The bloody history of love
I used to think my corner office was my
sanctuary, a monument to my climb in this
cutthroat world.
But my husband, bless his clueless heart,
decided to hand it over to the new intern, this
little Miss Perfect named Becky White.
She even had the nerve to flaunt it on social
media, posting a photo with the caption: “So
grateful for Mr. Sterling’s trust and
mentorship! I’ll do my best to exceed
expectations!”
My assistant, bless her gossipy soul, sent me
the screenshot.
And honey, let me tell you, the office looked
like a totally different universe. My awards.
<
my trophies, all vanished without a trace.
I forwarded the post straight to Michael, my
darling husband, and added a little note:
“Care to explain this, babe? Why is my
personal office being occupied by an intern?”
He sends me a voice note, slurring like he’s
halfway to drunksville: “Honey, it’s just an
office. You’re not even using it right now.”
Oh, hell no.
“I want that office back, exactly as it was, in
ten minutes. Tick–tock.”
Silence.
Two minutes later, I pulled the plug on
Sterling Corp’s biggest deal of the year, the
one that was supposed to cement his legacy.
L
If he wants to play power games, I’m more
than happy to bankrupt his entire empire.
1
My phone blew up faster than a Kardashian
scandal. Call after call from Michael, each
one more frantic than the last.
Finally, on the fifth ring, I answered.
“Susan, are you out of your mind?! That’s a
two–hundred–million–dollar deal!” His voice
roared through the speaker.
“You know the product launch is next week!
Calling it off is going to destroy the
company!”
L
“All this over an office? Are you serious?”
Five years of marriage, and this was the first
time he’d ever raised his voice to me over
another woman.
I took a delicate sip of my red raspberry tea,
letting the warmth trickle down my throat,
while my insides turned to ice.
“Dead serious.”
“Put my office back the way it was, Michael,
including every single one of my awards.
Don’t move a paperclip. Otherwise, you’ll lose
a hell of a lot more than a single deal.”
Silence on the other end. A few tense
seconds ticked by.
L
“You have five minutes.”
I hung up before he could argue.
Two minutes later, a photo of my office
popped up on my phone. Everything back in
its place.
I reinstated the deal with a quick call to the
project manager.
Then, I sent Michael a little something of my
own.
A picture of his precious study, completely
emptied.
Gone were his prized possessions, including
that ridiculously expensive antique he’d just
I followed it up win another proto: the
antique in a million pieces, scattered across
the floor.
“Consider this a taste of what’s to come,
Michael. You know how I roll. Don’t let it
happen again.”
He didn’t respond.
He was pissed, I knew it. But I was even more
pissed.
Our marriage started as a strategic alliance
between our companies.
He needed access to my family’s distribution
network overseas, and I needed his
manufacturing plants here at home. A
business merger dressed up as a wedding.
く
No whirlwind romance, just a calculated,
mutually beneficial arrangement.
“Susan, this isn’t just about business. I’ll trust
you, I’ll respect you.”
That was the sales pitch, the day he slipped
the ring on my finger.
“I appreciate your honesty, Michael. I hope
our partnership is a success.”
Five years, and we’d gone from strangers to
something like friends, from respect to
reliance, and then, dare I say it, to love.
We’d shared countless late nights after
endless business dinners, leaning on each
other in the back of a town car.
<
We even had a baby this year.
I thought we were rock solid.
Then Becky White showed up, and suddenly
everything we’d built felt like a house of
cards.
