Divorce to Destiny: Reclaiming My CEO Husband novel Chapter 539

(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.

And then I see him.

Viktor.

Standing at the path leading down to the cottage, arms crossed, watching me.

I stop walking. “You lost?”

His mouth twitches. “Checking if you need dinner.”

I snort. “At 2 a.m.? Pass. This will do me, thanks.” I raise my cigarette before taking another drag.

He shifts a little. “You should give up.”

I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, that’s what everyone says. But I have to have one vice. Can’t all be perfect like you.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“No shit. Why are you here?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

I scoff. “Convenient.”

I clear my throat. “Anyway, I’m dead on my feet, so unless you’ve got a legit reason to be following me like a stalker—”

“I was going to ask if you wanted dinner. One night.”

I freeze.

It’s nothing. Just a simple question. But coming from him? It hits different.

Viktor isn’t the kind of guy who puts himself out of his comfort zone like that. He does things. He decides things. He doesn’t feel things.