I looked at the text message on my husband’s phone, my heart as cold as ashes in a crematorium: “Room 502, Taj G. Palace Hotel, 8 pm. I will wear the red silk sari you gave me. Kisses, honey.” My husband – Arjun – was still happily humming in the bathroom, wearing a strong oud perfume, preparing for an “urgent meeting with a partner from Dubai”. He had no idea that the latest iPhone he had just bought me last week was synced to his iCloud – a fatal flaw for those who want to cheat and show off to their wives.

I did not cry. The tears of a betrayed woman only smudge the kajal but could not wash away the man’s filth. I reapply sindoor red lipstick, put on a jet-black Banarasi silk sari with a gorgeous gold border, grabbed my bag and walked out of the villa 30 minutes before Arjun.

“Where are you going?” Arjun’s voice echoed from the bathroom. “I’m going to the ayurveda spa, I’ll be back a little late today, honey.” I replied, my voice sweet and gentle like a veena.

19:45 – Room 502.

I used the spare room card to enter first. The room was luxurious in Mughal style, the yellow light from the bronze lanterns cast a dim light down. On the marble table was a bottle of luxury whisky and two crystal glasses. It seemed that this mistress also had a taste for luxury.

I didn’t turn on the lights. I pulled the thick brocade curtains back, only letting in the dim light from the silver oil lamp. I sat on the silk-cushioned chair, my back to the door, holding a glass of whisky, shaking it gently. I texted the mistress: “Change of plans. Arjun has an emergency, you don’t need to come. I’ve transferred 5 lakh rupees to your account. Don’t call back, your wife is suspicious.”

The message showed “Seen”. She – a young, money-hungry model – would definitely choose 5 lakh and a free evening over a date with a man in his 40s. I was alone on the stage now. I waited for the main actor to appear.

20:05.

The keycard beeped. The intricately carved ebony door opened. The strong scent of oud and sandalwood rushed in – a scent I used to love, now making me nauseous. Arjun walked in, eagerly locking the door. Seeing the silhouette of the woman sitting on the chair, he chuckled, his voice filled with lust: “Honey, you came so early? I missed your figure so much. Come back here so I can ‘punish’ you for making me wait all day.”

Arjun said as he took off his safari jacket, walking quickly towards me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind, bent down to kiss my hair. “Did you change your perfume? This smell… is so familiar…” I took a sip of whisky, my cold voice echoed in the quiet room: “Of course. This jasmine attar perfume I bought for you on our trip to Kannauj, on our 5th wedding anniversary. Did you forget so quickly?”

The arm that was hugging my shoulder stiffened. The hot breath beside my ear stopped. I felt Arjun’s heart pounding, not from excitement, but from terror
I slowly stood up, turned around, and faced my husband. In the dim light of the oil lamp, Arjun’s face was pale, drained of blood. His mouth was open, his eyes wide open as if he had seen a ghost. “Wife… Priya… Why… why are you here?” – Arjun stammered, stepping back and knocking over the decorative bronze vase. Crash!

I smiled, approaching him step by step. “Why are you so surprised? Didn’t you have an appointment with a ‘partner’ here? I am the biggest shareholder in your life, can’t I come to the meeting?” “I… I explain… You misunderstood… This is… I was set up…”. “Shh!” – I put my finger to my mouth to silence. “Don’t ruin the script. The good play is still ahead.”

I picked up the remote control and pressed the Play button. A sharp video appeared on the big TV screen. Not a Bollywood movie, but a scene where Arjun is intimate with his mistress in the car in front of the company headquarters, a scene where he secretly transfers money to buy diamond jewelry, and most especially… a recording of the conversation between him and his mistress: “Don’t worry, my country wife at home only knows how to cook and perform puja. Wait until I withdraw all the capital in the family company and transfer it to your name, then I will divorce her and kick her out.”

Arjun collapsed on the Kashmir carpet floor. It turned out, I had known everything for a long time. I was not naive, I was just waiting for my prey to grow fat so I could harvest it. “You… listen to me explain. I was just joking! I was drunk and said bad things! Wife, forgive me!” – Arjun crawled to hug my leg and cried bitterly.

I looked down at the despicable man at my feet, my heart no longer pitiful. I pulled my leg out, then took a file from my bag and placed it on the marble table. “You want me to forgive you? Okay. Sign here.”

Arjun quickly picked it up. It was the Marital Property Agreement and Consent to Divorce. According to the agreement, the entire Bandra mansion, custody of the children, and 80% stake in the family business

will belong to me. Arjun will leave with the old SUV and the bank loan he secretly borrowed to invest in the cryptocurrency market (which was actually arranged by me).

“You… you pushed me into a corner? I won’t sign! This property is my work!” – Arjun shouted.

I shrugged, picked up the phone: “Okay. Then I will send this ‘partner meeting’ video to the Chairman of the Board of Directors (my father) and post it on social media, tag all your friends and business partners, okay? Think about it, a Director who is having an affair, and also plotting to seize his wife’s family assets, will he still have a place to play in Mumbai or Bangalore?”

My finger hovered over the “Send” button. Arjun trembled. He knew how my father, a seasoned businessman and a famous person in the community, would handle it. “Don’t! Sign it! Sign it now!” Arjun was shaking as he held the pen and scribbled his signature on the documents. Tears and snot were running down his face, looking extremely miserable.

Holding the file firmly in my hand, I adjusted my sari and smiled contentedly. “Thank you for your cooperation. Oh, I forgot, your girlfriend…” I opened the door, and a dignified woman walked in. Not a young model, but the wife of the boss of the biggest rival corporation – the one Arjun was trying to woo to win the contract. She looked at Arjun with contempt. “So this Arjun is such a person. Our cooperation agreement is as good as never existed.”

It turned out that I had invited her to “drink masala tea” in the next room and let her watch this drama live through a hidden camera. Arjun was stunned, sitting motionless like a statue. He lost his wife, his children, his property, and now his career.

I walked out of room 502, took a deep breath. The humid air of Mumbai at night suddenly felt fresh. I texted my private driver: “Pick me up. Let’s go celebrate. We’re free.” Behind me, the door of room 502 closed, locking a man and the complete collapse of his life – the price of betrayal is never cheap.

Modern Indian women, fighting for a lover does not need to use vulgar words or violence, does not need to make a fuss to be ridiculed by the world. The most terrifying revenge is when a woman keeps a cool head, and takes away everything that the betraying man cherishes most: Property, Fame and Social Status. Love yourself and always take the initiative in every game of life