My Deceased Wife Wants a Divorce (Hannah) novel Chapter 97

“Quennel.”

His suit jacket was draped over his arm, and the moment he stepped inside, his eyes lit up. “Something smells amazing.”

“I just threw a few things together. I hope it’s to your liking,” Hannah said, taking his jacket and hanging it up.

Quennel followed her to the dining room and stared at the impressive spread, momentarily speechless.

“You made all of this yourself?” he asked, pulling out a chair. “Hannah, you’re even more incredible than I thought. This looks better than a meal from a Michelin-star restaurant.”

Hannah blushed at his constant praise, touching the side of her neck shyly.

Quennel rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “A meal like this deserves a good bottle of wine. Let me go grab one from upstairs. Don’t start without me.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“Nonsense. I’ll be right back.”

Hannah sat at the table, her hands clasped in her lap, feeling almost light-headed. Lately, it seemed like everyone was complimenting her—on her work, her cooking, her skills. The praise was so overwhelming it brought tears to her eyes, because it had been so, so long since anyone had said such things to her.

To Lionel, she was a failure who couldn’t even get a job at the Rosenberg Group, a cook whose elaborate meals were left untouched and thrown away.

But the truth was, she was a talented lawyer. She was a skilled chef.

Everyone else could see her worth. Only he had constantly torn her down, systematically destroying her confidence.

Hannah took a deep breath, blinking back tears just as Quennel returned.

“Hold on,” he said, uncorking the wine. “Let me pour, and we can toast before we take a picture.”

“Spit it out,” Lionel said, annoyed by his dithering.

“Mr. Rosenberg, you mentioned that your wife has you blocked on Facebook, correct?”

The question made Lionel’s mood darken instantly. To this day, his number was still blocked, and even the new SIM card he’d bought had met the same fate.

“What is it?” he snapped.

Owen wordlessly handed him his phone. “Your wife posted this on Facebook last night. There was another one before this, too.”

Lionel took the phone. The picture showed Hannah clinking glasses with a man whose face was out of frame, only his arm visible. The intimate caption combined with the image sent a jolt of pure rage through him.

“Find out where she’s living and who that man is. Now!”