was systematically destroying her. Preston Ashworth’s mother. I found the location and kicked open the heavy door to the private room. Serena Hayes, a picture of false piety in a flowing silk dress, immediately plastered a smile on her face and rushed over. “Ellie! Mother Ashworth, what a surprise. How you come here?”

1 The room went instantly silent. The handful of people inside, the hangers-on and sycophants, all stared. Serena, her hand instinctively resting on her perfectly tailored bump, kept her saccharine smile fixed. “Did Preston send you to pick me up…?” I didn’t spare her a glance. I walked straight past her, my eyes locked on the leather sectional. My daughter. Seven months pregnant, Clara was pinned against the cushions, struggling as a group of people tried to force a glass down her throat. The stench of spilled whiskey already permeated her thin dress. “Let her go.” The man with the loud floral shirt paused, looking uncertainly at Serena. Serena grabbed my arm, her touch instantly repulsive. “Mother Ashworth, it’s just a game. Clara lost a round, so she’s being punished.” CRACK! The sound—a wet, shocking crack—cut through the tension. I’d used all my resurrected strength on the slap. “Who do you think you’re calling ‘Mother’?” I hissed, my voice dangerously low. “Clara Ashworth is the only legal, recognized daughter-in-law of this family. You are nothing.” Serena’s head was still turned to the side, her expression frozen in disbelief. I didn’t look at her, my gaze hard and unforgiving. “I’ll say it one more time. Get away from her.” Serena’s eyes started to well up, a practiced show of wounded innocence. “Clara was being dramatic. Besides, a tiny sip of wine never hurt a pregnant woman…” “A tiny sip? That was a full glass of single-malt whiskey!” The thought of the burning liquid being forced on my pregnant daughter sent a renewed wave of fury through me. My eyes swept pointedly over Serena’s own noticeably prominent belly. “You’re a pregnant woman, too. Why don’t you offer to drink that for her?” “Absolutely not!” Serena recoiled instantly, a flash of pure fear crossing her face. “Mom, what are you doing here?!” Preston Ashworth’s voice boomed from the doorway. Serena instantly broke free of my grip and rushed to him, her eyes now truly red. “It was nothing, Preston! We were just playing a silly game with Clara, and Mother Ashworth got so angry…” Preston wrapped his arms around her, instantly comforting his mistress. “Mom, it’s just a drink. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” He didn’t spare Clara a single glance. Not one. Watching him, my heart went cold, inch by devastating inch. This was the man my precious Clara had trusted with her life. This was the son-in-law I had prayed over from my deathbed, hoping he would give her the happiness I could no longer guarantee. I spoke, my voice devoid of warmth. “This is the only warning you will get.” “If Clara and that child suffer any kind of permanent harm, I promise you, I will not hesitate to ruin you both.” 2 I drove Clara straight back to the Ashworth mansion, a cold silence hanging between us, and ordered the household staff to see to her comfort. A young maid, hesitant, guided Clara towards a dimly lit corner on the second floor. Then she pushed open a door I hadn’t noticed—a door that led to a small utility closet. The maid helped Clara inside and started to close the door. A rush of foul air—stale garbage and mildew—hit me. My brow furrowed. “What in God’s name are you doing?” I demanded of the maid. The maid looked back, genuinely confused. “Madam, this is Mrs. Ashworth’s room.” My breath hitched. My pupils instantly constricted. This was my daughter’s home? Her sanctuary? A single, narrow bed was shoved into the corner. It was the dead of winter, and the only covering was a flimsy cotton quilt, the exact one I’d knitted for her senior year of high school. She was the officially recognized Mrs. Ashworth! I fought down the urge to scream. I forced myself to maintain a smooth, even tone. “Go. Now. Clear out the South-facing Master Suite on the third floor.” “But that’s where Miss Hayes keeps her things…” “Clear it out. All of it.” The staff instantly scurried to obey. Within minutes, a flurry of activity began, moving Serena’s expensive-looking clutter out of the most luxurious suite in the house. Serena arrived moments later, surveying the sudden upheaval. “Stop! Who gave you the right to touch my things?!” This time, the staff ignored her, recognizing the sudden shift in the balance of power. Serena stomped her foot, enraged, then spotted me on the second-floor landing. She took a deep breath, smoothing her dress, forcing herself to adopt a contrite, obedient expression. Her hand