HE BROKE ME, SO I MARRIED HIS RIVAL

Chapter Two

Elena’s POV

Three months.

That’s how long it had been since I walked out of Lucas Dawson’s world and stepped—no, stumbled—back into my own.

The first breath of freedom hadn’t come easy. At first, the silence felt more like punishment than peace. Mornings greeted me with stillness I wasn’t used to—the absence of polished marble halls, no clinking heels of maids rushing about, no silk sheets rustling beside me, and certainly no lingering scent of his expensive cologne on the pillow.

Just me.

In a modest countryside apartment with sheer white curtains, wooden floors that creaked beneath my bare feet, and the constant hum of quiet. It was jarring at first… but slowly, it became a peace I never knew I craved.

The nights were the hardest. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above me, haunted by echoes of his voice.

"Ugly. Infertile. Useless."

Those words had once cut so deep, I bled in places no one could see. But each passing day loosened their hold on me. I stopped checking my phone every five minutes, hoping for a message that would never come. I learned to cook for one. I learned to sleep alone. I relearned how to be alone.

And little by little, I learned to live again.

The divorce was finalized weeks ago. The papers were now tucked away in a drawer I rarely opened—a quiet reminder of a past I no longer wanted to revisit. I didn’t need ink on paper to remind me of what I’d lost… or what I’d gained.

Freedom.

And I’d earned every breath of it.

Before Lucas, I had dreams. I had ambition. I had a fire. I wasn’t the quiet, obedient trophy wife he tried to mold me into or maybe I allowed him to mold me into.

I loved to cook. I still do.

Back in university, I was known for it—admired, even envied by course mates. I studied culinary arts at the Collegio di Bellezza e Innovazione Internazionale—CBII—in Italy. One of the most prestigious culinary schools in Europe. A place I never dreamed I’d belong.

I’d grown up in an orphanage. A forgotten girl in a forgotten town. But one day, a miracle arrived in the form of a scholarship from an anonymous donor—offered only to the top thirty students. I was one of them.

That opportunity changed my life. It transported me from the shadows into the light. That’s where I met Lucas.

He was every girl’s dream—charming, handsome, wealthy, magnetic. And for some reason, he chose me.

I thought it was love. I truly believed it.

I was wrong.

A loud car horn blared outside, jolting me back to the present.

I blinked and turned toward the quiet little countryside town that I now called home. No flashing cameras. No designer heels. No fake smiles. Just quiet mornings, honest people, and the scent of fresh herbs in the air.

I unlocked the front door of Elena’s Table—my little restaurant, born from the ashes of a broken marriage. A dream Lucas once ridiculed.

"You want to cook for people? Slave over a stove like some common servant? My wife will not embarrass me like that."

Those words had once crushed me.

Now? They fueled me.

With part of the settlement money, I opened this rustic bistro. Nothing fancy, just charm, soul, and heart poured into every dish. And my signature? Chicken Parmesan.

At first, the locals were skeptical. It was different from the traditional countryside meals they were used to. Too bold. Too cheesy. Too foreign.

But after one bite, they were hooked.

Now, they lined up down the block for it.

Every time I plated that dish, I reminded myself: I am not the woman Lucas broke. I’m Elena. The girl who rose from the ashes. The chef who made strangers smile. The woman who turned pain into passion.

And I would do it all over again.

Because now, I wasn’t just surviving—I was living.

I hummed along to my favorite pop song as I wiped down the countertop. The scent of fresh basil lingered in the air when the doorbell chimed. A tall man stepped in, radiating confidence like he owned the earth beneath his feet.

“I'm renting this place out,” he said coldly, without preamble. “Don’t take any other customers.”

I froze.

“Excuse me?” I walked toward the table he sat at, my brows furrowed.

“We don’t do that here,” I said firmly. “If you want your own space, buy a building.”

His gaze snapped to mine. “How dare you talk to me like that?”

“And who the hell do you think you are in my restaurant?” I snapped back without hesitation.

He looked shocked—like no one had ever dared speak to him that way. Good. He deserved a taste of humility.

I turned away, uninterested in wasting my energy on some spoiled brat with a superiority complex. He stood and muttered, “I’ll be back soon.”

Then he slammed the door behind him.

“Great,” I mumbled. “Just what I needed on a Monday morning.”

But the strange part? That whole day, not a single customer showed up. Not one. It was like someone had told the entire town to avoid my restaurant.

The silence stung.

I was about to close for the night when I heard a familiar voice call my name.

“Elena!”

I turned. My landlady stood a few feet away.

And beside her? The rude jerk from earlier.

“What are you doing with him?” I asked, irritated.

She rolled her eyes. “None of your business. I’m here to inform you—you need to move out of this shop.”

“What?” I gasped, feeling the ground slip beneath my feet. “Is he your son or something?”

“Do we look alike, you fool?” she snapped. “He’s buying this place. Double the market value. I’ll return your deposit. Be out before Wednesday.”

My heart thudded. “You can’t do this!”

“I just did.” She turned to leave.

I ran after her. “Please, at least let me finish the lease. I have barely settled—”

“Then beg the new owner to lease it back to you,” she tossed over her shoulder with a smug grin. “He owns it now.”

“Never,” I muttered under my breath as I turned back toward the restaurant.

That same annoying smirk was still on his face.

He followed me inside, his hands in his pockets. “I have a business deal. One month. Do it, and the restaurant papers are yours.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of deal?”

“Be my personal chef. I’m here for business for one month, and I need someone to cook for me. The old woman said you’re the best around.”

He chuckled, as if the compliment didn’t matter.

I crossed my arms. “Why would I agree to cook for someone as rude as you?”

He turned to leave. “Then start packing. You’ve got until Wednesday.”

I stared at his retreating figure, heart pounding.

This restaurant is everything I have.

“I’ll do it!” I blurted out, swallowing every ounce of pride I had. “Just one month. You promise me the land papers when it’s over.”

He paused at the door. Slowly, he turned, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“Deal?” he asked.

I clenched my jaw. “Deal,” I muttered.

Whatever this was… it couldn’t be worse than living with Lucas.

Could it?