How Does 'Cooking My Way Back' End?

Isn’t it funny how love works? I have always loved Dreston, and he has always been the one for me—my first love. As a child, I loved him, as a teenager, nothing changed. And now, even as his wife, I still couldn’t love him any less. But he only ever loved Tina—my teenage best friend. She came into our lives and didn’t just take him away from me. She took my happiness, my laughter, and even the girl I used to be. I still remember her words to me: “You knew he was mine, yet you married him.” She made me feel like I was the villain. Maybe I was foolish to believe that love alone would bring him back to me. But nothing changed. He would always love her. I finally gave up the day I signed the divorce papers. I learned to let go, to move on, and to start fresh. And just when I had finally decided to start my life again—just when the universe rewarded me with a man who loved me unconditionally… Dreston came running back. Now he wants a second chance.

Nora Adams is a woman who spent five years sacrificing everything for a man who saw her as nothing but a burden. She cooked, cleaned, and quietly carried the weight of a loveless marriage, telling herself that love would eventually come. It never did. In the evening she planned to surprise her husband with an anniversary dinner, she walked in on him in bed with her best friend. And when she refused to disappear quietly, Dennis Adams solved the problem the only way he knew how. He threw her off a balcony and told the world she had jumped. But Nora doesn't die. She wakes up in a private facility, and the man sitting at her bedside is the last person she expected. Norman Adams . Twenty-five years old, handsome billionaire, burning with a vendetta of his own. He is Dennis's nephew. A man who lost everything to the same monster she married. He knows who she really is. Not Nora Adams, the discarded wife. But Genevieve Lennox, hidden heiress and CEO of Lennox Global Enterprise, one of the most powerful companies in the country. And Dennis is slowly draining it dry. With time running out, her father's empire crumbling, and a terminal diagnosis hanging over her head, Genevieve makes a decision. She will transform. And she will make Dennis Adams regret every single thing he ever did to her. Even if it means marrying the one man guaranteed to destroy him.

I loved eating cakes. My dad would bring me one every day after work, and my mom bought a full set of oven and baking tools, patiently learning how to bake them for me. I once thought I was the happiest little princess in the world until the day my parents divorced. The person who came to pick up my dad turned out to be the bakery owner. My mom turned to me, growling, "This is all your fault! If you hadn't asked for cakes every day, your dad never would've cheated!" She stretched out her hands, covered in burn scars, and screamed hysterically, "I slaved away making cakes for you, and these hands have never healed since. What did you do? You both think the stuff from outside is so much better!" She grabbed a baking sheet and smacked me hard with it. I bit my lip, not daring to make a sound. That night, she brought home a little girl. Ignoring the pain all over my body, I begged for her forgiveness. "Mom, I'm sorry. Please don't throw me away. I swear I'll never eat another cake!" She slapped me across the face, but that wasn't enough to quench her anger. She tossed me into the big oven. "I'm not your mom! You love cakes so much? Stay in there and reflect on what you've done! You and your worthless dad both deserve to die!" After she slammed the door and stormed out, the little girl skipped over to the oven, grinning smugly as she hit the switch. "From now on, your mom is gonna be mine!" The oven kicked on, and the temperature began to rise. I smiled bitterly. At least this way, my mom could finally be happy.

Elaine never thought of going back after having to leave the city after her husband's betrayal without looking back. Five years later, she returns due to her father's insistence that she be present at the party. Has she moved on from the past? How will she face her ex-husband and stepsister, who broke her trust? Will the truth about her giving birth be discovered?

After five years of marrying into the Loween City in place of my sister, the Gambling King finally passed away. My son and my ex-husband—at long last—gave me permission to fake my death and return to them. But they laid down three conditions. First: kneel before Vivian Gray, apologize for framing her all those years ago, and surrender my place as Mrs. Hartwell. Second: work as a live-in maid for my own son for five years, and never show up at his school in my former identity as the reigning queen of the nightlife scene—lest I embarrass him. Third: drink an abortifacient to destroy my fertility forever, as recompense for the infertility I once caused Vivian. "My lady, you've endured five whole years just to earn your freedom—how dare they humiliate you like this?" My maid's eyes were red, burning with indignation on my behalf. But I just tipped my head back and swallowed the death-faking pill, letting the servants toss my "corpse" into the overgrown brambles beyond the city limits. Then, from the mud and weeds, I crawled back to the Hartwell mansion—one knee at a time. Day one, I knelt as ordered and signed over custody of my son without a fight. Day three, I locked myself in the storage closet and stopped showing up at school to pick my son up like I used to. I also stopped pestering him to call me "Mom." Even when Vivian—knowing full well I'm terrified of the dark—deliberately trapped me in the basement, I bore it in silence. By the time my ex-husband Nathan Hartwell saw me again, I was barely hanging on. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his face as he carried me out of that basement. But my son just sneered. "It's just another stunt to win our sympathy." When he caught the tears welling in Vivian's eyes, Nathan coldly dropped me to the ground. "Always scheming against Vivian with your dirty tricks—aren't you tired of it?" Right then, the system chimed in my ear: [Please proceed to the "disposable ex-wife death node" to complete the story line and return to your original world.] I let out a quiet laugh. "Not tired at all." And with that, I turned and dove straight into the swimming pool beside me.

During the holiday break, my wife, Jayda Glover—the hospital's star surgeon and Chief of Cardiac Surgery—suddenly "had to work overtime." Our third-anniversary hot springs trip? Canceled. That night, I was scrolling social media when a post from her intern, Dillon Tripp, popped up. My ice-queen wife always said her "golden hands" were only for patients. Apparently, they cook now too. She was in a cartoon apron, calmly chopping vegetables. The caption read: [Thank you, Dr. Glover, for personally cooking to comfort me after I was bullied by a patient's family!] I tapped like and left a comment. [White coat to apron. Very domestic.] Ten minutes later, the whole hospital knew Cardiac Surgery's untouchable beauty had broken her rule—just to cook for a younger guy. Jayda called. Dishes clattered in the background. "You really had to embarrass me in public? He got hot water thrown on him by a patient's family today. I was just doing my duty as his mentor! "A pampered professor's kid like you wouldn't know the first thing about how hard broke med students have it. "Apologize to Dillon right now. Otherwise, no matter how much you beg later, I'm not going on that trip with you!" Beg her? I looked at the divorce papers that had just arrived on the coffee table and let out a quiet laugh. I wasn't begging anymore. From this moment on, we were strangers.