The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 235

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest 235**

**Chapter 235**

**Cassian’s POV**

As the night envelops the manor, a heavy stillness settles over the room, illuminated only by the silvery glow of the moon spilling through the bay window. I find myself leaning against the frame, a book lying unopened and forgotten on my lap. Gemma is nestled on the bed, her legs tucked beneath her, engrossed in her own world, the soft rustle of pages turning filling the silence.

She’s lost in Borges, her lips moving rhythmically as if she’s unraveling a complex riddle hidden within the lines. I can’t help but observe the way her brow furrows slightly, the delicate arch of her eyebrow hinting at the depths of her concentration. It’s a sight I’ve come to cherish—her ability to immerse herself completely, to peel back layers of meaning that most would overlook.

When she finally closes the book with a gentle thud, the sound seems to echo in the quiet room, and before I can filter my thoughts, the words slip from my lips.

“Which poem do you like the most?”

Her shoulders jump at the sudden break in the silence. She turns to me, eyes wide with surprise, her hand instinctively flying to her chest as if to steady her racing heart. “Cassian!” she exclaims, a mix of shock and annoyance coloring her tone.

“What?” I reply, feigning innocence.

“You nearly scared me to death!” she huffs, her cheeks puffing out slightly in exasperation.

Her glare is fierce, but I can’t help but notice the faint blush creeping onto her cheeks, a delightful contradiction to her irritation. It stirs something warm within me, a feeling I can’t quite decipher, but it settles comfortably in my chest.

The room falls silent once more, the atmosphere thickening as she reaches to turn off the lamp, plunging us into darkness. The only light now comes from the moon, casting a soft glow that dances across the room. I listen to her breathing, steady and soft, and I close my eyes, feeling a rare sense of calm wash over me. It’s been weeks since I’ve felt this way—my mind, usually a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts, begins to quiet down for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

I hadn’t fully grasped how challenging it had been—these long, solitary nights that left me waking in a cold sweat, haunted by dreams I couldn’t control. Back at Blackwell Manor, when she was by my side, sleep had come easily, but now, with her in another room, the curse of sleeplessness had returned, relentless and unyielding.

I had convinced myself it was just stress—work piling up, responsibilities looming over me—but deep down, I knew the truth. It was her presence that steadied me, that anchored me in a way nothing else could.

As I shift slightly on the bay window cushion, my legs half-numb, I feel a sudden lightness in my spirit, a clarity in my thoughts that I haven’t experienced in far too long.

The bathroom door creaks open, and a cloud of steam wafts into the room. Gemma emerges, her hair damp and a towel draped around her shoulders, a vision of casual beauty. She pauses as her eyes meet mine, a look of confusion crossing her face.

“You slept here last night,” she states flatly, crossing her arms defensively. “So I hope you keep your word and don’t touch Zina now.”

I blink, momentarily taken aback by her words. “That’s what you think my word was! I distinctly remember you were supposed to stay in the Master bedroom—”

“Isn’t it all the same? You stayed in my room, or I stayed in yours—either way, you slept in the same room with me,” she counters, her logic infuriating yet oddly charming.

Before I can retort, she brushes past me, flicking her hair dismissively, heading downstairs with a grace that leaves me momentarily stunned. I watch her go, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. She’s infuriating, always twisting things to suit her narrative.

But why does the idea of letting her win feel so satisfying?

As we settle down for breakfast, my phone rings, cutting through the morning calm. I answer, already anticipating the voice on the other end.

“Thanksgiving is approaching. You and Gemma will stay for dinner, right?”

“Yes, Grandpa,” I reply smoothly, casting a glance at Gemma, who lifts her cup of tea, pretending to be absorbed in her own thoughts. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring her to Blackwell Manor.”

**Gemma’s POV**

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