automatically went to her stomach. “Mother Ashworth, why are you doing this? I’m carrying Preston’s child…” “Don’t you worry about Preston getting angry when he sees you throwing my belongings out?” I looked down at her, my expression utterly flat. “Clara is also pregnant.” “And the child she carries is the legitimate heir of the Ashworth name. Yours is not.” Serena didn’t react as expected. She laughed, a brittle, ugly sound. “Clara? She barely qualifies as a decent babysitter!” “She only latched onto Preston to get money for her mother’s medical bills. Preston only indulged her out of pity.” Her voice dropped, thick with scorn. “Now that her cancer-ridden mother is dead, Clara is a used plaything. She’s overstayed her welcome.” Serena’s words landed like sharp little knives, one after the other, plunging into the part of my heart that was still Clara’s mother. You told me you loved him, Clara. That he loved you. You told me you were happy. Was this what you endured all along? Were you sacrificing yourself even then? I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. Serena, misinterpreting my silence as defeat, pressed her advantage, her tone thick with sneering confidence. “Preston runs this house, ultimately. Your son loves me, not her. Clara may be the legal wife, but she’ll be making way for me soon enough. Why cause a rift in the family for a toy Preston has already discarded?” I smiled then, a small, cold curve of my lips. I looked straight into the triumphant gleam in her eyes. “You want to join the Ashworth family?” I asked softly. “Preston’s approval is irrelevant. You have to ask me.” Serena’s face faltered, but before she could retort, the front door swung open. 3 Preston Ashworth walked in to find a mountain of Serena’s luxury goods piled on the Italian marble floor. His brows immediately drew together. “What the hell is going on here?” Serena’s composure instantly broke. She flew into his arms, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s nothing, darling. Just a misunderstanding.” She pulled back, looking martyr-like. “That suite has the best light. It really should go to Clara. I’m just being a little sentimental about the move… I might have been a bit short with the staff, and I upset Mother Ashworth.” Preston tenderly wiped the tears from her cheek, his concern centered solely on her. He finally looked up at me. “Mom, I told you. If you have an issue, you address it with me. Why are you punishing Serena? If you want to change her room, we can discuss it like adults.” “Discuss it like adults?” I raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the dark utility closet. “Was that the result of your ‘adult’ discussion? Making your seven-months-pregnant wife live in a glorified trash room?” Preston’s face flushed. He avoided my gaze. “She could have asked for a different room. Why did she have to steal Serena’s?” “Steal? I put your legal wife into the best suite in the house. What exactly is the problem?” Preston was speechless. After a long, awkward silence, he muttered, “But Serena is further along…” I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of his entitlement. “Preston, your legally wedded wife is seven months pregnant! Your mistress is carrying a child that is due before your wife’s. You’ve been married less than a year. How does that reflect on the Ashworth name, exactly?” His face went crimson. Serena, seeing his distress, gently stroked his arm, adopting the voice of a gentle angel. “Don’t fight with your mother over me, Preston. I really don’t mind where I stay, as long as you and the baby are happy. We should listen to Mother Ashworth.” She even gave me a beatific, pitying smile. Predictably, Preston only grew more protective. He looked down at Serena, his voice firm. “You listen to me. Pack a bag. You’re moving into the Master Bedroom with me tonight.” Serena looked stunned for a second, then shook her head softly. “No, darling, really. Don’t cause trouble with your mother. I can sleep anywhere, truly. As long as you and the baby are well…” “You’ll do as I say,” Preston insisted, patting her hand, his tone now a low growl. “I still run this house.” He put his arm around her and walked away. He didn’t dare look back at me. Serena leaned into him, utterly victorious. But before they rounded the staircase, she shot me a look over Preston’s shoulder—a fleeting glance of smug triumph and cold mockery. I remained still, watching them leave. When the massive house finally fell silent, I turned and walked up to Clara’s room. She was already settled, the silence in the luxurious room oppressive. I could barely hear her shallow breathing. She wasn’t sleeping peacefully; even in her sleep, her brow was deeply furrowed. I sat on the