Bring Her to Ruin

1
Nathan, my wife's assistant, posted on his feed. A picture, and a caption.
Thanks to my boss for the birthday celebration.
The picture was of him and my wife, Amelia.
Today was Nathan's birthday. It was also mine.
I had asked Amelia weeks ago to clear her schedule, to spend the day with me.
She said she was too busy.
The post was a minute old. I dialed her number.
"Where are you?" My voice was tight.
"Are you still sulking?" Her voice came through the phone, cool and distant. "It's just a birthday, Julian. You know how critical this growth phase is for the company. I'm in Chicago, meeting with Mr. Davies. I can't make it back."
"Right. You're busy."
I hung up. I zoomed in on Nathans photo, recognizing the restaurant instantly. I was going to pay them a visit.
I wanted to see exactly how Amelia would explain her way out of this one.

Tucked away in a secluded alley in the heart of the city is a small, private bistro. Its not open to the public; it's a sanctuary that belongs only to Amelia and me.
We come here when we're happy, to celebrate. We come here when we're stressed, to escape. Mr. Gable, the owner and chef, specializes in a unique, restorative cuisine that seems to understand our very palates. Dining here is our way of shutting out the world. This place is our Eden.
I've never brought a friend here. Amelia has never brought a friend here. It's our unspoken rule.
Today, she shattered it.
The photo was taken here. Nathan was sitting in my usual seat.
I drove to the alley and saw her car parked outside.
So this was her "busy schedule."
I sat in my car for a long time, a sharp pain mingling with a cold fury in my chest. It seemed that as her family's company, the Su Corp, had grown stronger over the years, she had started to see me as less and less important.
Fine. It was time to remind her just how capable the man she once relied on still was.
I got out of the car and walked into the alley.
"This is amazing. And this one is even better," Nathan was saying, critiquing the dishes on the table with the air of a seasoned critic.
He pointed a thumb at Mr. Gable, who was standing quietly to the side. "Hey, old man, make another round of everything I just mentioned. I want to take it to go."
A flicker of annoyance crossed Gable's face. Even I, a patron of years, always addressed him as Mr. Gable. I would never dream of ordering him around. As he always said, cooking is an art, and the menu is dictated by his inspiration. That's why every meal here was a delightful surprise. He never cooked the same dish twice, not exactly.
Gable looked at Amelia, his displeasure masked out of respect for her.
"Nathan likes it. Please prepare it," Amelia said, her tone flat.
"Prepare what?" I asked, stepping through the doorway.
Amelias face paled the moment she saw me.
"Mr. Grimson," Nathan said, scrambling to his feet. "I just wanted Gable to prepare some extra dishes for my father to try."
"And who the hell is your father," I said, my voice dangerously low, "to deserve a taste of Mr. Gable's cooking?"
Nathan was clearly stunned by my bluntness. He shot a desperate look at Amelia, silently pleading for her to intervene.
Amelia, who had never seen this side of me, hesitated for a moment. "Nathan," she said finally, "why don't you wait outside."
"Of course, Mr. Grimson," he stammered, nodding at me before scurrying away.
I ignored him.
Gable looked at me. "I've been working on a new recipe for a special birthday dish. Let me get it started."
"I'll eat in your study in a bit," I told him.
He nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Only then did Amelia speak. "Don't you think you were being a little harsh?"
I sat down in the chair Nathan had just vacated and stared at her. "Harsh?"
"You lie about a business trip to celebrate another man's birthday, and you want to talk about what's harsh? Or do you think that with my power and influence, a few sharp words to your little assistant qualifies as harsh? Do you want to see what harsh really looks like?"
"Don't be ridiculous. There's nothing between us," she said quickly. "Nathan lost his mother when he was young. He comes from a single-parent home, and he craves female affection because of that void. He said I remind him of his mother, that he's never had a mother with him for his birthday. As his boss, I thought it was a small kindness to celebrate with him."
My face was a mask of ice. "I've heard of women with daddy issues, but this is a new one."
"Julian, that's a disgusting thing to say."
"You do something disgusting, and you expect me to respond with poetry?" I could feel my control slipping, but I forced my voice to remain steady. "Fine. Let's not talk about it. If you're looking for a thrill, let's just get a divorce."
The word "divorce" seemed to pierce through her composure. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I just had a meal with him. You don't have to blow it so out of proportion."
"Today is my birthday too," I reminded her. "And you made your choice."
She looked down. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"Fire him."
"He's a diligent and hardworking employee. You're always saying we should give new talent a chance. Firing him just because I had one dinner with him isn't fair. I promise, I won't have any private contact with him again. It will be strictly professional."
"Nine a.m. tomorrow. The courthouse," I said, standing up. I was done with this conversation.
The truth was, when she chose to have dinner with him today, she had already made her choice. She chose him over me. And now, she was defending him. There was no point in continuing this marriage.
"I just want to give a promising new employee a chance," she said, rising to block my path. "I'll transfer him to a subsidiary. He shouldn't have to bear the consequences alone just because of a meal. If I fire him, what will people say?"
