Eleonora slid open the massive glass doors of the walk-in closet. She stared blankly at the endless rows of haute couture.

She reached past the silk gowns and sequined dresses. She pulled out three basic, tailored business suits she had bought before the wedding, and a few soft cashmere sweaters.

The expensive evening gowns Jaret had purchased to parade her around at charity galas were shoved violently to the dark corner of the rack.

She folded her simple clothes with rapid, precise movements, dropping them into the silver suitcases.

She walked over to the vanity. She yanked the drawer open and grabbed her passport, her birth certificate, and her personal legal files.

Her eyes drifted to the velvet jewelry box sitting on the glass counter. It was stuffed with millions of dollars in diamonds and emeralds.

Her heart didn't skip a single beat. She didn't touch the diamonds. She only reached in and pulled out a cheap, tarnished silver necklace her grandmother had left her.

With the bags packed, Eleonora dragged the three heavy suitcases out to the living room, parking them next to the massive oak desk.

She reached into her leather tote bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers. It was an uncontested divorce agreement, drafted weeks ago.

She uncapped her fountain pen. She flipped to the last page and signed her name with sharp, aggressive strokes.

The scratching of the metal nib against the thick paper echoed loudly in the dead silence of the penthouse.

She dropped the pen. She lifted her left hand and stared at the three-carat diamond ring suffocating her ring finger.

She pinched the platinum band. She pulled hard. The ring slid over her knuckle, leaving a pale, indented physical scar on her skin.

She placed the heavy diamond dead center on top of her signature.

Eleonora grabbed the handles of her suitcases. She walked into the elevator without looking back once.

Downstairs, the doorman loaded her bags into the trunk of a yellow cab.

"The Plaza Hotel, please," Eleonora told the driver.

The cab merged into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. Eleonora stared out the window at the sun hitting the trees in Central Park. She dragged a deep, full breath into her lungs for the first time in years.

The cab pulled up to the iconic hotel. She used her own depleted savings account to book a luxury suite overlooking the park.

The bellhop brought her bags up. Eleonora handed him a twenty-dollar bill and locked the heavy door behind him.

She kicked off her heels. She walked barefoot across the plush carpet and let her body collapse into the deep leather sofa.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Brittany Marsh's name flashed on the screen.

Eleonora hit accept. Brittany's voice exploded through the speaker, cursing Jaret with every dirty word in the English language.

Eleonora let out a soft, genuine laugh. "I'm at the Plaza, Brittany. I just signed the papers."

There was a half-second of dead silence on the line. Then, Brittany screamed in pure joy.

"I'm coming over right now. Give me twenty minutes," Brittany yelled, and the line went dead.

Eleonora stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the vibrant city below.

Exactly eighteen minutes later, the suite doorbell chimed.

Eleonora pulled the door open. Brittany stood there in a chic trench coat, holding a freezing cold bottle of Dom Pérignon by the neck.

Brittany lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Eleonora in a bone-crushing hug. "Happy single life, you beautiful genius!"

The morning sun poured through the sheer curtains of the Plaza suite, warming the tangled white sheets. Eleonora opened her eyes, her chest feeling incredibly light.

Brittany poked her head out of the bathroom, a green clay mask smeared across her face. "Get up. We are going to Bergdorf Goodman, and we are going to bleed that man dry."

Eleonora looked at her bare face in the vanity mirror. A slow smile stretched across her lips. She nodded.

They threw on comfortable clothes and walked arm-in-arm out of the hotel's revolving doors, stepping right onto Fifth Avenue.

They marched straight into the gleaming, perfumed halls of Bergdorf Goodman.

Eleonora pulled out the black American Express card tied to Jaret's account. She hadn't used it in three years.

She handed it to the clerk without blinking, purchasing three razor-sharp, aggressive power suits.

Brittany pointed to the shoe section. Eleonora swiped the card again for a pair of black, red-bottom stilettos. Her new armor.

They took the elevator to the top-floor restaurant. They ordered a ridiculous afternoon tea and clinked their crystal champagne flutes together.

Miles away, inside a dimly lit, exclusive cigar bar in Midtown, thick smoke hung in the air.

Jaret sat slouched in a deep leather chair. His knuckles were white as he gripped a crystal glass of whiskey.

His friends, Blake Vance and Reid Paxton, sat across from him, exchanging nervous glances.

Blake cleared his throat. "So... what's happening with Chelsie after the court thing?"

Jaret's face turned a violent shade of red. He slammed his glass down on the glass table. The loud crack made Blake flinch.

"She's a stupid bitch," Jaret snarled, his chest heaving. "She ruined my reputation over a petty grudge."

Reid leaned forward cautiously. "And Eleonora? Is she... okay?"

