The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 161

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

**Chapter 161**

**Gemma’s POV**

In this moment, I can’t help but notice the flicker of reluctance and frustration that briefly crosses Donovan’s face. His jaw clenches slightly, a physical manifestation of the turmoil brewing within him, before he exhales a long, measured breath, as if trying to release the weight of his thoughts into the air.

“Yes,” he finally responds, his voice steady yet tinged with a hint of weariness.

He continues, “It appears she was admitted here as well—perhaps for something minor, or maybe it was just a clever ruse… Regardless, she managed to find her way up here, seemingly to charm me back into her good graces, but instead, she ended up issuing threats.”

My heart races at his words, and shock spills forth before I can rein it in. “She threatened you?!”

A dry chuckle escapes him, but there’s no mirth in it—only the bitterness of experience.

“Indeed, dear Gemma. It seems this aging process has turned into quite the beast, one that has convinced her that I am no longer formidable enough to stand in her way.”

I stare at him, disbelief washing over me as he recounts the unsettling exchange. His expression shifts to one that is both sad and wry, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But don’t worry, Gemma,” he assures me, his voice softening. “I may be aging, but as long as I draw breath, you need not worry about a single thing. I will ensure that Cassian remains by your side.”

At that moment, the heart rate monitor begins to register a spike, the beeping becoming slightly more rapid, a little louder, as if echoing the tension in the room. I instinctively reach out, placing my hand gently on his arm, hoping to soothe him.

“Grandpa, please,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. “Don’t pay any mind to the desperate ramblings of a girl who thrives on half-truths, twisting them into lies until they masquerade as reality.”

I swallow hard, the burn in my throat a stark reminder of the anger simmering just below the surface.

“I can say this with absolute certainty: whatever she told you is nothing but a concoction of lies, thick enough to ensnare the weak-hearted, but not us.”

I maintain a calm facade, but internally, I am a tempest of rage.

She is the very reason chaos erupted on this floor when we arrived, the reason whispers filled the air, suggesting he needed to be shielded from stress. And what if something had happened to him?

Who would bear the responsibility?

Would it be her, for having the audacity to confront him? Or Cassian, for enabling her reckless behavior time and again?

A sudden surge of anger rises in my chest, directed at both of them. I can no longer remain seated, fists clenched, jaw tight, blood roaring in my ears like a relentless tide.

As soon as Donovan’s eyes flutter shut in sleep, I rise from my chair, moving quietly as a whisper. I slip out of the room, carefully closing the door behind me.

Cassian is pacing just a few feet away, his brows shooting up in surprise when he sees me. He strides toward me, concern etched across his features.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice laced with worry. “Is he okay? Does he need anything—”

“Yeah, you don’t need to concern yourself with that.”

I cut him off, my tone sharper than intended. “But if we continue leaving things in the hands of others, he might not remain stable for long.”

I’m about to offer to call and verify, anything to end this pointless interrogation and reach my grandfather.

Gemma scoffs, the sound brittle and cutting. “All alone? I doubt it.” Her gaze challenges me, unwavering. “Just give me her room number.”

“Room 56,” I frown, exasperation creeping into my tone. “But why can’t you understand? She won’t be there—”

“Fine!”

She crosses her arms defiantly. “Then you can come along and see for yourself.”

Before I can argue against this futile endeavor, she spins on her heel and strides away, leaving me to follow, my confusion simmering alongside my irritation. What is she trying to prove?

We weave through rooms, nurses, and hushed conversations, making our way down the corridor to the right wing. Gemma reaches the door first, and it swings open with a creak as she steps inside, and I follow close behind.

Reyna is weakly propped against the bedside, surprise flickering across her features as we enter, attempting to sit up.

But the sight that greets my eyes is beyond anything I anticipated.

“What—”

Reyna begins to speak, but before she can finish, Gemma raises her hand and delivers a sharp slap across Reyna’s cheek.

Reyna’s head jerks to the side from the force of the impact, and the unmistakable red imprint of Gemma’s fingers blooms across her skin.