Chapter 4
1058words
Her first move wasn't calling lawyers or PR firms. She grabbed my arm, her voice cold as winter: "Let's go shopping."
She practically dragged me to the car, directing the driver to Fifth Avenue. Looking at her bloodless yet unnervingly calm face, I asked nervously: "Elisa, is shopping really what we should be doing right now?"
She pulled out a stack of credit cards from her purse, fanning them out before me. Each was from a different bank, all with "Damian Lester" printed as the cardholder.
A cruel smile played at her lips. "In war, you cut off the enemy's supplies first. Let's show him what it feels like to be broke."
For the next few hours, I witnessed pure retail madness. We stormed through luxury boutiques, with Elisa ignoring price tags and practicality. She deliberately chose the most outlandish, absurdly expensive items, weaponizing money as an instrument of revenge.
"This one, that one, and those too—wrap them all," she told a stunned sales associate at a high-end boutique, pointing to gaudy, feather-covered gowns no sane person would wear in public.
"And that diamond-encrusted alligator bag—perfect match for this garbage. I'll take it."
I watched in amazement as she swiped Damian's card with visible contempt. "What exactly are you—"
Without looking at me, she smirked. "These things are beneath me, but they're exactly his tacky taste. Using his money to buy overpriced trash he'd love—poetic, isn't it?"
Our final stop was a high-end jeweler. Elisa casually pointed to the most expensive emerald set in the window—worth enough for a Manhattan studio apartment.
Just as they were preparing to package it, Damian's financial reckoning arrived—not directly, but via the bank's fraud department calling the store about suspicious transactions.
Elisa gestured for the phone and calmly hit the speaker button.
Damian's enraged voice exploded from the speaker: "What the fuck are you idiots doing? How is this card maxed out? Freeze it now!"
Elisa took the phone and spoke in her sweetest, most elegant voice: "Oh, hello darling. It's me."
The roaring stopped dead, replaced by a sputtering rage: "Elisa! Have you completely lost your mind?!"
"Not at all," she replied casually, admiring the emerald ring she'd slipped onto her finger. "I just realized you don't deserve nice things."
She turned to the customer service rep who was maintaining an admirably professional smile. "Oh, about this card," she said with perfectly calibrated regret, "my dog actually buried it in the garden this morning. Couldn't find it anywhere. Could you please cancel it? Thank you so much."
The VIP room fell so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Several staff members visibly struggled to maintain composure, shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.
Elisa didn't spare a glance at the now-voided card. She simply pulled out her own black card—the kind that screams unlimited credit—placed it on the velvet tray, and said: "We'll use this instead."
Through the speaker, Damian's impotent rage and profanity echoed throughout the VIP room—the perfect soundtrack to Elisa's revenge shopping spree.
"Damian's weakness is money. What's Kate's?" Elisa asked as we drove back.
I considered briefly. "Same thing. She's always wanted to break into high society and land a wealthy husband."
Elisa nodded and dialed a number. "Find out where Kate Roland is right now, and who she's with."
Within thirty minutes, we had our answer: a three-Michelin-star restaurant address and details on her companion—a wealthy married businessman pushing fifty with serious money.
Elisa glanced at the address. "Take us there."
When we swept into the dimly lit restaurant like avenging angels, Kate was draped against her date, all fragile smiles and practiced vulnerability.
When she saw us, her expression froze mid-laugh.
Elisa ignored her completely, walking straight to the businessman with a perfect society smile. She placed a manila envelope on the table. The contents slid out—transaction records showing Kate's cut from the video sales, plus printed chat logs of her plotting with Damian against Elisa.
"Good evening," Elisa said, her voice carrying just far enough to turn heads at nearby tables. "Sorry to interrupt, but my 'former' friend here has been keeping secrets from you. Like where her recent windfall came from, and how she and her ex crafted her perfect victim story."
The man's expression morphed from confusion to shock to rage. His hands trembled increasingly as he read the documents. Finally, he violently shook off Kate's desperate grip on his arm.
"You've been playing me?" he growled, disgust and betrayal burning in his eyes. He threw some bills on the table and stormed out without a backward glance.
Kate sat frozen, her face ashen. Under the collective gaze of the restaurant, she looked utterly exposed. She suddenly leapt up, screaming: "Why are you doing this? Won't you be satisfied until you've destroyed me completely?"
Elisa studied Kate's face—flushed with humiliation and rage—and finally allowed herself a cold, mocking smile.
She leaned in close to Kate's ear and whispered: "You'll regret every single thing you've done."
Back at Elisa's apartment, the adrenaline from our revenge spree faded, replaced by cold, deadly focus.
Elisa opened her laptop and began methodically contacting journalists with actual integrity. She organized Damian's threatening emails, Kate's financial records, and unedited video evidence, preparing a bulletproof counterattack.
"Ruining his reputation isn't enough," Elisa said as she typed. "I want him to lose everything he values."
Suddenly her fingers froze on the mouse. On screen was an event announcement: "Celebrating Mr. Lester's 60th Birthday."
Elisa's gaze sharpened as she read. Damian's father—the highly respected Lester patriarch—would be hosting his birthday celebration in three days. The entire reputation-obsessed family would be there.
I watched her, a sense of dread building in my stomach.
"Elisa?"
She closed the page and turned to me with a smile I'd never seen before—glacial and terrifying.
"April," she said, "we're going to a party."
"What party?" I asked, confused.
Elisa looked out into the darkness, her voice soft as a death sentence:
"A trial. I want his family to see exactly what kind of monster their precious son really is."
