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

Mariah’s POV

I didn’t respond. I turned and started to walk away.

“Honestly, the way he rushed over like that scared me, too.”

She continued behind me, her voice calm, not loud, but every word landed clearly.

“I didn’t even have time to react. He was already standing in front of me.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” she added lightly. “It was just instinct. He saved me first without thinking. After all, no matter how much you have, you still can’t win a man’s heart.”

The words were naked provocation. A quiet boast.

My steps slowed, but I didn’t turn around.

Then, suddenly, a dull thud sounded behind me.

A woman’s sharp gasp. The sound of a body hitting the floor.

A bad feeling surged up my spine.

I spun around.

Carmilla was sprawled on the ground, her forehead smashed against the sharp corner of a cabinet. Blood streamed down from her temple.

She lifted her head, eyes red, voice trembling.

“Mariah… why did you push me?”

For a split second, my mind went completely blank.

Then the hospital room door flew open.

Viggo rushed in.

He saw the blood and Carmilla on the floor.

His face darkened instantly.

“Mariah!”

He crossed the room in a few strides and slapped me across the face.

The sound was sharp and loud. My head snapped to the side. My ears rang.

“Have you lost your mind?!” he roared. “She’s an actress! How could you hurt her face?!”

“If you’re angry, take it out on me!”

“Is this because my parents don’t like you, so you lash out at someone else?”

I spoke on instinct. “I didn’t push her—”

Before I could finish, he cut me off with a cold laugh. “You didn’t?”

He looked at me with open contempt. “So you expect me to believe that an actress—someone who treasures her face more than anything—would smash her own head into a cabinet just to frame you?”

“Mariah,” he said slowly, deliberately, “do you really think you’re some pampered heiress having a princess meltdown?”

“You enjoy taking your anger out on others that much?”

At that moment, every urge I had to explain vanished.

He had already decided I was guilty. Nothing I said would change that.

I lifted my head and looked straight at him.

“A pampered heiress?”

I repeated softly.

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly smiling. “I am.”

“I gave up being one for you. I walked away from my dad’s wealth, brought you a wedding gift, married you, and built everything from the ground up by your side.”

“Anyone else can accuse me of having a princess complex,” I said, locking eyes with him. “But you, Viggo? You don’t deserve to.”

As the last word fell, I slapped him back. Harder than he had hit me.

The sound echoed through the room.

Viggo completely lost control. He never imagined that I, the woman who had always swallowed everything, would raise a hand against him.

He lunged forward, but Carmilla grabbed him tightly.

“Viggo, don’t,” she cried, shaking her head. “Forget it. I’m fine.”

That sentence snapped him back to reality.

He hadn’t gotten all my money yet. This wasn’t the time to lose his head.

He took a deep breath. His face was still ugly, but the pretense of tenderness was gone.

“Let’s go.”

He bent down, lifted Carmilla into his arms, and turned to leave.

Before walking out, he tossed over his shoulder,

“Mariah, I’m taking Cruella to stay with my parents for a few days. When you finally realize you were wrong, then I’ll come home.”

He thought it was a killing blow.

He thought I’d do what I always did. Llower my head, apologize, cry, beg him to come back.

But I never would again.

I wiped away my tears and took a deep breath.

Then I booked the earliest flight out.

All that packing over the past few days, sorting through my belongings, closing out the company, was just me being reluctant to leave a place I’d lived in for years. A home I hadn’t fully let go of.

But really, as the Victorians’s eldest daughter, what couldn’t I buy again? What company couldn’t I rebuild?

The reason I hadn’t left right away was never about those worthless things.

And now, none of it mattered.

At the airport, my lawyer’s message came through.

[Ma’am, all divorce procedures have been fully completed.]

[The terms of the divorce agreement are being enforced, and your ex-husband is about to lose everything.]

With a faint smile playing on my lips, I transferred the funds from my bank account to the law firm. I snapped a screenshot and sent it to my lawyer: "Thank you for your help. Please find the receipt for my legal fees attached."

Moments before the plane took off, I found the contact info for Viggo and his family and blocked them for good.

"Happy divorce, Viggo. Soon enough, you'll realize that the one leaving with nothing isn't me—it’s you."

Three days later, thinking everything was settled, convinced he still had me under control, Viggo smirked as he called the house landline.

He was waiting for me to cry, to apologize, to beg him to come home.

Instead, a stranger answered.

“Hello, this is a real estate agency.”

“The property has already been sold. Please return as soon as possible to collect your personal belongings. Otherwise, they will be disposed of in the community trash area.”

At the same time, Carmilla, face mask on, voice lazy, drawled from beside him.

“Honey, when can we move back into the big house?”

“Mariah still hasn’t apologized yet?”