The next morning, Eleonora stood in the business center of the Plaza Hotel.
She sat at the computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She quickly formatted the final property waiver and the court filing forms.
The printer spit out the warm, ink-stained pages. She stacked them neatly and slid them into a thick brown envelope.
She walked over to the concierge desk. "I need your fastest courier service to Midtown Manhattan," she told the clerk.
Ten minutes later, a man in a courier uniform walked into the lobby. Eleonora handed him the envelope and a fifty-dollar tip.
"This must be handed directly to Jaret Burns. No assistants. No receptionists," she instructed.
Across the city, in a massive corner office overlooking the skyline, Jaret sat behind his CEO desk.
He had a brand-new phone sitting next to his keyboard. His eyes kept darting to the screen, waiting for her text apologizing for last night.
A soft knock on the glass door broke his focus. His secretary walked in, looking terrified, holding a brown envelope.
"Sir, this is a priority legal document. The courier insisted you sign for it personally," she stammered.
Jaret frowned deeply. He snatched the envelope from her hands and ripped the top open.
The papers slid out onto his desk. They were the final divorce filings, already bearing Eleonora's sharp signature.
Stuck to the top page was a small yellow sticky note. It read in her handwriting: Sign these and give them to your legal department. Don't drag this out.
Jaret's pupils contracted. The cold, commanding tone of the note felt like a physical slap to his face.
He thought she would panic after a night alone. Instead, she was pushing the knife in deeper.
A dark, twisting fire of humiliation burned in his chest. His arrogance completely hijacked his brain.
"You want to play chicken?" Jaret muttered, a twisted sneer forming on his lips. "Fine. Let's play."
He grabbed the heavy Montblanc fountain pen sitting on his desk. He ripped the cap off.
He didn't read a single line of the property waivers. Fueled by pure, reckless spite, he flipped through the pages, slashing his signature onto every required line.
He pressed the pen down so hard the nib nearly tore through the thick paper.
He slammed the pen down. The loud clack echoed in the large office.
He hit the intercom button. "Get Martin Fletcher in here. Now."
A minute later, Martin, the Chief Legal Officer, stepped into the room. He took one look at the scattered legal documents and tensed.
Jaret shoved the stack of papers across the desk. "File these uncontested divorce papers. Today."
Martin glanced at the top page. His eyes widened. "Jaret, this is a massive step. You need to review this with personal counsel-"
"Do exactly what I said!" Jaret roared, slamming his fist on the desk. "Push it through the courts. Fast-track it!"
Jaret was absolutely convinced that the moment the court sent the official notice, Eleonora would realize it was real and come crying back to stop it.
Martin swallowed hard. He gathered the papers, nodded stiffly, and walked out.
The office fell silent again. Jaret leaned back in his leather chair. He yanked at his tie, trying to relieve the sudden tightness in his throat.
He stared at the empty space on his desk where the papers had been. A cold, creeping dread started to pool in the bottom of his stomach, but he aggressively pushed it down.
