Chapter 4

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.