The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 190

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**
**Chapter 190**

**Gemma’s POV**

At long last, the storm relinquishes its grip, just as dawn begins to break.

As I awaken, the sun is already high in the sky, casting a brilliant light through the expansive glass wall. The azure hue outside is so vivid and clear, it feels as if the heavens themselves have been scrubbed clean of yesterday’s turmoil.

The stark contrast between the serene beauty of the day and the chaotic darkness of the previous night is so jarring that it sends a shiver down my spine. For a fleeting moment, I question if the turmoil had been nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

“Morning!”

Zina’s voice breaks through my reverie, her yawn echoing across the room as she stretches languidly like a cat basking in sunlight. She snatches her phone from the bedside table, her demeanor shifting instantly from sleepiness to excitement.

“Good news, Gemma! The safety instructor just texted me that the coastguard has reopened the docks. Our boat departs in forty minutes!”

“Thank God…!”

I exclaim, rolling out of bed, my heart racing at the thought of escape.

“I never want to be marooned on an island again for the rest of my life.”

“Same here, sister!” Zina chimes in, her eyes sparkling with relief.

Half an hour later, we find ourselves on a speedboat, slicing through the turquoise waters as we head back to Nassau. The sun glitters on the surface, and the island appears as a tiny dumpling bobbing on the sea. It should be a picturesque sight, yet Zina scowls at it as if it has personally wronged her.

“Unlucky island!”

She huffs, crossing her arms defiantly. “I refuse to set foot on this cursed place again unless I have a private jet waiting just offshore.”

Jace, seated across from us, hands her a bottle of water with a teasing grin. “Oh, but I thought you had such a lovely time with the instructor?”

“That was purely a matter of survival instinct…!”

She retorts, her voice rising in indignation. “It was nothing like what you two are imagining.”

I lean over the side of the boat, letting the wind whip through my hair and across my face, as Zina continues to rant, shivering at the thought of our ordeal.

“Next time we find ourselves stuck somewhere, it better be at a five-star resort with unlimited margaritas! And for the love of all that is good, no social media drama!”

Jace glances over his shoulder, a curious smile playing on his lips.

“Oh yes, what happened over Instagram?”

Zina doesn’t even give me a chance to respond. “Little Miss Homewrecker posted some scandalous photos with Cassian, and then she freaked out and deleted them the moment I called her out! Oops, did I accidentally expose your affair? Sorry, not sorry.”

Jace raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? Now that sounds juicy. What’s her account ID?”

Without missing a beat, Zina rattles off Reyna’s Instagram handle, cautioning him as if it were a dangerous secret.

“You won’t find any evidence of the drama, trust me on that.”

Jace nods knowingly. “Of course, she must have scrubbed her account clean—”

I barely manage to take a step past the threshold when a low, gravelly voice rumbles from behind me.

“You still remember the way back?”

I freeze, the air suddenly thick with tension, as if I’ve been struck from behind.

Slowly, I turn around, and there stands Cassian, leaning against the wall in the hallway. I hadn’t anticipated encountering him at all; I assumed he would be holed up in Reyna’s room, and I could slip in and out of ours in mere minutes.

But what I hadn’t expected even more was to see him in such disarray.

He’s still clad in yesterday’s attire—the crisp black shirt now wrinkled and untucked, the tie dangling haphazardly around his neck.

The sleeves are rolled up carelessly to his elbows, the buttons half undone, and his hair is tousled, as if restless hands have repeatedly pushed it back.

The collar is rumpled, framing his jaw, which bears the shadow of dark stubble. His eyes, bloodshot and heavy-lidded, tell a story of sleeplessness.

He looks like a man who has just emerged from a wreck.

“I thought you must have lost your way. Or perhaps… you didn’t intend to return at all.”

He pushes off the wall, taking a step toward me. For a brief moment, we lock eyes, the bitter scent of whiskey lingering in the air between us.

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out; the aura radiating from him is nothing like the composed, cool Cassian I know. He isn’t merely irritated or annoyed—he is seething with fury.

And every ounce of that fury is directed squarely at me.