All Chapters of After Divorce: Ex-wife Never Turns Back: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Emily’s POVThe bar thrived with its usual energy, laughter spilling through the air, glasses clinking against polished wood, and the hum of conversation blending with the distant melody of the live band. But tonight, I barely noticed any of it. My mind was elsewhere—on Savor the Night, on the dishes I was perfecting, on the future I was determined to carve out for myself and my family.My mind was solely focused on creating and everything else seemed to fade away as I bustled around the kitchen. The weight of my failed marriage, the years I had spent trying to be someone I wasn’t, no longer lingered in my mind. Rediscovering my passion for food forced me to face myself - it challenged me, pushed me, made me realize that I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t just Louis’s ex-wife. I was Emily. I was a damn good chef.I had spent the past week refining the menu for Savor the Night, testing bold new flavors, bringing fresh twists to our family’s traditional dishes. Every plate was a piece of me, a stor

Emily's POVDamian’s entire demeanor shifted the second he saw her. His face hardened, his knuckles whitening on the wheel before he exhaled sharply and opened the door. I followed, stepping out into the cool night air, my stomach twisting with unease."Charlotte," Damian said, his voice low, wary. "What are you doing here?"Charlotte ignored him. Instead, her sharp brown eyes landed on me, assessing, unyielding. She was beautiful, but her expression made it clear she wasn’t here to exchange pleasantries."This is her?" she asked, like I was some kind of stain on her designer shoes.My spine stiffened, and I lifted my chin. "Excuse me?"She let out a humorless laugh before turning back to Damian, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her crossed arms. "Are you even aware of the damage you're doing to yourself? Do you have any idea what you’re throwing away?"Damian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Charlotte, I don’t need this right now.""No, you never need it, do you?"

Emily's POVThe music swirled around us, the singer hitting a high, thrilling note that sent the crowd into a roar of excitement. I walked over to Nathan’s table, holding my creation—a chili hot dog. The soft, crusted bread cradled a lavishly seasoned sausage, topped with green bell peppers, scallions, crunchy radishes, spicy jalapeño slices, and finished off with a generous drizzle of my special sauce and melting cheese.Nathan sat with his legs wide on the stool, his signature slouch evident in his worn t-shirt and ripped jeans. Tattoos with intricate designs snaked down his shoulders, giving him the appearance of someone who belonged in an energized fight club, not sitting here as a professional food critic. His grin spread when I approached, and he glanced up as I set the plate down, taking a seat beside him. His table was already piled high with a variety of snacks, appetizers, and dishes—it was almost comical to think this muscular frame could take on so much food.“Feeling the

Damian's POVThe glow of my desk lamp cast long shadows over the paperwork spread before me. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temple as I scanned through my patient notes, my mind half-focused on the words scribbled in black ink. Mrs. Lancaster had opened up about her struggles with grief today—her husband’s passing still fresh in her heart despite the years that had passed. Then there was Adam, a teenager weighed down by his father’s impossible expectations, his shoulders curled inward as if bracing for the next blow.Different lives, different pain, but all of them searching for a way forward.I sighed and made a few final notes, saving the updates to my records. Just as I reached for my coffee, my phone chimed.Charlotte.Dinner. Tomorrow night. I already made reservations.I stared at the text, irritation prickling beneath my skin. It wasn’t a request; it was a demand, an expectation wrapped in polite wording. My fingers hovered over the screen before I typed out a curt reply

Emily's POVThe heat from the stove warmed my face as I plated the final dish, hands moving with practiced ease. This was the highlight of our family’s meticulously crafted event—my best creation, unveiled in the most dramatic, eye-catching manner. The crowd hushed as I skillfully waved the ladle, splashing hot oil onto the thick, amber curry sauce. The top layer of the massive snapper sizzled, sending a satisfying crackle through the air. Green peppers, red chilies, carrots, lime slices, and diced tomatoes swirled in the rich liquid, their vibrant colors flashing with each pop and bubble. I let the aroma stew, filling the air with its mouthwatering fragrance, then placed the lid on the wok with a soft metallic clink. The crowd gasped. I smiled. “During my time in Philadelphia, I experienced the wonderful culinary ingenuity of Szechuan and Thai cuisines…” I began, my voice smooth. “I wanted to honor that memory by combining the best of both worlds—”“Interesting,” a man interrupte