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.