The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 222

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**
**Chapter 222**

**Gemma’s POV**

“No.”

The word escapes my lips like a whisper, yet it hangs heavily in the air. Cassian stands across from me, his gaze fixed on my face with an intensity that feels almost palpable. I can sense the weight of his expectation, the way he is poised to catch even the slightest flicker of emotion that might betray my true feelings.

So, he remembered this year?

I glance past him, taking in the lavish dinner he has prepared and the gifts stacked neatly on the table behind him. Each item glimmers under the soft light, a testament to the effort he has put into this occasion. Yet, despite the thoughtfulness that went into it, I feel nothing. The warmth that once stirred my heart has long since faded.

“What does it mean—” he begins, his voice steady, but I can hear the underlying tension.

“I mean that I don’t like meaningless holidays anymore,” I interrupt, my tone sharper than I intended.

The atmosphere thickens, and I can almost feel the oxygen being sucked from the room. Cassian’s eyes narrow, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features.

“What did you say?” he repeats, his voice low, almost a growl.

“You heard me,” I reply defiantly. “When I was younger, I was naive enough to believe that these rituals were symbols of love and care, but they’re not. All of this—” I gesture dismissively at the candles and gifts, “—it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. I used to care, but I’ve outgrown it.”

“Is that so?” he shoots back, his voice rising slightly. “So, it mattered to you once? And now, suddenly, it’s all meaningless?”

“Everyone grows up, Cassian. Tastes change. And trust me, this change has been a long time coming. What I once cherished has become a burden. Do I really need to justify this to you?”

His anger simmers beneath the surface, evident in the way his jaw tightens.

“Gemma, you said I never cared for these things. You wanted me to try,” he asserts, his voice deepening with frustration.

I lift my chin defiantly. “And when you ignored it, I learned not to care. Isn’t that what you wanted all along?”

With a sudden movement, I push my chair back and rise to my feet. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want the trouble, and I certainly don’t need the jewelry.”

“Gem—”

“I’m tired,” I cut him off, my voice firm. “I’m going upstairs.”

Without another glance in his direction, I exit the dining room, feeling the heat of his gaze burning into my back, a reminder of the unresolved tension lingering between us.

*****

Later that evening, I find myself half-asleep when a frantic knock reverberates through the door, pulling me from my thoughts.

Reluctantly, I pull on my robe and shuffle down the hall, following the sound to where Cassian lies in his bed, his shirt discarded, revealing skin slick with sweat.

His face is flushed, and his chest rises and falls in a heavy rhythm, a sight that would evoke sympathy in anyone else.

But not me. He turned my heart to stone long ago.

The family doctor hovers over him, checking his pulse with a frown.

“He’s been indulging too much—too much spice, too much processed food. His body can’t handle it,” she explains, her tone matter-of-fact.

I cross my arms, skeptical. “So, it’s not serious, then?”

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