The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 24

**TITLE: Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**
**Chapter 24**

**Gemma**

Moving forward? Is he completely oblivious to the reality of our situation?

With his earlier warning echoing in my mind, I lower my voice, trying to keep my tone steady. “Once we’re divorced, I won’t give a damn about how they talk about me.”

As if to punctuate my words, the car glides around the bend before he has a chance to respond. I slip inside, the plush leather seat enveloping me momentarily in comfort.

Cassian follows suit, and as we pull away from the sprawling mansion that has held so many memories—both bitter and sweet—I make my intentions clear. “Just drop me off on the side of the road somewhere. I’ll catch a taxi to Zina’s.”

His voice, smooth as silk yet laced with an undercurrent of tension, cuts through the silence. “How long do you plan to stay with her?”

“Until I find my own place,” I shoot back, irritation flaring in my chest. “Can you stop the car now? This spot looks good for hailing a taxi.”

Without a word, Cassian slams on the brakes, the tires screeching as he pulls over to the curb.

“Thanks,” I mutter, the word feeling heavy on my tongue. “I’ll have the dress cleaned and return it to you.”

“Throw the dress away if you don’t want it,” he snaps, his frustration palpable.

“Fine!” I retort, the word escaping me like a challenge.

I can sell it, I think to myself. That dress must be worth at least five thousand dollars.

I grasp the door handle, preparing to slam it shut with a flourish. But just before I do, I turn back, a final thought lingering in the air. “Don’t forget your promise about Seaside Manor.”

With a decisive shove, I close the door and stride away, the tension radiating from Cassian like heat from a flame. I can almost feel his anger seething behind me, and as he accelerates, the tires protest against the pavement.

But honestly, I couldn’t care less.

Opting to walk home to release some pent-up energy instead of waiting for a taxi, I pull the sweater I had worn earlier over the delicate fabric of the dress. The chill in the air bites at my skin, but I welcome it as a distraction from the turmoil swirling in my mind.

When I finally arrive, I’m surprised to find Zina in her usual spot. This is typically her time to be out and about, living life to the fullest.

“Nice outfit,” she observes, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I really like the combination of that ratty old hoodie over your insanely expensive designer couture.”

I roll my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself, and pull the hoodie off. Zina’s eyebrows shoot up as she takes in the dress in its full glory.

“Damn. He’s still pulling out all the stops for you, isn’t he?”

“He has to,” I reply, my voice steady, though the weight of my truth lingers. “My appearance reflects on him. It’s not because he cares about me.”

Zina grunts in acknowledgment, and I retreat to the shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of the day. When I emerge, feeling refreshed yet still heavy-hearted, I find Zina sorting through a stack of printouts on her coffee table.

“What’s all this?” I inquire, sinking into the couch, the softness of my pajamas a welcome relief.

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