The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 202

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

**Chapter 202**

Gemma’s POV

Mikhail occupies the seat next to me with an air of casual dominance, his elbows propped on the door frame, legs splayed wide, effectively pushing me to the very edge of the seat. It’s a physical manifestation of his arrogance, and I can’t help but feel a simmering irritation bubbling beneath my skin.

Yet, it’s not just the way he takes up space that grates on me; it’s that infuriatingly smug grin plastered across his face. The urge to throttle him is almost overwhelming. I manage to suppress it, sitting rigidly next to him, arms crossed tightly against my chest as if to ward off the unwelcome intimacy he seems intent on fostering.

“I’m genuinely curious, Moonlight! Your husband treats you like absolute garbage, and you just sit there, silent as a statue? You should be thanking me for rescuing you from that dinner with him,” he taunts, his voice dripping with mockery.

I fix my gaze on the city sliding by outside the window, my jaw clenched tight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Do you ever stop to think about how tied up you get in your feelings? Isn’t it exhausting? Why chase after someone who clearly has no interest in you? Clinging to someone who despises you is just… well, embarrassing,” he continues, his words slicing through the air like sharp needles, each one piercing my self-respect a little more. I shoot him a glare, the streetlights flashing against his sunglasses, which he stubbornly refuses to remove.

“Mr. Voloshin, are you enjoying this little lecture, or is this your way of offering advice from personal experience—”

“Experience?!” he interrupts, his tone incredulous.

“Have you recently been dumped by an ex? Is that why you’ve donned this cynical façade, pretending to disdain love because you’ve never truly known it?” I shoot back, my voice steady, though my heart races with the thrill of confrontation.

His laughter dies on his lips, the confident mask he wears slipping for just a moment. I notice his gaze shift to the windshield, and in that instant, I realize I’ve struck a nerve. Good.

The silence stretches between us, thick and palpable, until the car comes to a halt. The bass thumping from Dionysus’ Den hits me like a physical force, reverberating through my bones, making my head throb almost instantly.

As I step out, the music blasts around me, overwhelming and chaotic. The neon lights flash in aggressive reds and purples, and I can already tell I’m not going to enjoy this place.

Mikhail’s cool demeanor returns as he grabs my wrist, pulling me through the throng of bodies. “Relax… it’ll be fun,” he insists, though his grip is firm, leaving me little choice but to follow.

I resist the urge to yank my hand free, fearing that I might lose myself in this maze of corridors. “I’m here to finish my work, not to be entertained,” I remind him, my voice steady but laced with frustration.

“Well, that’s part of the test, too,” he replies, a smirk playing on his lips.

He pushes open a heavy door to a private room, a sanctuary from the pounding crowd, draped in blackout curtains and equipped with a soundproof door. The sudden quiet envelops me like a warm blanket, and I take a moment to breathe.

Inside, several people lounge on plush sofas, glasses in hand, their eyes flicking toward us as Mikhail introduces me to the group. Most greet me with warm smiles and nods, their friendliness surprising in this environment.

“Let me introduce you all to someone special. Meet him, this is my fiancé, Jones!”

A ripple of whispers flows through the room as some guests lean forward in shock and surprise.

The girl who had scowled earlier gasps, her excitement palpable as she rushes to wrap Linda in a hug. “Linda… you’re engaged?”

Linda blushes, showcasing her ring with pride, her eyes sparkling with joy as she leans closer to her fiancé, whispering something that elicits a chuckle from him.

The love-struck look in his eyes is unmistakable, and the happiness radiating from her is almost tangible. Their intimate body language stands in stark contrast to the charged atmosphere surrounding Mikhail.

I notice his gaze flicker toward her, and the shadow behind his eyes lingers, even as his expression attempts to regain its calm facade. The muscles in his jaw remain tightly clenched, and he seems perfectly still, yet there’s a storm brewing in his eyes, a tempest of emotions that speaks volumes.

A shiver of understanding courses through me. He’s not angry at her happiness… not exactly. He’s grappling with something deeper—perhaps a memory or an expectation that Linda’s unexpected presence has unearthed.

The girl who had scowled continues to stare at me with an intensity that suggests she wishes I would simply disappear, while the others glance between the newcomers and Mikhail, sensing the tension crackling in the air.

The room bursts into life with chatter, congratulations, and raised glasses, but I remain acutely aware of the heat radiating off Mikhail, a palpable tension that feels as if it could ignite at any moment. There’s history here, and it’s clear that it remains unresolved.