The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 282

Chapter 282

Gemma’s POV

The elevator doors sigh open onto a scene of controlled panic. The entire security department is at their stations, a row of tense backs and furrowed brows illuminated by the cold blue light of

their monitors.

The air is thick with silent frustration.

“Did you find out who is on the other side?”

I ask, my voice cutting through the strained quiet.

My question is met with a heavy, telling silence.

If they don’t say anything, it means they don’t know. They’re lost.

I don’t waste another second. I slide into the nearest chair, my fingers finding the keyboard as if it’s an extension of my own

hands.

“The company has authority. Give me the password,” I command, not looking up.

Mikhail doesn’t hesitate. He leans over, his body a warm, solid presence behind me, and types a series of numbers on the

keypad.

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The moment I’m in, the problem becomes starkly clear.

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The other party didn’t just break in; they planted a vicious, aggressive little virus, designed to burrow deep and paralyze the entire network of Dream International.

I can feel the anxiety radiating from my colleagues, but for me, this is where the noise stops. This is a problem with a solution, and solutions are what I understand.

My fingers fly across the keyboard. I don’t need to think, I just need to act. I isolate the malicious code, dissect its structure, and kill it with surgical precision.

In the same breath, I reinforce the company’s digital protection fence, adding new layers of defense that are twice as strong. The entire process takes less than a minute. The screens across the room flicker, then stabilize, returning to their normal, orderly

state.

A collective, stunned exhale of relief fills the room. Mikhail stands behind me, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze a complex mix of awe, calculation, and something else I can’t quite

name.

I stand up, ignoring the stunned looks from my colleagues, but my eyes find Mikhail’s. “Come with me, I have something to tell you.”

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He follows without a word. As we walk away, he tosses a command over his shoulder, cold and final. “All of you don’t have to come back to the office starting tomorrow.”

The moment his office door closes behind us, I turn on him. “There’s a mole in your company.

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He leans against his desk, his expression unreadable, urging me to continue with his eyes.

“The virus just now was difficult to get in from the outside. Unless someone with authority cleared the way for your opponents, that virus couldn’t come in that smoothly.”

He gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod. “Got it.”

The casual dismissal irritates me.

“Why did you fire everyone in the security department just

now?”

I press, knowing it was an unnecessarily brutal move.

“What’s the point of keeping them? They wouldn’t have gotten it done in a day without you just now.”

He’s not wrong. I worked alone, but that doesn’t make his decision right.

“Keep them. It’s hard to grow on your own.”

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There’s a difference between twenty people fumbling in the dark and one person who knows the way. They lined up the wrong options, but their efforts, however misguided, narrowed the field for me.

It saved me a minute, and in my world, a minute is everything.

Mikhail nods slightly, a non–committal gesture. He doesn’t say no, nor does he say yes. I decide to shift the subject to the other, more personal bomb he dropped.

“Regarding the proposal you just made to me, what do you

want?”

He looks genuinely confused for a second. “What?”

“You said you could help me get a divorce. What do you want me to give you?”

Business is always about give and take. There are no free favors, not in our world.

His expression sobers, the usual lazy arrogance melting away. “Get me back to Nassau.”

The request doesn’t surprise me, but it deepens the puzzle. “Do you want to go back so badly? Wouldn’t it be nice for you to stay safe at home? You can still be a rich man.”

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Here, he has wealth, comfort, a life of case. Why trade it for a warzone?

He stands up straight, and for the first time, I see the man he is, under the playboy facade. He is serious, carnest, his eyes holding a conviction I’ve never seen in them before.

“My father was a soldier, and so am I.” His voice is low, stripped of all pretense. “Soldiers swear under the flag to defend the country to the death. If I can’t do that, why did I become a soldier?”

The words land with a quiet weight. I always thought Mikhail was just a man who liked to show off, to play at being dangerous. I hadn’t expected to see this side of him–a man bound by duty and honor, true to his beliefs.

“I’ll think about this and reply to you afterward.”

I say, turning toward the door. I can’t decide this now. Agreeing means my reputation would be publicly shredded.

I would be labeled an adulteress. I can handle that for myself, but the thought of my mom, sick and vulnerable, suffering from the whispers and the scorn… and the baby?

My innocent child, cursed before it’s even born by its mother’s scandal. I won’t take that step unless every other path is

blocked.

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“The chairman of the Opal Group wants to see you,” Mikhail says, his voice returning to its usual business–like tone, the moment of vulnerability gone as quickly as it appeared. “He liked the last commercial you shot for Castle Jewellery.”

I’m a bit surprised. Can a commercial really impress the chairman?

“In two days, the Opal Group will hold a press conference. You’ll come over with me to meet him.”

The Opal Group’s press conference again! The whole city’s elite will be there that day. Cassian will be there. The thought is a knot in my stomach.

“I…” I start to protest, to find an excuse.

“I know you’re off for the weekend,” he interrupts, not looking up from his phone. He waves a dismissive hand. “You’re attending as a member of the Blackwell family, I know that much. I won’t give you a hard time. Just give me twenty

minutes.”

*****

The next day, I’m up with the sun. I sit in the living room, the morning light pale through the windows, tapping the balance page of my banking app every few seconds. The screen remains unchanged: three million.

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Cassian comes downstairs, already dressed, and sees me staring at my phone with single–minded intensity.

“It’s so early, and the bank is not open yet,” he remarks, correctly guessing my mission. The transfer amount is too large for mobile banking; it requires a counter transaction.

I glare at him but say nothing. My silence is accusation enough.

“Come over for breakfast,” he says, his tone softer than I expect.

I sit across from him at the table, picking at a piece of toast.

“The nutritionist I hired will be coming by today. You can change if you don’t like her,” he offers.

The nutritionist is the least of my concerns right now. I give a non–committal shrug.

“Grandpa heard you went to the hospital two days ago and pressed me for the test results,” he adds, watching me carefully.

“Just tell him the truth,” I say, keeping my voice even. “The gastroenteritis is nothing to hide.

He nods, accepting this. I spend the entire day waiting. I even go to Dream International and back, my eyes constantly flicking to my phone. Nothing. The afternoon sun slants through the windows, and the balance remains stubbornly, insultingly the

same.

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I narrow my eyes, a plan forming I find Chloe clearing the table in the dining room.

“Chloe, what would you do if someone didn’t pay their debts?” I ask, my tone casual.

She straightens up, her expression immediately concerned, “Mrs. Blackwell, does anyone owe you any money?”

“Yes,” I say, the word sharp. “A lot.”

She thinks for a moment, her brow furrowed in genuine thought. “If the person never pays it back, why don’t you find his or her family? Maybe the whole family can pool their money together and pay it back.”

A slow, cold smile touches my lips. She’s absolutely right!

If they don’t pay me back, I’ll ask for it! The Whittaker family is about to get a very direct, very expensive wake–up call. Rhett’s chivalry won’t save him from this.

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