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."

"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."