Jaret let out a harsh, arrogant scoff. He leaned back, crossing his arms.

"She's throwing a tantrum," Jaret said, his voice dripping with absolute certainty. "She'll cool off at a hotel for a few days, realize she has nothing without me, and come crawling back."

Jaret saw Blake and Reid exchange a quick, uncertain glance before they nodded. Their agreement felt hollow, and it only fueled his irritation.

The heavy silence in the room gnawed at Jaret's nerves. He suddenly felt a crawling sensation under his skin. He grabbed his Porsche keys and stood up.

He drove recklessly through the evening traffic, the engine roaring as he sped back to the penthouse garage.

Jaret rode the elevator up, violently tugging at his silk tie to loosen it. He planned to buy her a Birkin bag tomorrow to shut her up.

The elevator doors opened. The penthouse was pitch black. The silence hit him like a physical wall.

Jaret frowned. He slapped the wall switch, flooding the massive living room with harsh light.

"Nora?" he called out. His voice bounced off the walls, echoing back to him.

He kicked off his shoes and walked quickly to the master bedroom. The closet doors were wide open.

Jaret froze. Eleonora's side of the closet was gutted. Only the flashy gowns he had bought her hung there like dead skin.

A sharp spike of panic pierced straight through his ribs. His breathing turned shallow and fast.

He spun around and sprinted back into the living room, his eyes scanning the space wildly.

His gaze locked onto the massive oak desk in the center of the room.

Jaret walked toward it, his legs feeling like lead. He stared down at the thick stack of papers.

Resting right on top of her sharp, decisive signature was the three-carat diamond ring. It sparkled under the chandelier, mocking him.

Jaret stared at the diamond ring. His hands shook violently as he reached out and picked up the divorce agreement.

He saw her signature. The ink was dark and permanent. A muscle in his jaw twitched uncontrollably.

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Then it vibrated again. And again.

Jaret ripped the phone out of his pocket. Three push notifications from American Express lit up the screen.

Charge Approved: Bergdorf Goodman. $4,500.

Charge Approved: Bergdorf Goodman. $1,200.

Charge Approved: Bergdorf Goodman. $850.

The charges were from just a few hours ago. The panic in his chest instantly boiled over into a blinding, feral rage.

He ground his teeth together so hard his jaw ached. He slammed the divorce papers back onto the desk, scattering the pages across the wood.

He hit Eleonora's name in his contacts and held the phone to his ear. The ringing sound made him pace the floor like a caged animal.

Inside the Plaza suite, Eleonora sat on the sofa, admiring the sharp lines of her new stilettos.

Her phone lit up on the marble coffee table. Jaret.

Her smile vanished. Her face turned to stone.

She took a slow, steady breath. She tapped the speaker button and left the phone sitting on the marble.

"What the hell is wrong with you? !" Jaret's roar blasted through the speaker, filling the quiet room.

He didn't stop to breathe. "You think maxing out my cards is going to make me beg? You think this cheap stunt works on me?"

Eleonora sat perfectly still. Her heart rate didn't elevate by a single beat.

When he finally stopped to take a breath, she spoke. Her voice was flat, like she was reading a grocery list. "Look at the papers on the desk, Jaret."

Jaret let out a cruel, mocking laugh. "You think you can just walk out? You're swiping my card to survive right now. You are nothing without me."

"Those charges," Eleonora said smoothly, "are my severance pay for seven years of being your unpaid maid and event planner."

The word 'maid' hit Jaret's ego like a sledgehammer. "I gave you everything! You lived like a queen!" he screamed.

"Sign the papers, Jaret. Don't waste my time," she cut him off, her tone dropping to absolute zero.

Jaret's breathing grew ragged. He refused to believe this was real.

"You listen to me," Jaret commanded, his voice dripping with toxic authority. "You get your ass back to this apartment tonight, or I cut off every single card with your name on it."

Eleonora let out a soft, breathy chuckle. It was a sound of pure pity.

"I already cut the card in half," she said calmly. "The rest of the legal filings will be couriered to your office tomorrow."

Before Jaret could form another word, Eleonora hit the red button.

The call disconnected.

Jaret stared at the black screen of his phone. The dial tone buzzed in his ear.

A violent surge of helplessness ripped through him. He lost his mind.

He pulled his arm back and hurled the thousand-dollar phone straight at the floor-to-ceiling window.

The phone smashed against the bulletproof glass, leaving a white scuff mark before shattering into dozens of pieces on the hardwood floor.

Jaret gripped the edges of the oak desk, his chest heaving. He stared at the diamond ring with bloodshot eyes.

"I will never let you win," he whispered to the empty room. "You'll come begging."