A Man's Snack is His Downfall

Chase Grimm's aide-de-camp sent me a screenshot of an Instagram Live status. Guess who it came from. His new secretary. She was showing off a meticulously prepared lunch from a lunchbox. My handiwork, no less. I made it for him. The caption read: [He's a dark, cold CEO… and a shiny knight who saved a hungry princess with a gastric problem from eating mac 'n' cheese again!] Chase almost never posted on Instagram. Yet there he was, sharing a photo of a cup of ridiculously spicy mac 'n' cheese, captioned: [I have missed this.] The nerve of this prick. Then my mother-in-law sent an entirely unsolicited text: [What the heck were you doing?! You're supposed to make him a proper lunch! He can't stand spicy food!] After all that, I decided to call a supermarket. "Hi! I'd like to order 100 cups of instant super-spicy mac 'n' cheese and have them delivered to Grimm Co. Please and thank you." "Ain't I generous?" Chapter 1 Eve Stewart, Chase's aide-de-camp, texted me just as I reached home. She sent a screenshot of someone's Instagram Live status. It came from Chase's new secretary. The image showed a lunchbox packed with near-artistic precision, filled with enough nutrients to make a dietitian gasp. The caption read: [He's a dark, cold CEO… and a shiny knight who saved a hungry princess with gastric problems from eating instant mac 'n' cheese again!] I stared at the screen in confusion. How had the lunch I prepared for him ended up in Imogen John's hands? Eve followed up almost immediately. [Check his status.] I did, still baffled, and my blood started to boil. Chase Grimm never updated his social media. Yet there he was, sharing a photo of a cup of ridiculously spicy mac 'n' cheese, captioned: [I've missed this.] "Missed this, my ass." I had made him a proper lunch. Instead of eating it, he handed it to his pick-me secretary and chose instant mac 'n' cheese. What was that supposed to mean? Before I could call him to demand an explanation, his mother called first. She did not even bother with a greeting before shouting, "Why is my son eating instant mac 'n' cheese for lunch, Greta? Making lunch for him is your job! You know he has a weak stomach. How nutritious can mac 'n' cheese be? It's nothing but junk food for the broke!" "But I did make him lunch!" I protested. "Then why the hell is my son eating mac 'n' cheese?" she snapped. "I already called him. He said you went shopping and forgot to prepare lunch, so don't bother denying it. I don't even know what you do all day. You don't show up at the company, and you barely do anything. With all that free time, you still can't make him lunch?" I was done wasting my breath. I ended the call and sent her Eve's screenshot. [See this? I made lunch. Your son gave it to a side chick.] "Well, well, well. My dear mother-in-law went silent." My mind, however, remained in furious disarray. That asshole had the nerve to lie to his mother, give my food to his secretary, and match her post with his own status. How dare he? And why was I the one getting blamed while he played house with his work wife? He knew his stomach could not handle spicy food, but no. The shiny knight had to sacrifice himself for a princess who was not even his wife. And when the gastric problems hit, who would deal with them? I would. Me. I really wanted to see him burn. Chapter 2 Well, if he missed indigestion and diarrhea that much, what could a wife do except oblige? That afternoon, two men in the uniform of a large chain supermarket arrived to unload cups of super-spicy mac 'n' cheese in the front hall of the Grimm Co. building. The poor receptionist kept protesting, her voice rising with panic, "I think there's been a mistake! We didn't order any of this!" I stepped into the hall from behind the truck. When she saw me, she straightened at once and greeted me with forced politeness, "M-Mrs. Grimm! Good afternoon!" "I ordered them," I said sweetly, gesturing toward the mountain of cups. "And I want you to have some of the errand boys deliver all 100 cups directly to your boss' office." With that, I headed for the elevator, where my real target waited. … Chase scowled at the stacks of mac 'n' cheese, then shot me a glare. "Enough of this hysteria, Greta!" he growled. "I just didn't want her to suffer from indigestion or heartburn, okay? That's all. There's nothing between us. We're just employer and employee!" I snorted. "When does it finally count as cheating to you, honey? After you've finally creamed in her pants? Please. You know exactly what's going on between the two of you. You enjoy this. You enjoy how she worships and adores you. It feeds your ego, doesn't it? "Think about it. Why haven't you ever offered your lunch to anyone else in the office? I'm sure there are plenty of people here with indigestion or heartburn." My voice dripped with scorn. "We've been married for years, asshole. I know what goes on in your head better than you think. Oh, and remind me again. What did you tell your mom when she demanded to know why you were eating instant mac 'n' cheese for lunch? She came straight to me for an explanation." The office door flew open. Imogen walked in wearing a little white dress and white canvas shoes. She looked like the picture of innocence, a clueless student wandering onto the wrong floor. I could never get away with wearing something like that. "Ms. Cheese, here's your coffee." I took the cup, smiled, and poured the coffee straight over her. Imogen cried out. Instead of backing away, she stumbled forward and collapsed