Mariah’s POV
“Are you sure?”
Dad’s voice was low on the line.
“This isn’t just a spur-of-the-moment decision?”
I leaned back against the rear seat of the car and closed my eyes for a second.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve thought it through, Dad.”
He paused, then said, “Alright. If you’ve made up your mind, come back.”
“I’ll get you a lawyer. From here on, everything goes by your call.”
“But there’s one thing you need to understand.”
“If you come back to run the company, you can’t just come and go like before.”
“From now on, any man you bring in has to be a husband. Marriage, assets, kids? Everything has to be in your name.”
He stopped for a beat.
“That’s the Victorians rule.”
“I know,” I replied without hesitation. “I agree.”
A soft sigh came through the phone.
“Seven days then,” he said. “You need to report to the company in seven days.”
“Alright.”
Shortly after, the car pulled up in front of the law firm.
I didn’t hesitate. I went straight inside, explained my intention, and asked for a divorce agreement to be drafted.
The receptionist lawyer hesitated, her expression turning awkward.
“Ma’am… there’s already a divorce agreement under your name,” she said. “It hasn’t been signed yet.”
My heart skipped.
“Who filed it?” I asked.
“Sir Viggo Roosevelt.”
For a moment, I thought I’d misheard, so I asked to see the document.
After verifying my identity, the lawyer handed it to me.
I flipped through it page by page. With every line, my heart grew colder.
The agreement spelled everything out clearly. How Viggo would “use” my premarital assets free of charge. How the company we built after marriage would be transferred entirely into his personal name. How he even accused me of “marital infidelity” to claim a larger share of the assets.
In the end, I would walk away with nothing.
Not even the company we had built together. He didn’t plan to leave me even a single damn cent!
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“So that’s how it is.”
I pushed the agreement back across the table, my tone so calm that even the lawyer froze for a second.
“Have my lawyer revise it,” I said. “When it’s done, give it back to Viggo.”
He wants me penniless?
Oh, Viggo, if you don’t end up exactly the way you were before marrying me, with nothing to your name, then I don’t deserve the Victorian family name.
By the time I got home, it was already late.
Cruella was sitting in the living room playing with her toys. The moment she saw me, her face darkened.
“Bad woman! Why are you home so late?”
She frowned, her voice sharp. “Were you out fooling around again?”
I stopped in my tracks. “Cruella—”
“You’re so shameless!” She raised her voice. “Other kids’ moms are already home by now. You’re the only one who isn’t!”
Viggo stood up from the couch, his tone displeased.
“Look at yourself,” he said. “You’re a mother. Do you think this is appropriate?”
“Coming home this late every day. What kind of example are you setting for her?”
I stood in the entryway, my hands slowly curling into fists.
I had heard this lecture for seven years.
Whenever I worked late, he’d tell our daughter that women who come home late are restless and improper.
If I woke up late and didn’t make breakfast, he’d say a good mother would never let her child go hungry.
Under this constant emotional pressure, I’d been forced to give up parts of the company, rush home early, juggle being a stay-at-home mom while still trying to build a career.
And yet, nobody ever noticed what I gave. All I got in return was fucking blame!
“There was something going on at the company,” I said, swallowing my emotions out of habit.
“Cruella, go to bed early. You have art class tomorrow.”
The words had barely left my mouth when she suddenly screamed.
“I don’t want to go!”
That brat grabbed a cup from the table and hurled it at me.
I didn’t have time to dodge. The cup shattered against my forehead. A sharp ringing filled my ears. I staggered, reached up, and my hand came away covered in blood.
“I don’t want to learn painting!” She cried hysterically. “I hate it! Why are you forcing me? You’re a bad mommy!”
Viggo rushed over immediately and pulled her into his arms.
“Alright, alright. Baby, don’t cry,” he soothed softly.
Then he frowned at me. “What’s wrong with you, honey? Why are you putting so much pressure on the child?”
“She’s only six.”
“Isn’t it better for her to grow up happy?”
As I stood where I was, a chill crept up from my feet.
Back then, it was Cruella who loved painting. She begged me for it again and again.
I was the one who thought she was too young and wanted to wait.
It was Viggo who said I was selfish. Who said I wasn’t thinking about her future. Who said it would make her fall behind at the starting line.
And now, somehow, it was all my fault.
I wiped the blood from my face, my voice turning cold.
“Cruella. Apologize to me.”
The living room went silent.
“You dared to hit your mother today,” I said, staring at her. “Tomorrow, will you dare to hit other kids at kindergarten?”
“I will not accept raising a criminal.”
I had never spoken so harshly to her before.
She froze then burst into loud sobs.
“Bad mom! Bad mom! Bad mom! I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”
“Why should I apologize to a bad mom?”
Viggo’s expression darkened completely.
“Mariah! When did you become this petty?”
“It’s just a little scratch. Is it really worth getting angry at a child over? Right now, you don’t look like a mother at all!”
I suddenly laughed.
“What does a mother ‘look like’?”
Is this the fucking face I make after giving birth, no milk, forced to drink that nasty-ass medicine?
Or when she stumbled learning to walk, I had to fucking kneel on the floor, teaching her step by step like some damn servant until she could walk?
The more I remembered all the shit I went through before, the colder I felt. I used to endure it all for the “love” of this damn family. Even if it was bitter, I swallowed it like it was sweet, thinking we were all on the same page.
But now, I know—the only ones on the same damn page are them, not me.
I endure, I retreat, I play nice, and this fucking family doesn’t change a bit.
They just take it all for granted!
“You’re still being stubborn!” Viggo said coldly. “Apologize to Cruella. Or I’ll take her to my parents’ place for a while.”
Once upon a time, that sentence used to terrify me the most.
Fear of shit from my mother-in-law, fear of being shot down by my father-in-law, fear that Viggo’s family would hate me.
But now? Not a damn bit of fear left.
I spoke softly.
“Cruella, if you don’t want to learn, then you won’t. I’ll cancel the tutoring classes.”
“If private school doesn’t suit you, I’ll transfer you to public school.”
“From now on, I won’t interfere in your life anymore.”
Viggo froze.
Before he could say anything, Cruella cheered.
“That’s what a good mom is like!”
I didn’t respond. I just turned around and went back to the bedroom to bandage my wound.
Soon, the door opened.
Viggo walked in, his tone gentler.
“Honey, did something happen to you today?”
He reached out, trying to help me apply some ointment.
“Why did you suddenly cut off Cruella’s classes?”
I raised my hand and pushed him away, my voice flat and cold.
“Isn’t this what you and Cruella wanted? I’m just letting her grow up happy.”
