The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 223

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest 223**

**Chapter 223**

**Gemma’s POV**

The seatbelt presses firmly against my chest, accentuating the curve of my cleavage in a way that feels both revealing and uncomfortable. I can almost sense Cassian’s gaze lingering there, drawn to the sight like a moth to a flame.

Desperate to break the tension, I turn my head toward the window, hoping he will take the hint and divert his eyes, sparing us both from this awkward moment. Yet, when I steal a glance back, I find him still entranced, his eyes locked on me as if I were a captivating painting he couldn’t tear himself away from.

A rush of heat floods my cheeks, and I feel the urge to hide.

“Cassian!” I exclaim, my voice sharp and filled with indignation.

I fold my arms tightly across my chest, as if mere fabric can shield me from the intensity of his gaze.

“What exactly are you staring at? Do you need me to remind you that gawking makes you look like a pervert?”

My words come out louder than intended, but I want him to grasp the weight of my frustration, to feel the invisible wall I’m constructing between us.

But Cassian, unfazed, merely raises an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. He shifts slightly, gesturing casually toward the back of the car.

“There are spare clothes in the trunk if you feel self-conscious and want to change.”

“Spare clothes? Whose, Reyna’s?”

The name escapes my lips before I can think twice, and it burns like acid on my tongue. Instant regret washes over me, and my heart stutters at the realization of what I’ve just said. Cassian’s head snaps in my direction, surprise flickering across his features.

I curse myself silently. Why did I even bring that up? My jaw tightens, but the words are out there now, and I can’t take them back. I quickly avert my gaze, pretending to fidget with my seatbelt in a futile attempt to regain my composure.

He answers with a calmness that only adds to my embarrassment. “No, they are yours. I got them from home when I saw that it was starting to rain.”

A prickling heat creeps down my neck as I realize how foolish I’ve been, letting jealousy get the better of me. For once, I decide silence is my best option, clamping my lips shut and staring resolutely out the window, avoiding his eyes.

The sight before me is both dazzling and mortifying.

A bright red Porsche 911 sits gleaming like a precious gem in the sunlight, proudly parked right at the entrance.

A small crowd has already formed—employees, curious onlookers, and even a few passers-by, their phones raised high, capturing the moment as if it were a spectacle meant for a gallery.

Some people lean against the car with an air of ownership, while others circle it, admiring its sleek lines and vibrant color.

I should feel a swell of pride that this stunning vehicle was promised to me. Instead, I feel the weight of a hundred curious eyes, each one scrutinizing me as though I were the centerpiece of a grand display.

Cassian mutters under his breath, “How flashy!”

The room falls into a heavy silence, no one daring to meet his piercing gaze.

“Sir, we only meant that we should be careful of offending certain clients…”

“Good! Then do that. I don’t need my decisions questioned at every turn. Dream International doesn’t operate according to family politics. If you cannot understand that, then you are welcome to step aside.”

When the meeting finally draws to a close, the executives shuffle out, their movements stiff and uncomfortable. Mikhail remains behind, waiting for me with an air of expectation. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket, dangling them between his fingers like a prize.

“Your Porsche…” he says smoothly, a teasing glint in his eye. “Try not to crash it on the first day.”

I snatch the keys from him, unwilling to indulge his smugness. “Finally! Thank you.”

“No.” I shake my head instantly, resolute. “I don’t want to play the part of your… whatever it is you parade me as. I have other plans.”

His eyes harden, though the smile never leaves his lips. “You can refuse, of course. But then I may have to leave the country privately, without telling anyone.”

My breath catches in my throat. The threat is veiled, but the meaning is unmistakable.

I grit my teeth, feeling a surge of anger rising within me. “Send me the address. I’ll be there.”

He nods, a victorious glint in his eyes, while I tighten my grip on the car keys, forcing down the tumult of emotions swirling in my chest.