The New York night never sleeps, and it seemed it wouldn’t let a restless heart find peace either. I stood before the mirror in my Upper East Side penthouse, adjusting the black silk Saint Laurent dress. It clung to my body, costing me five figures, but tonight it wasn’t for a charity gala or an exhibition opening. It was my armor.

I slipped my feet into the iconic red-soled Christian Louboutin heels, their sharp click on the oak floor echoing like the cocking of a gun. In the Hermès Birkin bag on the table, there was no makeup or phone. Instead, there was a stack of 50,000 USD in cash, neatly bound with a cheap rubber band – an intentional irony for those who feigned sophistication.

1. The Journey to Room 405

The Uber Black dropped me off at The Greenwich Hotel. This was where my husband, Julian – a powerful Wall Street CEO, often came for “private meetings.” But I knew perfectly well that his meeting tonight had nothing to do with the S&P 500 index.

Stepping into the hotel lobby, I was enveloped by the scent of expensive perfume and soft, golden light. The receptionist started to approach, but my icy glare stopped him. I didn’t need to ask for the room number. I had known it for three days, thanks to the private detective I’d hired.

Room 405.

The thickly carpeted hallway on the fourth floor swallowed my footsteps. The silence was so profound that I could hear my own heart beating, not from fear, but from a strange exhilaration. After ten years of marriage, ten years of being the “perfect wife” supporting Julian’s career, I felt I had never been more lucid.

I stopped before the dark oak door with the brass number 405. Inside, faint jazz music and the muffled giggles of a woman could be heard.

I took a deep breath, adjusted the stack of cash in my bag, and knocked. Three slow, deliberate knocks.

2. The Silent Confrontation

The door opened.

Julian appeared, wearing only trousers, shirtless, his usually carefully gelled chestnut hair now disheveled. His face shifted from annoyance to horror in a split second.

“Eleanor? What are you doing…“

I didn’t wait for him to finish, gently pushing the door open and stepping inside. The room reeked of expensive Champagne and her cheap rose perfume. On the bed, a young woman – surely only 22, the same age as my niece – was clad in a vibrant red lace negligee, looking both glamorous and out of place in the luxurious room.

“Good evening, Julian. And hello, dear,” I smiled, my voice so calm that even I was surprised.

The mistress cringed, pulling the sheet up to cover her bare shoulders. Julian frantically grabbed the shirt tossed on a chair.

“Eleanor, let me explain. This is just a mistake, I had too much to drink…“

“Don’t use that outdated script, Julian,” I interrupted, calmly sitting down in the leather armchair in the corner of the room. “You’re not drunk. You’re simply enjoying the fruits of the money I helped you earn.“

3. The Power of Cash

I opened my bag, pulled out the 50,000 USD in cash, and tossed it onto the coffee table with a decisive thud. Both Julian and the girl stared at it.

“What is that?” Julian stammered.

“Severance pay,” I said, my eyes fixed on the girl on the bed. “What’s your name?“

“M… Mia,” she stammered, trembling.

“Mia, listen. Julian always told you he’d divorce me to marry you, right? He promised you an apartment in Soho or a Porsche? Don’t believe it. Julian would never abandon the empire that I hold a fifty percent stake in.“

I approached the bed, extending the stack of money toward her.

“Here’s 50,000 USD in cash. No traces, no taxes. You can take it, walk out that door right now, and disappear from our lives. Or, you can stay here, wait for an empty promise, and face the fiercest team of lawyers in New York that I will send to ruin your reputation by tomorrow morning.“

Mia looked at the money, then at Julian. Julian stood frozen, his face flushed with humiliation, but not daring to utter a word to defend his “love.” He knew I wasn’t bluffing. He knew who truly held the power in this family.

Less than two minutes later, Mia had snatched her clothes, grabbed the money, and fled the room like a gust of wind, leaving behind the fading scent of cheap perfume.

4. The End and the Beginning

Now, only Julian and I remained in the room. He started to approach, intending to take my hand, but I recoiled, my gaze filled with contempt.

“Eleanor, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything…“

“Yes, you will,” I coldly cut him off. “You will sign the divorce papers my lawyer has already drafted. I’ll take 70% of the assets, including the penthouse and the house in the Hamptons. You keep the company, but I’ll retain control of the board for the next two years.“

“You’re crazy! I can’t…“

“You can, Julian. Unless you want the video of you and that girl entering the hotel to be sent directly to your biggest partner in London tomorrow morning. You know how much they value ‘family ethics,‘ don’t you?“

Julian collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. The pride of a powerful CEO utterly crumbled at the feet of my Saint Laurent dress.

I stood up, adjusted the hem of my dress, feeling strangely relieved. I walked out to the balcony of room 405, looking down at the bustling crowds of New York. The neon lights reflecting on the glass of the skyscrapers looked like shattered diamonds.

I hadn’t just gotten rid of a mistress. I had reclaimed my life.

Stepping out of the hotel, I hailed a taxi. The driver asked, “Where to, ma’am?“

I smiled, looking into the rearview mirror at a strong, independent, and beautiful American woman.

“JFK Airport.