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."

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."