The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 267

Chapter 267

Gemma’s POV

The last slice of bread lands on the plate, a little lopsided, and I press it down with my thumb. I took Cassian half an hour to make five of the ugliest sandwiches I have ever seen.

The bread is crumpled at the corners, the fillings bulging out one side and suspiciously thin on the other.

The tap of a cane on the tile floor makes me look up to find Grandpa standing there, his sharp eyes scanning the counter. They land on the sandwiches: one has cheese oozing out from all sides like a melted accident. Another is squashed flat, as if it’s been sat on.

They are, to put it kindly, an eyesore.

Grandpa raises his cane and gives Cassian’s knee a light tap. “You brat! Weren’t you supposed to be good at at least one thing!? You spent all this time in the kitchen and only made five?”

Cassian awkwardly scratches the back of his head, and a faint dusting of flour puffs from his hair. “But there are five, right?”

He offers, a hopeful, lopsided grin on his face. “My performance is still passable.”

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“Passable? They look like you made them with your feet!”

+2 Bonus

He scoffs, and this time, the cane swings with more force, hitting Cassian’s thigh with a solid thwack.

“Ow! Grandpa!”

“Serves you right,” Grandpa grumbles, but gestures for us to sit on the couch. I carry the plate of salvageable sandwiches, the ones I made, and set it on the low table.

Grandpa settles into his armchair, his gaze thoughtful. After a moment, he says, “Next week, isn’t the Opal Group holding a press conference?”

The Opal Group. The name sends a little jolt through me, I’ve been hoping for an invitation.

Cassian just blinks in surprise. “I suppose so.”

He glances pointedly at Cassian’s right hand, which is still held a little stiffly. “Is your hand useless? Or is your brain not receiving memos anymore?”

Cassian chokes, his face flushing. The doctor said a few more days of rest, and it’ll be fine.”

“Oh, if it’s not broken, then tomorrow you’ll return to Blackwell Airlines to resume work.” Grandpa’s tone brokers no argument.

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“Grandpa, I can’t fly a plane with my hand like this!”

Cassian protests, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

+2 Bonus

“Who asked you to fly a plane?” Grandpa glares at him. “Don’t you have other things to do at the company without you flying? Paperwork? Meetings? Or have you forgotten how to do anything but sit in a cockpit?”

Cassian looks properly disciplined, his shoulders slumping. “Yes, Grandpa.”

“After you pick up the invitation from the Opal Group…” Grandpa continues, his eyes shifting to me, “bring Gemma with you next week. Gemma is currently working at Dream International’s Entertainment division, right? It’s good to have her meet those people, at least she will make some contacts in the new industry.”

My heart gives a little leap. This is it. This is my chance to get face–to–face with the Opal Group’s decision–makers. Maybe I can finally pitch my collaboration project.

Cassian glances at me, and seeing my calm expression, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Got it, Grandpa. Gemma and I will be there on time that day.”

Grandpa gives him a long, sidelong glance. “Hmm. And if you bring any shady characters along again, you’ll see how I deal with you!”

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The threat is a clear reference to past indiscretions I’d rather not

think about.

I suddenly feel full after picking at one of the sandwiches, my appetite is small and the bread is a little dry.

We watch a mindless game show with Grandpa for a while longer, the flashing lights and cheerful hosts a stark contrast to the whirlwind in my head. When I get up to leave, Grandpa doesn’t stop us, either.

He pushes the plate towards me. Take the turkey and mustard. You used to love those.”

I nod politely but my hands bypass the turkey and mustard entirely, selecting instead the simpler ones with just cucumber and a light spread of cream cheese, another one with ham and

mustard.

I choose some more sandwiches with less filling, feeling Cassian ‘s eyes on me the whole time.

He is always watching me lately, like I’m a puzzle he has suddenly realized he can’t solve.

The engine purrs to life in the garage, but doesn’t put it in drive yet. He just turns to me, his profile illuminated by the soft dashboard lights.

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“I thought you liked turkey and mustard sandwiches?”

His voice is quiet, genuinely confused. I look straight ahead, out the windshield at the dark outlines of the shrubs in Grandpa’s driveway. “I don’t like them anymore.”

The words are simple, but they feel heavy leaving my mouth.

Cassian is taken aback. I can see it in the way his hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Why not?

‘I used to eat it because you used to like them!‘

The thought is so clear in my head it might as well be spoken. All my preferences over these years have been following his lead.

He likes bold, strong flavors. He likes almonds, so I forced myself to eat with him, tolerating the subtle itch at the back of my throat despite the medicine I took hours before I had to eat something with almonds.

He enjoys these heavy, dense turkey and mustard sandwiches, and even though I found them a bit heavy, I still made his preferences my own.

But when I think about it, what is it that I truly like for myself? Not the things I adopted to fit into his world. What do I actually enjoy?

The question feels vast and a little terrifying.

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I turn my head and look at him. The confusion in his eyes is

real.

+2 Bonus

It’s the most genuine expression I’ve seen on his face in weeks. “Cassian. Have you ever really tried to understand me?”

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