against Chase's chest. He caught her, fury twisting his face. "How could you do this, Greta?! This isn't your private space! Spare the rest of the world your idiotic hysterics!" I snickered. Look at her. She was on the verge of tears. "Oh yes, squeeze her tighter, honey. That should bring you one step closer to divorcing me, so your little princess can finally become your queen." They flushed and quickly pulled away from each other. I pointed at Imogen. "So how are you going to claim you're not treating her differently? First, why did she call me Ms. Cheese instead of Mrs. Grimm? You didn't seem to find anything wrong with that. What was it? A trial run to see how it would sound if I went back to my maiden name? "Second, what's with that outfit? Every woman in this company wears business slacks or professional dresses. Even I follow the dress code. So why does she look like a high schooler on summer break? Did I interrupt some kind of role-playing?" Chase hesitated, nerves flashing across his face. "What the hell, Greta? She just hasn't had time to buy proper clothes yet! I gave her a grace period, that's all!" "She's been here for almost a month," I said with a tired sigh. "How is that not enough time to buy something appropriate? God, I'm done." I jabbed a finger toward the cups. "Starting tomorrow, I'm not making you lunch until you finish all 100 cups of your favorite super-spicy mac 'n' cheese. You'll love that, won't you? You like them better than the meals I make for you anyway." Chapter 3 Chase's annoyance flared. "Since when have I ever said I hated your meals? You're just making things up so you can stay mad." "Oh? So this means you like everything I've ever made for you?" I shot back as I pulled a lunchbox from my bag. I lifted the lid and slid it across the table. "Here's today's lunch." Chase slammed his fist down. "What is this? This isn't human food. It's…" "Chicken feed. Yes," I said calmly. "I assumed that's what you do with the meals I prepare for you. You feed them to your side chick." I cast a sideways glance at Imogen. "Your Highness, it is my great honor to present your premium, organic chicken feed. No need to thank me. Bon appétit." Imogen began to cry, her head bowed as she hid behind her boss. I continued, my tone sharp with mockery, "Is that all you can do, Princess? Cry? You expect to become the wife of a CEO with nothing but tears? "Men like yours enjoy playing the hero for fragile little girls, but they are not stupid enough to marry a useless crybaby. That alone will never be enough. "If your only goal is to remain a 'work wife' or a 'weekend friend,' then by all means, keep practicing your tears like a little bitch. Maybe one day your noble, knightly boss will decide to marry a useless, sobbing princess. "But if your ambitions reach any higher, darling, then make yourself useful. Try to dispose of me. Eat the feed. Let him see just how much of an evil villainess I truly am. Our divorce will come much faster if you find the courage to act. "You want a seat at the top of the pyramid? Then start getting comfortable with humiliation. Gold diggers have to crawl through plenty of gold-colored filth before they ever reach the top." Imogen sobbed harder. "I don't understand why you're doing this to me, Ms. Cheese. I know I'm just a secretary, but that doesn't give you the right to insult my moral character. I've never done anything inappropriate with my boss. This is slander." I scoffed. "Slander? You may be blind because of the man you chose to seduce, but the rest of us still have working eyes. First of all, what kind of secretary dresses like that at work? "If he takes you to a business meeting dressed like this, people will wonder whether you call him 'Daddy' instead of 'Mr. Grimm.' They will assume he brought you along to compensate for something. "You think far too highly of yourself just because he lets you eat his lunch, and that is pathetic. A secretary should solve her boss' problems, not create new ones. If you truly cared about your so-called moral character, you would resign right now to prove me wrong. But you won't. Instead, you cry and hope your shining knight will rush in to save you." "Shut the hell up!" Chase kicked the lunchbox away in fury. "You've completely lost it, Greta. You're standing in my office and insulting my employee right in front of me. Who gave you the authority to treat my people like this?" The feed splattered across me, but I did not move. "Two choices, Chase," I said evenly. "Keep your crying princess as your secretary and we proceed with the divorce. Or fire her right now, and I will pretend none of this ever happened." Chapter 4 "Choose wisely," I said. Chase did not hesitate. "Impossible! My company operates by strict rules. I can't fire someone over private squabbles. You're asking me to abuse my authority." I nodded and rose to my feet. "Understood." I turned toward the door. He sprang up and grabbed my arm. "Enough of this theatrical nonsense, Greta! I've had enough!" "Hands off!" I slapped his hand away. "Why are you shouting at me over a choice you made? Last I checked, we are not in an open relationship. What are you now, some chieftain from ancient times with multiple wives? Should I start a harem of my own to make things fair?" "Greta, listen to me—" "No. Fuck off." The first thing I did after returning home was remove Chase's thumbprint profile from our security doors. The message was simple: "You're only allowed to come home after you finish the 100 cups of instant mac 'n' cheese!" To his