Divorce to Destiny: Reclaiming My CEO Husband by Anney GW

438 Finding Me

438 Finding Me (Cass)

"Cass," Chef Thierry's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding. It's nice to hear an English word at last. I haven't hear many in three days.

I glance up, still scrubbing. He's standing a few feet away, holding a small bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. His expression is inscrutable, his sharp features etched like stone. "Here. As you are the... 'ow you say, soup expert..." He gestures with the spoon, offering it to me. "Taste."

I wipe my hands on my apron, glancing around.

They can be scared of him. I'm not. He's just a man doing a job, like any other man.

Taking the spoon, I dip it into the soup he's holding and taste.

The flavors bloom on my tongue-rich, earthy, with a faint hint of bitterness. It's incredible, no question, but... there's something missing.

Thierry's eyes narrow as he watches me, waiting. Almost daring me to defy him again.

I grab a clean spoon, dip it into a jar of honey I'd seen him use earlier, and swirl a small amount into the soup. Then I sprinkle some of the fresh chopped Lemon Thyme over the top. "Try that." I say to him, handing him a clean spoon.

The entire kitchen falls silent. You could hear a pin drop.

Thierry arches a brow but doesn't say anything. He tastes it, his expression unchanging. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he sets the bowl down on his counter with a deliberate motion

He doesn't say a word. Instead, he gestures toward the sink, where an even larger stack of dishes has appeared. His message is clear: back to work.

I return to the sink, my back to the rest of the kitchen, but I catch the faintest flicker of a nod from Thierry to his sous chef out of the corner of my eye. Each soup that goes out now has my finishing touches. That is probably the most satisfying feeling I've ever had.

The next morning, I'm chopping vegetables for salad and garnish under Thierry's watchful gaze.

His commands are brisk, his criticisms sharper, but I've learned to tune out the tone and focus on the words." Precision, not speed," he snaps as I dice an onion. "First technique, then speed will come. And no waste. Every piece matters."

I get it right, he doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. The absence of

controlled chaos. Why and how

+25 BONUS

438 Finding Me

in the rhythm. He lets me plate a salad,

looks refined, modern and edgy. I pop on

done, Thierry inspects it, his eyes scanning every detail before

is over, I'm washing dishes to get ready for dinner service. But something is ignited inside me. I think

knew I was. But this

**

into his

doesn't look up immediately. After a moment, he folds a piece of paper, slides it into

at me, his sharp eyes

holding out the

it

grunt. "Take it to any head chef

come highly recommended." I

""When you leave?"

to Brussels.

forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Listen carefully, Cass. You have something. A spark, a talent. But it's raw. Unpolished.

to train," he continues. "At least five years. Work in kitchens everywhere you can. Big, small, fancy, simple. Learn from all of them, but don't let anyone twist your vision. Take

name for yourself before that. If you try, you'll be crushed. Learn and you'll have something no one

food. No apology. No compromise. Your food,

small smile tugging at my lips. "No pressure,

pressure," he shoots back, his tone clipped but not unkind. "If you

438 Finding Me

"What's that?"