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?"

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.

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."

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."