The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 246

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

**Chapter 246**

**Gemma’s POV**

I wouldn’t be surprised if Cassian concocted some elaborate excuse to avoid going through with the divorce.

But what is he truly scheming? The thought gnaws at me throughout the entire drive home from the hospital. He has this uncanny ability to twist situations, to stall, to make me second-guess myself, and to keep me tethered in this bizarre limbo that feels both suffocating and confusing.

By the time we pull into the driveway of Oakhaven, I find myself utterly drained. My body aches from the stress of the day, yet my mind buzzes with restless energy. I make my way to the living room, fully aware that Zina must be on edge, waiting for any news after I had mentioned that the flight was about to land.

I take a deep breath, preparing to summarize the events at the hospital, deliberately downplaying the gravity of the situation. I end my recounting with a simple, reassuring line.

“It isn’t life-threatening. The doctor assured me he will be just fine with a week’s rest.”

“Ahh! Finally, I’m so relieved you’re safe. Since you care about him, let me thank God for his sake too,” Zina replies, her voice laced with genuine relief.

But Cassian, sprawled on the sofa with an arm draped dramatically across his chest, interjects with a tone that drips with sarcasm.

“You seem a little too happy to be glued to her…”

His words are muttered under his breath, but I catch the flicker of jealousy and disapproval in his eyes as he leans back against the cushions.

I narrow my gaze at him, feeling a surge of defiance. “She’s my best friend. I don’t owe you any further explanation.”

His lips press together, a clear sign he’s biting back whatever biting retort he wants to unleash. He has never warmed up to Zina, and I understand why. Once, he saw her with a man he didn’t recognize and jumped straight to conclusions without a second thought.

Not to mention the countless instances where she’s called him out directly, never hesitating to insult Reyna at every opportunity, completely disregarding the boundaries of public or private spaces.

Yet, he knows better than to insult the one person I can truly confide in.

Instead, he shifts his approach, lowering his voice into a melodramatic groan. “Uh… my hand hurts.”

I raise an eyebrow, skepticism washing over me. “Didn’t you just come back from the hospital?”

“Then go to sleep! Pain doesn’t bother you while you’re unconscious. Tell Chloe if you need something,” I reply, my irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

Chloe, who is nearby fussing with the bookshelf, wrings her hands nervously.

“Mrs. Blackwell, there are some things I can help him with… but others…” she trails off, her cheeks flushing a bright shade of pink.

“Others? What are you talking about?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

Cassian, with a smirk that suggests he’s enjoying this too much, chimes in, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

I stare at him, disbelief etched across my face. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can’t manage the zipper with one hand,” he replies, his tone matter-of-fact.

My mouth drops open in shock. “You want me to—”

“Unless you’d rather I ruin the sofa,” he cuts me off smoothly, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

I want to scream. I want to throw something at him. But instead, I begrudgingly grab his arm and haul him toward the bathroom. “Fine. But don’t think this means anything.”

As I tug lightly at the zipper, it refuses to budge. Frustration wells up inside me, and I mutter under my breath, “Your stupid pants are defective!”

“They’re not defective,” he says softly, leaning a fraction closer. “Be gentler, use both hands.”

“Don’t order me around,” I retort, my voice sharp.

“I’m free this week. Up for dinner? Bring your boyfriend.”

The message sends out into the ether, and almost immediately, my phone rings.

Mikhail!

A wave of panic washes over me as I realize I completely forgot about work today.

I answer, and his sharp voice cuts through the air. “Pulling an MIA on me again?”

My stomach twists in knots. “Sorry, something came up. You can deduct it from my attendance bonus—”

“Was it about your husband?” he interrupts, his tone probing.

I hesitate for a moment, then admit softly, “Yes.”

News of the near-crash has already swept across the city, and the photographs… the photographs of Cassian holding me in his arms like I was the most precious thing in his world, are plastered everywhere.

I’ve seen them online, so it’s no surprise that Mikhail has too.

He doesn’t push further. “Take care of yourself. We’ll speak later.”

He hangs up, leaving me staring at the glowing screen, then at the images flashing across my social media feed. There we are, Cassian and I, wrapped in each other’s arms like a couple on a romantic getaway.

People are commenting, swooning over our so-called love story. If only they knew… if only they could feel how sharp the edges cut, hidden beneath that seemingly perfect embrace.

Love, it seems, can be staged, photographed, and even performed for an audience eager to believe.

Perhaps Cassian truly missed his calling; he should have been an actor. But why am I the one forced to stand beside him, caught in a performance I never agreed to be a part of?