Divorce to Destiny: Reclaiming My CEO Husband

(Cass)

Henry's little giggles fill the room as I kneel on the floor, arms wide open. "Come here, you big guy!" I say, trying to keep my voice steady, but damn, my throat feels tight seeing how much he's grown.

He crawls over, with his big grin. He remembers me, and that makes me feel good. I know it's only been a few months but he's only an infant.

I scoop him up, hugging him close as his baby scent fills my nose. It's like a mix of milk and sunshine, and it nearly wrecks me.

"Look at you, Henry," I whisper. "You're so big now."

He grabs my hair with his tiny hands, giggling. His face is brighter than I remember, more expressive. It's like I've missed a lifetime in just a few months.

Winona leans back, crossing her arms. "So, what's your plan now that you're here?"

I shrug, leaning against the couch. "Find work. Maybe I'll need a car when I get work. I have this." I pull out the envelope Thierry gave me and place it on the table.

"What's that?" Winona asks, picking it up but not opening it.

"A letter from the last chef I worked for. He said it'd help me get a job."

Winona looks at me skeptically, turning the envelope in her hands. "Cass, no offense, but wasn't this guy from some tiny village pub?"

"Yeah."

"So, how much pull do you think his letter will have?"

I smirk, shrugging again. "Probably not much, but he seemed confident. Said I had 'potential,' or whatever. Figured it's more than I had."

Winona taps the letter against her palm, her expression softening. "Well, the chefs at the estate are top-tier. I'm sure they could use some help in the meantime. Test the letter out." "I don't want charity, but it's a start."

***

The estate's kitchen is like nothing I've ever seen. It's massive, a cathedral of stainless steel and pristine white walls, humming with activity.

The aromas hit me first-bread fresh from the oven, something rich and meaty simmering away, and the sharp, clean scent of freshly chopped herbs.

Winona walks beside me. "Don't let this place intimidate you," she says with a small smile. "Gus likes only the best of everything."

"Now I see why your place is called the cottage. Who do all these chefs cook for? What do they do all day?"

"Exactly. But Jayden came up with an idea to turn this into an event place, and tourism. Make it self-sufficient and a training venue too." "That makes a lot of sense."

I glance down at my black outfit, tattoos, and piercings. I feel like a sore thumb in this world of crisp whites and polished perfection. "Just be yourself," she says, nudging me gently. "They'll see what I see."

I clutch the envelope in my hand. I'm not sure what I expect to happen here, but at least I'll know if this letter can really help me.

"Chef André Valois, Executive Chef," Winona introduces, her tone polite but firm. "This is my sister, Cass Nolan. She's had experience in kitchens and she's looking for a job locally." "No. I don't take personal referrals," he says curtly. "It rarely ends well."

"I'm not looking for her to work here. She has a letter of recommendation. I want you to look over it and see if it's any help. Maybe suggest local places she can try."

"Favoritism leads to resentment," he says, barely giving me a glance.

"This isn't about favoritism," I cut in, my voice steady despite the knot in my stomach. "I earned this letter."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Did you, now? Let's see it then."

I hand over the envelope, my heart hammering as he opens it. His expression remains neutral as he scans the page, but then, something shifts His eyes widen slightly, and his grip on the letter tightens

"Who else has seen this?" he asks, his voice suddenly sharp.

"No one," I reply, frowning. "Why?"This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he walks briskly to a group of chefs huddled near the far counter. "You all need to see this," he says, holding the letter up like it's some sort of artifact.

The ripple is instant. Heads turn, whispers spread, and the massive kitchen atmosphere changes entirely. One of the chefs-a woman with silver hair, actually gasps with her hand over her mouth. "You worked for him?" she asks, looking at me like I've just claimed to know a unicorn personally.

"Who?" I glance at Winona, who looks just as confused as I feel.

Chef Valois returns, his demeanor entirely different. "You worked under Henrik LaSalle?"

I blink. "Uh, I worked for Chef Thierry. Who's Henrik LaSalle?"

He lets out a short laugh, shaking

his head. "Henrik LaSalle is Thierry. He's a legend in European cuisine-cooked for royalty, dignitaries, heads of state. And he wrote you this?" He holds up the letter again for emphasis.

Winona's jaw drops. "Wait. Henrik LaSalle is this Thierry from the tiny village? Like Henrick who is all over the news and tv shows here? That Henrick? He's like the Gordon Ramsay of Europe." Valois nods. "One and the same. Cass, you have this letter framed, documented and insured. This will be worth more money one day than you will believe." What!?

"He said I had potential. I didn't know he was famous."

Chef Valois exhales sharply, as if trying to process the absurdity of the situation. "You impressed Henrik LaSalle! That's... That's unheard of."

"So... this recommendation is a good thing?" I ask, trying to lighten the tension.

He chuckles, a genuine sound that softens his stern features. "It's more than good. It's extraordinary." He pauses, his gaze leveling with mine. "It is a golden ticket."

"Unbelievable. No wonder that little place was always full and eye-wateringly expensive."

"I'm offering you a traineeship here.

But on full chef's pay, full benefits You'll have to commit to three years. And make no mistake-you'll earn every penny. I don't do special treatment."

I glance at Winona, who's beaming with excitement. "What do you think?"

"I think you'd be crazy not to explore your options in Brussels."

"Come. My office." Chef Vailos commands and strides off.

Winona nudges me and winks as we follow him.