The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 287

Gemma’s POV

The door at the back of the library pushes open fully, and a man steps out. He’s wearing a pristine white suit that should look ostentatious but, on him, looks effortlessly commanding. He appears to be four or five years older than me. His features are strikingly handsome, with a sharp, intelligent edge, but it’s his eyes that snag my attention–they’re a warm brown, but with a distinct, cool hint of gray, like polished river stones. He’s tall, about the same formidable height as Mikhail, easily 6.23 feet. This man does not look like he’s from here; he carries an international air of someone who belongs everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Ms. Marino, this is my eldest son, Jeremy Hartley,” Peter announces, his voice brimming with paternal pride.

I look at the face in front of me, and a strange sense of déjà vu washes over me. The more I look, the more familiar he becomes. It’s a nagging feeling at the back of my mind, a memory just out of reach. Then, it clicks. The car accident. The rain. The man with the bleeding temple and the limited edition watch.

“It’s you!” The exclamation escapes me before I can stop it.

Jeremy looks at me, and a genuine, knowing smile graces his lips. It transforms his serious features. “Ms. Marino, your umbrella is still in my car.”

The confirmation sends a jolt through me. He’s the guy injured in the last car accident! Of all the people in the world.

Peter, oblivious to our brief, dramatic history, looks puzzled. “Did you know Ms. Marino?”

We met once,” Jeremy explains smoothly, his gray–brown eyes glinting with amusement. “Ms. Marino did me a favor.” He doesn’t elaborate, leaving it at that simple, elegant statement. That day, the rain had gotten heavier and heavier. He indeed nooded an umbrella to keep from getting drenched.

I feel Mikhail’s gaze on me, sharp and assessing. I don’t need to look at him to feel the curiosity rolling off him in waves, Gemma must be hiding a lot of secrets! his thoughts practically scream. It seems I keep surprising everyone, including myself.

Out on the lawn, I can feel the shift in the atmosphere before I even see him. Cassian has been standing sentinel, a storm cloud in a sea of champagne flutes. The air pressure around him is several degrees lower than elsewhere. He’s been draining his glass, his eyes locked on the villa entrance, a possessive tension in every line of his body. The moment he sees me emerge with Mikhail and Peter, some of that tension releases. He puts down his glass with a definitive click and strides toward us.

“Hello, Mr. Hartley,” he says, his voice the epitome of polished

courtesy.

+2 Bonus

“Mr. Blackwell, it’s such an honor to have you here today!” Peter replies with genuine warmth.

“Mr. Hartley, you’re too polite.”

Then, in a move that is both seamless and blatantly territorial, Cassian wraps his arm quite naturally around my waist, his hand a firm, warm weight on the small of my back, pulling me a distinct half–step away from Mikhail.

“I’m sure Mr. Hartley has already met my wife,” he continues, his tone leaving no room for argument. “But I have to introduce her. This is my wife, Gemma.”

The revelation clearly surprises Peter, whose eyebrows lift. He’s been out of the country and missed the news of Cassian’s marriage. “Ms. Marino is a perfect match for Mr. Blackwell,” he recovers gracefully, his eyes crinkling. It’s true; on the surface, we are a stunning pair. Both capable, both visually striking. A perfect, gilded cage.

My smile feels stiff, plastered on for the sake of the performance. I try to maintain it as best I can, but it’s a strain.

“Honey, you’re done with your business, right?” Cassian asks, his voice dropping into an intimate register meant for Peter’s ears. “Can I have the rest of your time?”

The endearment feels like a brand. “Of course!” I reply, my own smile brittle.

We are about to make our escape when Jeremy’s voice stops me. “Ms. Marino, may I ask if you know the daughter of the Parker family?”

The question is so unexpected it takes me a second to process. The Parker family? Zina?

“Mr. Jeremy Hartley, did you mean Zina?” I ask, my confusion evident.

He nods, his expression unreadable.

“She’s my good friend, but she doesn’t seem to be here today.” As I say it, I realize it’s true. Zina is nowhere to be seen, and the absence feels strange, significant. Why didn’t I know Zina knew anyone from the Hartley family?

Jeremy simply chuckles, a low, pleasant sound. “It’s okay. I was just casually asking. Ms. Marino, go about your business.”

Dismissed, I turn and let Cassian lead me away, his arm still a possessive band around me.

The press conference is still hours away. Cassian guides me toward a quieter corner, finding a secluded bench where I can

finally sit. My feet are killing me in these heeds,

“What did you just talk about when Mikhail took you to see Peter?” he asks, his tone casual, but I hear the underlying demand.

2 Bande

I lean down to rub my aching calves. “Nothing, just getting to know each other,” I deflect, my voice light. I don’t tell him about the global spokesperson offer. That money, that future, is mine. It belongs to the life I’m building, after our divorce. He doesn’t need to know.

He’s about to press further when a familiar sight catches his eye and mine. Reyna has appeared on the lawn, her hand tucked tightly into Rhett’s. She’s scanning the crowd, and the moment her eyes land on Cassian, her face lights up with a practiced, dazzling smile. She immediately starts pulling a reluctant–looking Rhett in our direction.

As if on cue, Liam materializes with two fresh glasses of champagne, completing the trifecta.

The sight of the three of them converging on us is so perfectly, painfully familiar that it feels like watching a staged play. A triangle had stability. It was no wonder these few have been able to hang out together for so many years. The geometry of their lives has always excluded me.

“Take your time chatting. I’ll sit over there”

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