Revenge wasn't just about destroying my husband.
It was about controlling every piece of the board.
And the mistress?
She was just another pawn, one I intended to play to my advantage.
I had ignored her since that night. No phone calls. No confrontations. Not even a whisper of acknowledgment.
That was exactly what she expected.
A scorned wife, humiliated into silence, licking her wounds in private.
She thought she had won.
She had no idea I was coming for her.
She was easy to find. Women like her always were—too careless with their privacy, too eager to display their expensive meals, designer bags, and VIP access to places they didn't truly belong.
A tagged location at a luxury spa. A check-in at an overpriced restaurant. A group photo with a caption about "new experiences."
It was almost insulting how little effort it took to track her down.
Tonight, she was at an upscale bar, the kind where women like her went to sip on cocktails bought by men who saw them as entertainment for the night. The lighting was low, the air thick with the scent of perfume and expensive whiskey.
She was sitting in a corner booth, sipping something pink and sweet, her nails tapping against the glass as she scrolled through her phone.
I watched her for a moment.
She was pretty. Not in the way that made people stop and stare, but in the way that made men feel like they were offering her something special by choosing her.
That was her real weakness.
She thought she was the one with power.
She had no idea how quickly I was about to strip it away.
I slid into the seat across from her, smooth and unhurried, like I had been invited.
She looked up, startled. Her grip tightened on her drink, and for a second, I saw real fear in her eyes.
"You—"
"Me." I smiled, setting my clutch on the table. "Relax. I'm not here to cause a scene."
Her gaze darted around, as if expecting security to appear at any moment.
I leaned in slightly, voice calm, almost bored. "No one's watching. No one cares. To them, we're just two women having a drink."
She exhaled sharply, her body still tense. "What do you want?"
I tilted my head, studying her.
*What do I want?*
To watch her crumble? To see the realization dawn in her eyes that she was never anything more than a temporary indulgence?
No. That would come later.
Right now, I needed her to doubt.
I needed to plant a seed that would grow into something far more destructive than any anger I could throw at her.
I smiled, slow and knowing. "I could ask you the same thing." I gestured vaguely at her drink. "What exactly did you think you were getting out of this? Love? Security? A future?"
She scoffed. "I don't need him to take care of me."
"No?" I raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you still here?"
Her fingers twitched around the glass. "Because he cares about me."
I smirked. "Does he?"
She straightened her back. "Yes."
The lie was so weak, so fragile, I almost felt bad for her.
Almost.
I reached into my bag, pulled out my phone, and slid it across the table. "Go ahead," I said smoothly. "Call him. See if he picks up."
She hesitated.
I could see the battle playing out behind her eyes. If she called and he answered, she would win. She could throw it in my face, show me that she was the one he wanted.
But if he didn't…
That doubt would sink its claws into her.
Her lips pressed together, then parted as she picked up the phone and dialed.
It rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
I waited, watching the flicker of emotion in her expression—confusion, frustration, then something much sharper.
Pain.
She swallowed hard, setting the phone back down on the table. "He's busy," she muttered.
I picked up my glass and swirled the wine slowly. "Let me guess," I mused. "He told you he loved you. That he wanted to leave me, but it was complicated."
She didn't answer. She didn't have to.
I set my glass down and studied her carefully. "You were never a threat to me." My voice was soft, almost gentle. "But you *were* useful to him. A toy. A secret. A way to stroke his ego."
She flinched.
I let the words sink in before delivering the final blow.
"And when men like him are done with their toys, they throw them away."
Silence.
Then, a quiet, broken whisper: "Why are you telling me this?"
Because I wanted her to *feel* it.
Because I wanted to take the security she thought she had and turn it to ash.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a sleek white card, sliding it across the table. No name. Just a number.
She stared at it.
I stood, smoothing down my dress. "I won't keep you. But when you finally see him for what he is, give me a call."
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just stared at the card, fingers twitching slightly.
I turned, walking away without looking back.
I didn't need to.
She'd take the card.
And when she finally called me, my plan would truly begin.