The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 188

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest 188**

**Chapter 188**

**Gemma’s POV**

“Gem?”

Zina’s voice cuts through the haze of my thoughts, echoing across the lobby like a sudden clap of thunder.

“I’ve got a room, it’s a double. You coming or not?”

I pivot in her direction, my head feeling heavy as if it were filled with cotton. I nod slowly, though the ground beneath me feels unsteady, like I’m walking on a tightrope.

“Yeah,” I reply softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m coming.”

Somehow, I find myself trailing behind her down the lengthy corridor, my feet moving as if they belong to someone else, a sleepwalker navigating through a dream. We step into one of the rooms, and the atmosphere shifts around me.

The room is small, with a low ceiling that feels almost oppressive. The walls, damp from the salt air, seem to close in, and two beds are neatly made with crisp white linen—just enough to get us through the night, which was a minor miracle given the high demand for accommodations.

Zina drops her bag with a thud, kicks off her sandals, and flops down face-first onto one of the beds, releasing a long, weary sigh. She doesn’t even flinch as a cloud of dust rises from the mattress, settling around her like a shroud.

I sink onto the other bed, the fabric cool against my skin, but my throat feels constricted, tightening with each shallow breath I take. Zina lifts her head slightly, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Hey. What’s wrong? You were fine on the boat. Did you get hurt? Did something happen? Did you and Cassian argue again?”

I open my mouth to deny it, to say that everything is fine, but instead, I lean forward and wrap my arms around her. For a fleeting moment, she stiffens in surprise, then her arms encircle me, holding me tightly.

“Gemma… babe, I can hug you all day if you want, but please talk to me first. You’re scaring me.”

With trembling fingers, I pull my phone from my pocket, my heart racing. I had every intention of calling him; I wanted to explain why I couldn’t make it to dinner. That was why I turned my phone on, hoping for some clarity.

But instead, my fingers instinctively navigate to my alternate Instagram account, the one I created for the most embarrassing reason imaginable.

Reyna posts regularly, her content curated for a moderately large following, and I’ve never once followed her from my main account. The thought of sharing the same digital space as her repulses me. Yet, three years ago, I crafted that side account, complete with a cartoon profile picture, and turned on notifications for every post she shared.

Her… Reyna Holloway… Cassian’s cherished childhood friend, his first love.

I show Zina the latest post, and her jaw drops in disbelief. Before she can fully process it, the feed refreshes, revealing a new post that just went live three minutes ago.

It’s a photo of a bathroom door slightly ajar, just enough to reveal the back of a figure. The tie I tied for him. Beside the bed, on the nightstand, sits a bowl of soup next to a bouquet of vibrant red roses.

“Who knew being sick could be so sweet? Thanks to my special medicine!”

A whirlwind of emotions crashes over me—exposure, ridiculousness, and a simmering anger all bubbling to the surface.

“She knew I would see it. I’ve never engaged with her posts; I’ve never liked anything. But she knows—”

I ramble on, losing track of my thoughts, forgetting that Zina is a volcano ready to erupt. And just as I anticipate her explosion, she lets loose.

“Oh. Oh absolutely NOT. This bitch is out here soft-launching your husband on her Instagram? Is he a human being or a luxury handbag to be paraded around as mere background material!?”

She’s already reaching for her phone. “Ten seconds. Just give me ten seconds, and I’ll find her and push her off a cliff. Or poison her. Actually, poisoning is better—”

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