The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 249

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest 249**
**Chapter 249**

**Gemma’s POV**

I swiftly tuck my phone away, just before Zina can make any snide remarks. But, true to form, she can’t help but smirk.

“Protective, isn’t he?” she teases, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Nosy,” I retort, casting a glance at Jace, who shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny of our banter. I hastily finish my farewells, pulling my coat tighter around me, fingers fumbling for my purse.

“Alright, Jace. Tomorrow, you need to be ready to handle Amanda. Be straightforward, so we can concentrate on recruitment afterward.”

“Understood, boss!” he responds with a mock salute, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice.

Zina claps her hands lightly, shattering the tension in the air. “Well, tonight was… quite the eye-opener. Reyna’s Instagram is mysteriously silent, Jace has a stalker lurking in the shadows, and you…”

She points a finger at Jace, her tone teasing. “You really need to polish those communication skills of yours.”

Jace’s cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson, yet he chooses silence, clearly not wanting to engage further.

“That’s enough for now. We’ll reconvene tomorrow. Goodnight!” I declare, trying to wrap up the evening on a positive note.

As I slide into the backseat of the car, a gentle drizzle begins to patter against the windows, creating a soothing rhythm.

The glass fogs slightly as Tom turns the ignition. We merge onto the main road, but soon, the cars ahead come to an abrupt halt, their brake lights glowing ominously in the dim light.

Leaning forward, I peer out the window, spotting a growing crowd gathering ahead. “What’s happening up there?” I ask, a hint of concern creeping into my voice.

Tom squints through the misted windshield, his brow furrowing. “Looks like a fender-bender. But… hmm… Mrs. Blackwell, it seems someone is trying to play clever. He doesn’t want to settle through insurance, and it looks like he’s dragging this out for sport.”

I squint through the glass, catching sight of a tall figure standing defiantly against the drizzle, his shoulders becoming increasingly damp as the rain falls.

There’s something about his silhouette that emanates authority, an air of indifference to the chaos around him. Beside him, another man waves his arms animatedly, clearly escalating the argument.

I let out a resigned sigh, glancing at the umbrella resting beside me. “Stay here, Tom. I’ll check it out.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I’ve already swung the door open. The rain beads against my hair as I step outside, umbrella in hand, making my way toward the man.

“Sir,” I call gently, trying to cut through the tension. “I have a spare umbrella. Please take it.”

His striking eyes meet mine, a face that feels both foreign and oddly familiar, as if he doesn’t quite belong in this moment.

“Thanks,” he replies, his voice deep and resonant.

He accepts the umbrella, and in the motion, his sleeve shifts just enough to reveal a gleaming watch, unmistakably a limited edition solar system model—a subtle testament to generational wealth and privilege.

I gesture toward his vehicle, trying to maintain my composure. “Sir, your car is blocking the entire road. Could you please ask your driver to move it? Others need to pass.”

His lips curl into an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’ll have him move it right away.”

But the other man, still caught in the throes of panic, interjects sharply.

“No, no, you can’t move that car! If you move it now, how will I know if there’s more damage? I won’t be made a fool of! I refuse to pay you a cent-!”

I cut in, my voice firm. “Sir, you’re causing a traffic jam. If you continue like this, I’ll have to call the police. Then this situation will become much more complicated.”

My words seem to strike a chord, silencing him. His expression shifts to one of displeasure, but he no longer protests.

He discreetly signals his driver, and within moments, the car inches aside, the metallic scrape of its body echoing in the stillness.

The line of waiting cars begins to move again, slowly at first, and as Tom inches forward, I catch the stranger’s gaze for a fleeting moment. There’s something enigmatic in his eyes, and I look down, retreating into the warmth of my seat.

By the time we arrive at Oakhaven, I’m damp from shoulder to elbow. Cassian notices my state the instant I step inside.

“What took you so long?” he inquires, his tone laced with concern.

Before I can respond, Tom interjects respectfully, “There was an accident on the road, Mr. Blackwell. We were delayed.”

Cassian’s demeanor shifts, his posture stiffening. “Were you hurt?”

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