Divorce to Destiny: Reclaiming My CEO Husband by Anney GW

539 Back in the Fire

(Cass)

By the time the last dish is stacked, my arms feel like they're made of lead. My back aches, my hands sting from endless scrubbing, and I swear I'll smell like onion peels and garlic skins for the next month. It's nearly two a.m. But I'm still standing.

Barely.

The Brussels estate kitchen is a monster. The lunch service alone had my head spinning-three different menus running at once, dignitaries arriving early, last-minute changes because some VIP decided they're suddenly vegan but still want the flavor of foie gras. Fine dining is bullshit.

And I love it.

I grab a clean cloth and wipe the sink and counters dry, catching my blurry reflection in the shiny steel of the dishwasher. Flushed cheeks, hair barely contained in my headscarf, exhaustion written all over my face.

The executive chef-aka Satan in a toque-barks at the nightshift team, sending them scrambling into action while I keep my head down. I learned that trick fast.

Do the grunt work, keep your mouth shut, don't whine, and maybe maybe they won't chew you up and spit you out.

But that doesn't mean I'm invisible.

"Cass," Chef snaps, barely looking up from the clipboard he's glaring at. "We start prep for the state dinner tomorrow. Early call. Five a.m."

I blink. "What?"

He lifts his head, arching an eyebrow. "Problem?"

I shake my head. "No. Just... it's almost two a.m."

He stares. "You want to be the best chef? That's the job. Get used to it."

I nod, ignoring the knot in my stomach. "Got it, Chef."

He grunts and moves on to yelling at someone else, and I exhale. My fingers dig into the cloth, my body screaming for sleep.

"Cass!"

Fuck, what now? "Yes Chef?"

"You'll be prepping for your own appetizer for dinner service. The scallop dish. Enough for one hundred serves." He gives me the nod that means I did good. Better than good, he chose my dish... again! Pride surges through me and I swear I'm not going to cry. "Yes Chef! Thank you, Chef."

He just walks off. God I need to sleep and now I'm bouncing off the walls.

I slip off my sodden apron, grab my bag, and push through the back door into the cool night air.

Brussels smells different at night-fresh, damp, a little smoky from the nearby chimneys. The estate is quiet, lights glowing from the windows, the real world feels far away.

I roll my shoulders and make my way toward the cottage. I fire up a cigarette. My body is a wreck, my feet hate me, but there's something satisfying about knowing I survived another day. And I got another appetizer over the line. Worth it.

then I see

Viktor.

path leading down to the cottage, arms

walking.

mouth twitches. "Checking if

This will do me, thanks." I raise my

shifts a little. "You should give

eyes. "Yeah, that's what everyone says. But I have to have one vice.

"I'm not perfect."

Why are

"I couldn't sleep."

I scoff. "Convenient."

unless you've got a legit reason to be following

going to ask if you wanted dinner. One

I freeze.

a simple question. But

kind of guy who puts himself out of his comfort zone like that. He does things. He decides things. He

he's waiting for an

stomach flips, and I

not totally out of

the tingle on my lips from the memory of that kiss. could use some physical stress relief I open

cut through

in

driveway, smooth and silent. I see the window roll down. I

heart stops. Then

body tenses beside me, shifting like he's

The car door opens.

and a clinging top with

than

perfect

spent a lot of nights

forcing my expression into something neutral. "What the

Cass. I

the tension rolling off him almost drowns

you'd

looks between us, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. "Did I

for this crap. I have to start

can have dinner

"No time. There's

even glance at him. "I

pulse jumps. Here they go. Fighting over

this is,

have