She grabbed my hand. "You're overthinking this. I truly felt sorry for him. We don't have a baby yet I guess my maternal instincts are kicking in." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "Maybe we could work on making a baby tonight?"
"Not in the mood."
"What do you want from me? You're really going to divorce me over one dinner? Don't you trust me at all?"
"What is this place, Amelia?" My voice was cold steel. "No one else has ever set foot in here. This is our private world. Our sanctuary. It's a place where no outsiders are allowed. And you brought him here. You crossed a line."
"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. Please don't be angry. Mr. Gable is making your special birthday dish. Let's go try it. I'll never bring anyone here again. I swear."
Gable's cooking was, as always, sublime. But it did nothing to quell the fire in my gut. I was still seething, like a predator whose territory had been invaded. I couldn't stand the sight of Amelia, so I sent her away and had a couple of drinks with Gable instead.
"Forgive me for overstepping," Gable said, watching me. "But the rumors about your family's business are not good. I suggest you maintain a good relationship with Amelia. If the Grimson family really gets into trouble, the Su Corporation could be your lifeline."
I tossed back half a glass of whiskey. "Gable, why do you think she's acting like this now?"
He fell silent. He knew. She was acting this way precisely because of those rumors. The Grimson empire was about to fall, and she was starting to show her claws.
"If those rumors were confirmed," I said, "she wouldn't have apologized today. And the person filing for divorce wouldn't have been me."
Gable drained his glass. He knew I was right. "Times have changed," he muttered. "If your family hadn't pulled the Su Corp out of the mud, they would have been history years ago."
I smiled grimly. "The hand that lifted them up can also be the one that crushes them."
He gave me a look. He thought it was just bravado. All the news, all the whispers, pointed to one conclusion: the Grimson dynasty was over. I didn't bother explaining. A decision was forming in my mind. I would use this incident with Amelia to show everyone whether the Grimson family would truly fall.
When I got home, Amelia was uncharacteristically proactive. She was wearing something sheer and tempting, but I felt nothing.
In the first couple of years of our marriage, she had been eager to please, constantly finding new ways to entice me. Back then, her family needed my help, the support of my corporate empire. But in the last two years, as the Su Corp clawed its way out of debt and began to soar, she had changed. She became passive, cold. My advances were often met with rejection. On the rare occasions she agreed, she would lie there like a corpse. I started to despise myself for even trying.
Its easy to forgive yourself, but hard to forgive others. The resentment had been building for a long time. Tonight, faced with this sudden, calculated seduction, I refused.
I went to the guest bedroom upstairs and locked the door. Lying in bed, I realized we had been sleeping in separate rooms for nearly two years. The last time we'd been intimate was six months ago.
She used to be the one locking the door. Tonight, it was me.
The next morning, she had made breakfast, another rare occurrence. She was already at the table, waiting for me. I ate in silence. I could feel her wanting to speak, but my cold wall was impenetrable.
Around noon, her mother called. She said it had been too long and invited us over for dinner that night. She played her trump card: my own parents would be there.
I knew Amelia had arranged it, a last-ditch effort to smooth things over. But the cracks in our marriage weren't from a single day. Her dinner with Nathan was just the spark that ignited the bonfire. Still, I had thought about it all night. Divorcing her over a single meal did seem a bit childish. I decided to see how she would play her hand.
At dinner, Amelia handed a proposal to my father. "Dad, take a look at this. It's the plan for the Southbridge Project."
My father took it and read it carefully. "Impressive. Very insightful. If you follow this plan, the profit margins on the Southbridge Project could be maximized. I'll take this with me and review it more closely."
Amelia beamed. "It's not just for you to look at, Dad. We'll need your full support to make this project a success."
And there it was. My family still had value. Our influence was crucial for her project. That was the real reason she hadn't pushed for a clean break.
I remained silent throughout the meal. The atmosphere was lively, pleasant even. But Amelia and I both knew we were just actors in a play.
I had a bit to drink, so she drove home.
"Nathan was the one who drafted that proposal," she said, her eyes on the road. "Even your father was impressed. He's a real talent. I only had dinner with him because I want to keep him with the company. That's all."
"I thought tonight was about fixing our relationship," I said flatly. "But I was wrong. This is about you not wanting to fire him, isn't it?"
"Julian, you're being deliberately obtuse! I'm just trying to retain a valuable asset for the company. He just graduated, but other firms are already trying to poach him. You have to offer special treatment to keep someone like that."
"So if he said he'd only stay if I gave you to him, would you do that too?"
"You're being irrational," she snapped, her face hardening. "If I fire him, we can't use his proposal. I don't know how I would explain that to your father. You can tell him."
A humorless laugh escaped my lips. So that was her game.
Talent? What a joke. A new wave of brilliant graduates enters the market every year. This world has never had a shortage of talent. What it lacks are opportunities.
Since she wanted to play games, it was time to show her what kind of man Julian Grimson really was. It was time to see if I still had a say in things, even with her family's newfound power.
The next morning, I went to my office at the Su Corp. She wouldn't fire Nathan, so I would.
