The Night My Husband’s Mistress Raised Her Glass and Toasted to Stealing Him, she smiled like she had finally won—she had no idea what was coming next

One month later, the Federal Correctional Institution in upstate New York was cold, grey, and oppressive.

In the visitor room, Preston sat behind a glass partition wearing an orange jumpsuit. His hair was messy, his eyes hollow and bloodshot. Across from him, separated by the same partition, sat Sloane in a matching prison uniform, her glamour completely gone, her face pale and tear-stained.

"You ruined my life, you pathetic idiot!" Sloane screamed into her telephone receiver, her knuckles white against the plastic. "You told me your wife was clueless! You told me we would be living in Paris by now!"

Preston looked at her with pure, unadulterated hatred. "Your father used me, Sloane! He set me up to take the fall while you two planned to run off with the money!"

"You were greedy, Preston!" Sloane spat back. "You wanted to feel like a powerful man, but you were just a puppet! Eleanor was ten times the person you'll ever be!"

Before Preston could scream back, a guard tapped on the glass door.

The visitor door opened, and Eleanor stepped into the booth. She wore an elegant burgundy trench coat and leather gloves, radiating elegance, poise, and absolute peace.

Both Preston and Sloane froze, dropping their phone receivers as they stared at her through the glass.

Eleanor picked up the visitor phone on her side, looking at Preston with quiet detachment.

"I came to deliver the final divorce decree, Preston," Eleanor said softly into the microphone. "It has been signed by the judge. You are officially no longer connected to my name or my family."

"Eleanor..." Preston wept, his hand pressing against the glass. "Please... talk to the prosecutor. They're giving me twelve years!"