She pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains and slid back to her seat.

The cold air I brought in caused the temperature in the cramped space to drop sharply.

The waiter had just placed two plates of delicate French desserts on the table. Neither of them glanced at them.

Elsa rested her elbows on the table, her fingers interlaced, her chin on the back of her hands. She looked at him. Undisguised contempt.

"You know what," she began, her voice low and drawn out with a mocking sneer, "it's pathetic. You act like a ruthless CEO. But you're nothing but a puppet. Dancing to the tune of your dead grandfather."

Hayden's hand stopped. The silver knife he held scraped harshly across the porcelain plate.

He slowly raised his head. His eyes were dark, and suppressed anger raged within them.

"Don't pretend to be so self-righteous." His voice was a deadly whisper. "You've played the role of a submissive, loving wife for three years. Don't pretend it wasn't to fulfill your grandfather's dying wish."

He struck a nerve. Her face turned deathly pale. Her fake smile shattered.

He called it "playing a role." Three years of genuine affection, he called it "playing a role."

The soups he made late at night. The curtains he quietly drew when he was hungover. The matching couple's pajamas hidden deep in the closet that he never even glanced at.

All of this is what he sees as "acting".

He never believed she had ever loved him. From beginning to end, he thought she was no different from those women who climbed the social ladder to marry into wealth.

She grabbed the linen napkin from her lap and threw it onto the table. The napkin knocked over a water glass, and ice water spread across the white tablecloth.

She'd had enough. She didn't want to breathe the same air again for even a second longer.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers sharply at the waiter. "The bill. Now."

The waiter was startled and ran over, placing a small wallet on the table.

Before she could reach into her bag, Hayden's hand reached out. A black centurion card slammed heavily onto the silver tray.

A blatant display of power. A final declaration of control.

She didn't argue. She just let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

I grabbed my small bag and stood up. The chair scraped harshly against the floor.

They walked out of the restaurant, enveloped in a heavy, suffocating silence.

Pushing open the glass door, the chilly Manhattan wind rushed in. Snowflakes, mixed with rain and snow, swirled under the streetlights.

The parking attendant jogged over and handed Hayden the Maybach keys.

He walked over and opened the heavy passenger door. He stood there, the wind ruffling his dark hair, looking at her.

"Get in the car. I'll give you a ride." The order came down.

She took a step back, looking at him as if he were a stranger who had insulted her.

"I'd rather walk barefoot in the snow."

She turned her back to him and walked towards the intersection. She raised her arms. Her silver sequined dress shimmered in the cold wind.

A taxi slammed on its brakes, causing the wet road surface to slip slightly, and stopped in front of her.

Hayden stood stiffly by the open car door. His fingers gripped the handle so tightly his knuckles were almost raw. He stared at the back of her head, his jaw clenching rhythmically.

She flung open the car door and threw herself into the back seat.

"drive."

The taxi drove away. She glanced in the rearview mirror. He was still standing in the snow, watching her leave.

She exhaled a long, trembling breath. Her chest caved in.

The taxi sped along. The streetlights outside the window appeared as a blur.

She leaned back in the cracked vinyl seat. Her adrenaline receded, and her body began to tremble violently. The heating was on, but she felt like a block of ice. She pulled her cashmere coat tighter around her trembling shoulders.

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling. I clenched them into fists. My nails dug into my palms, using the pain to bring myself back to my senses.

He took his phone out of his bag. His thumb hovered above the screen.

Digital wallpaper. A photo of a penthouse balcony overlooking Central Park.

Her gilded cage.

A burning sensation deep in her nose. Tears slid down her cheeks, blurring her eyeliner. She remembered the marble side table in the apartment. A thick stack of divorce papers. Signatures side by side on the last page. The only time in three years they had truly agreed.

Three years. She couldn't even get him to glance at her. She changed her style of dress, her tone of voice, and her walking speed, all so that she would appear "appropriate" when walking beside him.

What does he see in her?

Symbols. Tools. Transactions.

She gave everything, but all she got in return was indifference, not hatred.

Hatred at least shows that he cares.

Indifference is the ultimate form of denial.

She closed her eyes tightly, rubbing her cheeks hard with the back of her hand. She was angry at her own weakness, refusing to shed another tear for someone who had made her a condition of his will.

She opened her browser. She had originally planned to go back to her penthouse to pack her bags and wait for her early flight. But the thought of returning to that desolate space, that place shrouded in the ghost of sham marriages, made her feel suffocated.

She needs noise. She needs something loud and unrestrained to drown out the deafening silence in her mind.

Enter the names of the most unique and chaotic underground nightclubs in Manhattan.

She leaned forward. She knocked on the plexiglass partition. "The plans have changed," she said firmly and decisively. "We're not going to Central Park West. Take me to the meatpacking area."

The driver grunted, jerked the steering wheel, and veered across the lane towards the city center.

She leaned back in her seat. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small mirror and quickly touched up her smudged eyeliner. She sprayed on Tom Ford's Black Orchid perfume. Collarbone. Wrist.

The silver sequined dress itself is a weapon. Now she's ready to use it.

Tonight, she will completely burn Hayden Moran's memories out of her body.