The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 141

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**

**Chapter 141**

**Gemma**

“Could it possibly be Nathalia Montoya?” a voice whispers in the background, barely audible but heavy with intrigue.

Tonight, the Blackwell family has gathered in full force, but Nathalia Montoya and her family are conspicuously absent. Did she really say she couldn’t make it? The thought lingers in the air, thick with unanswered questions.

As the atmosphere buzzes with curiosity and anticipation, a pair of striking white pointed heels clicks against the hardwood floor as they cross the threshold.

In the blink of an eye, Reyna steps into view, cradling a beautifully wrapped gift box in her arms, her presence commanding immediate attention.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” she announces, her tone light but her eyes scanning the room for familiar faces.

Why is Reyna here? Did Cassian extend an invitation to her? My mind races with uncertainty as I glance over at Donovan. His expression, already dark and brooding, transforms into a tempest the moment Reyna enters.

The crowd is a mix of reactions—some wear frowns of annoyance, while others seem thrilled at her arrival.

Claire, ever the provocateur, shoots me a smug, challenging look, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Reyna! You finally made it! Come join us; we’re about to present Grandpa with his gifts!” she exclaims, rising to greet her with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Just then, Cassian descends from his upstairs study, as if this is the precise moment he has chosen to grace us with his presence. He appears to be the epitome of casual elegance, yet I can’t shake the feeling that he’s deliberately avoiding me.

Reyna, adorned in a soft pink gown that flows elegantly around her, beams at Cassian as if he were the sun breaking through a cloudy sky.

“I brought a special gift for your grandfather. I hope he enjoys it,” she says, her voice laced with genuine warmth.

I sink deeper into the couch, turning my head away from her radiant smile. Cassian, however, swiftly maneuvers around Reyna, making his way to my side.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost tentative, as if he’s treading carefully on fragile ground.

We had just had a heated argument, and perhaps this is his attempt to mend the rift between us. He settles beside me, but I instinctively shift away, creating a chasm of space between us.

Cassian feigns ignorance of my discomfort, inching closer until his powerful thigh presses against mine, radiating warmth that feels almost overwhelming.

“Sweetheart, have we unveiled Grandpa’s gift yet?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with an undercurrent of urgency.

A wave of unease washes over me; the room is filled with eyes, and Donovan’s gaze is particularly scrutinizing. I can’t outright refuse him, so I respond coolly, “Not yet.”

“Then let’s bring it out now,” he insists, his enthusiasm palpable.

I rise from the couch, circling behind it to retrieve the painting I had carefully selected.

“Grandpa, I remember you’ve always had an affinity for this piece. The artist recently held an exhibition, and I couldn’t resist getting it for you,” I announce, my voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach.

Even if my gift had been the most mundane of items, Donovan would never allow me to feel embarrassed in front of everyone. But as I watch his eyes light up, I know this gift resonates with him on a deeper level.

“How did you know this painting was one of my favorites?” Donovan’s face transforms, his eyes sparkling like a child’s on Christmas morning. “You always seem to understand me.”

“I noticed a few pieces from the same artist in your study, and Cassian has mentioned it before,” I reply, throwing Cassian a lifeline to help him save face amidst the unfolding drama.

“Hang this up in the living room. Now,” Donovan commands, his voice firm and resolute.

He instructs the servants to mount the painting in the most prominent spot in the house, right then and there, making it the centerpiece of the evening’s festivities.

Claire’s expression darkens, her irritation palpable.

“Grandpa, Reyna brought you a painting as well,” she quickly interjects, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

The smile that had been so bright on Donovan’s face falters for a moment.

Reyna steps forward, unveiling the oil painting she had procured.

“Uncle Adrian, what’s your take?” Cassian asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm, yet still maintaining a veneer of respect.

Adrian flashes a wry smile. “I’m getting old. I’m not well-versed in these matters,” he replies, his stance clear—he’s avoiding any potential conflict.

“It’s not a trick question, Uncle Adrian. Which one do you prefer? It shouldn’t be that difficult to answer,” Claire presses, her pout deepening as she seeks to humiliate me further.

“Today is about Dad’s birthday. What he likes is what matters most. My opinion doesn’t hold weight,” Adrian states, glancing at Donovan with a knowing look.

Unable to sway him, Claire shifts her focus to Eleanor.

“What about you, Eleanor?”

Eleanor, a quiet presence within the Blackwell family, offers a polite response, revealing her personal preference for Reyna’s oil painting.

“But that’s not to say the landscape is bad. I just don’t quite understand it,” she adds, trying to tread the line of neutrality, yet inadvertently choosing a side.

One by one, more family members begin to voice their support for Reyna’s gift.

Claire lifts her chin, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “See, Gemma? I told you! Everyone prefers Reyna’s painting!”

I nod thoughtfully, trying to mask the unease churning within me. “Yeah, I didn’t expect it to garner such acclaim.”

In truth, I had underestimated my own worth.

“But the artist behind it still doesn’t measure up to the masters,” I admit, my voice steady but tinged with honesty.

Reyna bristles at my words.

“Gemma, that’s not fair. Art is meant to be appreciated, not judged solely by the artist’s renown,” she retorts, her eyes flashing with indignation.

“Do you even know who painted it?” I challenge, my tone firm as I push back against her defense.