edge of the bed and gently took her cold hand. “Mom…” she murmured. “I’m here, Clara. I’m here.” She must have heard me because her fingers tightened, clinging to mine with a desperate strength. My mind replayed the scene from the hallway: Preston and Serena, intertwined, openly flaunting their affair. And here, my daughter suffered alone. My grip around her hand tightened. You have only me now, my sweet girl. Then, my gaze fell on her arm. Her sleeve had ridden up in the struggle, revealing an angry, purple bruise across her wrist. My heart plunged into my stomach. I carefully pulled the sleeve higher. A collection of injuries. Old ones, fading yellow. New ones, a sickening, fresh purple-red. I lowered my eyes to her pale, sleeping face and gently smoothed the crease from her brow. Then, I stood and quietly left the room. The muffled sound of Serena’s high-pitched laughter and Preston’s gentle, indulgent replies drifted down the hall from the Master Suite. I stood in the deep shadow of the landing, listening, my face empty of expression. Preston Ashworth. Serena Hayes. Very well. The scars your cruelty inflicted… I will repay every single one. Every moment of pain. With interest. You will pay for this. 4 To compensate Serena for the ‘trauma’ of being moved, Preston decided to throw a lavish dinner party. He also promised her that he would publicly announce her child as the Ashworth family’s sole and rightful heir. The ballroom was packed with the city’s elite. Preston stood in the center of the floor, Serena on his arm, beaming with self-satisfaction. “Congratulations, Preston!” “What a lucky lady, Mrs. Ashworth!” The fawning praises echoed through the room. No one mentioned the true Mrs. Ashworth, Clara, as if she were a ghost, an inconvenient memory. It was then that the grand double doors of the ballroom were thrown open. Silence. I stood in the doorway, my gaze sweeping the room. Preston spotted me and, with Serena on his arm, walked over. “Mom, you came. Perfect. Serena and I were just about to…” “Where is Clara?” I cut him off, my voice steady. Preston hesitated, his eyes darting away. “It’s a celebration, Mom. Don’t bring her up. She made a mistake, and she needs to reflect on it.” “What mistake?” Preston’s brow furrowed. “She is a spiteful woman. She tried to push Serena down the stairs this afternoon. If I hadn’t seen it, the outcome would have been unthinkable.” Serena, ever the consummate performer, instantly welled up, her voice a soft, injured whisper. “Mother Ashworth, Clara was truly terrible this time. We almost… almost lost the baby. Preston was simply upset, so he had to punish her.” I ignored Serena’s pathetic act and fixed my gaze on Preston. “She is not well. Tell me where Clara is, immediately.” Preston sighed, exasperated. “Not well? Can’t you see she’s acting? She’s manipulating you for sympathy. And besides, I am her husband. She misbehaved, and I have every right to discipline her!” My patience snapped. The thought of my daughter locked away somewhere, hurting, was unbearable. “Preston Ashworth! I’m asking you one last time. Where is my daughter?!” “Your daughter?” Serena repeated the phrase softly, a sneer forming at the corners of her mouth. She chuckled. “Ellie, are you feeling alright? You’ve been under a lot of stress. How could Clara be your daughter? Preston, maybe we should call a psychiatrist for your mother.” Preston’s face tightened. “Mom, be rational! You don’t have a daughter. Clara is nothing to you, she’s certainly not a part of this family…” He sighed deeply. “Enough. You’re overtired. Guards!” He waved toward the door. “My mother is exhausted. Escort her back to her room.” Two large security guards stepped forward, ready to intervene. “I’d like to see you try to move me,” I snapped. The guards froze, uncertain. Preston bit back a curse. “What are you waiting for? I am the head of this family. Take the old lady to rest!” I smiled, a cold, predatory smile. “The head of the family? Excellent.” I slowly pulled a thick, official-looking manila envelope from my clutch. When Preston saw the word ADOPTION stamped clearly on the cover, his eyes went wide. His previous confidence evaporated. “Mom, let’s go home and discuss this, just us…” “I gave you a chance, Preston. As of this moment, our relationship is severed. You are no longer the heir to the Ashworth fortune.” Preston stood frozen, his eyes finally showing a flicker of genuine terror. Just then, a maid ran into the ballroom, leaning in to whisper a frantic message into Preston’s ear. The words, though low, carried clearly to me: “Sir, Mrs. Ashworth has been locked in the ice room for three hours…” “We heard her crying earlier, but now the room is silent.” “Should we let her out?”