At 9:30 a.m., as I was sipping my tea and enjoying the river view, my office door was thrown open.
Amelia slammed a contract down on my desk, her face flushed with anger. "Julian, what is the meaning of this? I told you he was a talent! I already showed his proposal to your father. Why did you fire him?"
"Amelia, do you really think I'm that stupid? When you showed my father that proposal yesterday, did you mention it was Nathan's? My father would have praised it even if you'd just scribbled nonsense on it, because you're his daughter-in-law. Did you really think it was that brilliant?"
I tossed a file in front of her. "Take a closer look at this."
She picked it up. It was the same proposal she had given my father, but now it was covered in red ink.
"The red lines are corrections. The circled sections are fundamentally flawed, completely unworkable for the Southbridge Project. You had the audacity to show this to my father? All those other proposals you've shown him over the years? The ones that came back to you polished and perfect? I was the one who fixed them. My father asked me to fix this one for you too. Whether Nathan is a 'talent' is debatable. But whether you're a competent Chairwoman is a serious question."
She didn't back down. "Even if his proposal wasn't perfect, it had merit! He has fresh ideas! The company needs people like him. Julian, I expect you to hire him back. And don't forget, you are the Vice Chairman of my family's corporation. I am the Chairwoman. You do not have the authority to fire my assistant."
"And if I refuse?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. I met her gaze. Her family's power was growing, and in the last two days, she had clearly decided on her path. Now I just had to see if she would be the one to mention divorce.
She didn't. She just spun on her heel and stormed out.
Just as I expected. My family still had leverage she wasn't ready to give up.
But she wasn't going to make it easy for me, either. She decided to push back, harder, challenging my boundaries in the most painful way possible.
Nathan posted again.
It's official. Got the confirmation from the boss!
The picture was of his signed, full-time employment contract. The location was Mr. Gable's bistro.
She knew exactly how to hurt me. She had taken him back there.
This time, I didn't call her. There was no point. The first call was made with a sliver of hope still flickering in my heart. That hope was now extinguished.
My phone rang. It was Gable.
"Julian," he said, his voice heavy. "I wasn't going to call, but I think you should know. I'm leaving."
"Leaving? What do you mean, Gable?"
"I'm tired. I want to see the world. Someone else will be taking over the bistro."
"I understand, Gable. And the disrespect you were shown I will make it right."
"It's not what you think, son. I'm just old and tired. Don't let this affect your relationship with Amelia."
I hung up and drove straight to the bistro.
Only Nathan was there. He jumped up when I walked in. "Mr. Grimson, it was Amelia's idea! She said my proposal was excellent and wanted to make me a permanent employee. I didn't mean for this to happen. There's nothing going on between us."
I didn't even look at him. "Where is she?"
"That old guy, Gable, wasn't happy with me. He said he didn't feel like cooking and left. Amelia said she would cook for me herself. I couldn't stop her."
His posture was submissive, but his tone was laced with a barely concealed triumph.
Amelia was cooking for him. The pretense was well and truly over.
Just as I was about to go find her, I heard the click of high heels on the floor.
"Mr. Grimson, I'm sorry! I know I was wrong! Please, don't hit me!" Nathan suddenly cried out. He grabbed an empty wine bottle from the table and smashed it over his own head. Blood trickled down his temple.
Impressive.
"Julian, that's enough!" Amelia shouted, appearing in the doorway with a plate of food. "Apologize to Nathan. Right now."
"Nathan," I mused. "How cozy."
I walked over and picked up the wine bottle from the floor. It hadn't shattered completely.
CRACK.
I brought it down hard on Nathan's head. "Now you can scream."
"Julian, you're acting like a tyrant!" Amelia stared at me, her eyes wide with fury.
"Mr. Grimson, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault," Nathan whimpered, hunching over, playing the victim to win her sympathy.
"You did nothing wrong," Amelia said, rushing to his side to support his swaying body. "I'm taking you to the hospital. And believe me, this isn't over."
I sat alone in the empty bistro and called my father. "Dad," I said, my voice tight. "I'm at my limit."
My father didn't speak.
"For two years, as her family's business has grown, Amelia and I have drifted apart," I continued. "The other day, on my birthday, she spent it with her assistant who shares the same birthday. I made a scene, so today, she cooked for him personally. I think the Su family's wings have grown a little too strong."
"Just tell me what to do," my father said, his voice calm and lethal.
A weight lifted from my chest. "Break their wings," I said. "Let's watch them fall."
Not long after, my phone rang. It was Amelia. She told me to meet her at the courthouse.
Half an hour later, we stood face to face on the courthouse steps. She had changed into a crisp, white suit, looking as proud and untouchable as a swan. Nathan was with her, a bandage wrapped around his head, his eyes burning with triumphant defiance. He thought he had won.
But did he really think a woman like Amelia was driven by something as simple as love?
She looked down at me, her expression one of condescending pity. "Julian, you still don't seem to understand the situation. The Grimson empire is collapsing. I'm giving you one last chance. Kneel and apologize to Nathan, and I might consider not divorcing you."

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