credit, Chase did not come back that night out of spite. That evening, however, I received another message from Eve. Imogen had updated her status again, this time displaying a bracelet from Van Cleef & Arpels. The caption read: [A special gift of comfort, bestowed only on a princess.] "Well, well, well. I might not have been a Van Cleef & Arpels client before, but that's about to change." After one phone call and several messages, the executive manager himself spoke with me. "My honorable ma'am, I assure you that I will prepare the exact number of jewelry pieces you require tonight and arrange delivery by tomorrow." - By the next afternoon, everyone at Grimm Co. had received a gift from the CEO's wife. The women received the same bracelet Imogen had flaunted, while the men received bespoke watches from the same jeweler. There was only one condition. Each recipient had to take a photo of the gift and update their status with the caption: [A special gift of appreciation, bestowed equally on all of us by a queen.] I had already shared screenshots of Imogen's post from the night before with my friends, and the office knew exactly what to do. After all, I employed several executives at the company. [Yas, girl! Putting the "cess" in "princess." Girlbossing your way into being a mistress!] [All that money on a bracelet. Should've paid for vision correction instead. Lol!] [Help. Little sis thinks she's getting married. How do I tell her nicely?] The office quickly began to ostracize Imogen. It took only a few thousand dollars to unite them under my banner. Even her so-called best friends at work had started giving her sideways glances and open contempt. … Imogen could not believe it. These were the same people who once admired her and showered her with flattery when the CEO first showed interest in her. Now she had become public enemy number one. Some even accused her of being a gold digger to her face. The bracelet was supposed to be special. It was meant to symbolize one step closer to the position she truly wanted. Instead, it turned into a mark of humiliation, a source of ridicule and isolation at work. In tears, Imogen knocked on Chase's office door and removed the bracelet from her wrist. "I appreciate the gift you gave me, Mr. Grimm. I truly do. But please take it back. I don't want it anymore." Chapter 5 We had never had a fight this explosive in our marriage until today. Chase grabbed the large, ornate frame that held our wedding photo and smashed it against the wall while I watched. He plowed through priceless vases, chinaware, and other custom mementos we had commissioned during our honeymoon. He screamed, "I had no fucking idea how petty you actually were until today. Was any of this necessary? Did you really need to get the entire company, a public entity, by the way, to ostracize her over our private matter? "I've told you a thousand times. There is nothing between us. Why won't you stop hurling baseless, insulting accusations at her?" I surveyed the wreckage of his rage with the detachment of an outsider. "Nothing, you say? Nothing? If she truly had some kind of gastric condition, do you know the proper way to handle it? "You send her to a clinic. That's it. You did not need to give her the lunch I made for you. My effort is not a prop in your little courtship game. "And that bracelet may cost you nothing, but it's worth several months of her salary. So why? Out of everyone in the company, why did you give it to her alone?" Chase did not hesitate for even a second. "Because it was an apology gift. You insulted and hurt her, Greta. I had to do something to make up for it. This is on you." I scoffed. "Did I ask you to do that? No. I'm an adult woman, fully capable of bearing the consequences of my own actions. I didn't ask for your interference. And besides, how long did it take you to come up with that excuse? Do you really think I don't know what's going through your mind? "You follow her Instagram. You've seen everything she posts. You know exactly what she's implying in those captions, and you enjoy it. You love being the center of a needy girl's attention and affection while hiding behind plausible deniability. "It feeds your ego, doesn't it? You knew her behavior would upset me. You knew defending her would hurt me. That was the point. God, it makes you feel like such an alpha male when two women are fighting over you, doesn't it? The most desirable little wanker of them all." I pointed at the shattered remains of our wedding frame and said flatly, "My dad hired a team of artisans to create that piece from scratch as our wedding gift. It took them three weeks. Did you even know that? "And that vase. Did you notice our names woven into the pattern? I carved those myself. I learned how from a craftsman so I could do it with my own hands. "Look under your shoes, Chase. We made those glass swans together at a luxury workshop in a rustic mountain town. Now all that's left are shards because you threw and stomped them in a tantrum over another woman. "You've destroyed everything we built together. Everything that reflected our relationship. Everything that symbolized our marriage. Actions speak louder than words, Chase. And yours were deafening." The anger drained from his face in an instant, replaced by panic. "No, Greta. Wait. That's not what you—" "Shhh. I know," I said softly. I picked up the jewel-studded statue we bought on holiday years ago. "You see, I have a violent side too. Pay attention, Chase. You're about to get a perfectly valid reason to divorce me."