The Seven-Year Scam: My Daughter is My Husband's Mistress's Child

Mariah’s POV

My nails dug deep into my palms.

The divorce wasn’t even finalized, and Viggo had already brought Carmilla into my home!

Everyone there, except little Cruella, knew exactly what a shitstorm Carmilla and I had gone through.

Back in college, that bitch spread some rumors that I wore fake crap, that I could only have this much money by screwing some old man.

She even spread rumors that I was selling myself—made a price for a night—flooding my phone with harassment messages asking if I’d fuck them.

I had always considered her a close friend, trusted that fucking snake, until I could bear it no longer and investigated, only to find all the rumors came out of her lying mouth.

Later, she broke up with Viggo to pursue her entertainment debut.

And I, completely unaware of their past, was the one Viggo chased after.

After graduation, I found out the class had labeled me the other woman. They said I stole him. That I forced Carmilla into show business. At that time, I felt unbearably fucked over.

Viggo held me then and said, “People only see what’s on the surface. We just need to live our own lives.”

Looking back now, the only dumbass was me.

In the living room, the three of them acted like I didn’t exist.

Cruella eagerly served Carmilla a bowl of soup.

When Carmilla flinched from the heat, Cruella immediately grabbed her hand, full of concern.

“Mom, I mean, Auntie, I’ll blow on it for you.”

Viggo hurried over with burn ointment.

Meanwhile, the wound on my temple was still bleeding, and not a single fucking person looked at it.

I let out a sarcastic laugh and stepped forward.

I lifted my hand and smashed that bowl of soup onto the floor.

“Sorry.”

I looked at them, my tone calm.

“This is my house. No outsiders are allowed to live here!”

Viggo and Cruella both froze.

Before the sound of the bowl finished fading, Viggo had already stepped in front of Carmilla, his tone a mixture of shock and anger.

“Have you lost your mind?!” he snapped.

Cruella snapped out of it too, rushing over and shoving me hard.

“How can you be so cruel?! Mom—I mean, Auntie Carmilla—is just staying for a few days! What is wrong with you?!”

I stumbled back, my spine slamming into the edge of the table. The pain shot through me, but it was nothing compared to the icy ache spreading through my chest.

Maybe I had swallowed too much for too long.

At that moment, I was done swallowing shit.

“Listen carefully. Both of you.”

I straightened slowly, staring at them, enunciating every damn word.

“This house is mine. If you want to let some outsider stay here, fine.”

“But then the two of you can get the hell out with her.”

The air went dead silent.

Viggo stared at me like I’d grown another head. Then he let out a furious laugh.

“What did you just say?”

“We’ve been married all these years. The house belongs to both of us. Who the hell are you to decide alone?”

“This is my home!” Cruella shrieked. “Mine and Daddy’s!”

Only then did Carmilla speak, all slow and soft, playing the saint.

“It’s okay,” she sighed lightly. “If Mariah really doesn’t want me here, I’ll leave.”

That fake, delicate retreat made me look like the villain.

I turned my gaze to Viggo, cold as ice.

“She can stay,” I said coolly. “Ten thousand a day.”

“If you don’t pay, I’ll leak her location to her fans tomorrow.”

Carmilla’s face changed instantly.

She clearly hadn’t expected me to go that far.

For a moment, Viggo hesitated, too.

But then he looked like he remembered that the divorce agreement had already been signed. It would be finalized in a few days.

In his mind, ten thousand a day, seven days—seventy thousand. Compared to a house worth tens of millions? A fucking bargain.

He discreetly squeezed Carmilla’s hand, thinking I wouldn’t notice.

Then he turned to me, his voice softening.

“I know you mind that she’s my ex.”

“But that’s all in the past.”

“Mariah, if this makes you feel better, ten thousand it is.”

“I’ll pay. Okay?”

I didn’t respond. I simply held out my phone.

“Transfer it.”

His jaw tightened, but he wired the money anyway.

The moment the payment notification chimed, I turned and walked upstairs.

The house felt filthy to me now.

Tomorrow, I’d move out.

And soon enough, it would be sold.

That night, I woke up out of habit to use the bathroom.

The space beside me was empty.

I hadn’t wanted to share a bed with him in the first place. He insisted, saying the guest room was for Carmilla, so he had to stay with me.

When he tried to touch me earlier, I shut him down.

As I passed Carmilla’s door, I stopped.

They weren’t even trying to be quiet.

Her laughter drifted out, smug and teasing.

“Being with a big star… feels different, doesn’t it?”

Viggo’s reply was low, casual.

“Of course.”

“She’s different.”

“She doesn’t have a waist as soft as yours. You’re fucking lethal.”

Carmilla chuckled.

“These few days, you’d better keep coaxing her.”

“Cruella’s still hard to handle at this age. Once she starts elementary school, it’ll be easier. Then you can dump that woman.”

Viggo answered without hesitation.

“Alright. Whatever you say.”

That’s when I finally understood.

Why the divorce agreement was signed, yet he hadn’t acted.

He was waiting for me.

Waiting for me to keep serving as their free nanny. Waiting to squeeze out whatever value I had left before discarding me.

A silent, bitter smile touched my lips.

I pulled out my phone and recorded everything.

Then I sent the file to my assistant.

[Seven days. Send this to Carmilla’s biggest rival.]

If this was the entertainment industry, you solve problems the entertainment way.

They're so smug now, so pleased with what they think is their perfect plan. But in the end, the one who will suffer won't be me, but them.