The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 291

Chapter 291

Gemma’s POV

The man in the pink vest didn’t just defend me; he anointed me. And he did it without even knowing my name.

Gavin Reed stands as the ultimate arbiter of taste, and his verdict is final. His eyes, alight with an artist’s passion, sweep over me. “This necklace is my meticulous design!” he declares.

“And what she’s wearing clearly shows it’s real!” He doesn’t need to examine it. He knows it, the way a parent knows their own child.

Claire, humiliated and desperate, tries one last, feeble protest. “How could you know without even examining or touching it…”

“Claire, have you caused enough trouble?” Sybille’s voice is a sharp. She can’t stand the loss of face any longer and chooses to sacrifice her daughter to save her own dignity.

She’s cutting her losses, throwing her own daughter to the wolves to save her crumbling dignity.

Gavin isn’t having any of it. He turns on Claire, his flamboyance now a weapon. “I breathed life into these pieces,” he declares, his voice carrying. “My word is the only authentication they require.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “And you? You have the aesthetic sensibility of a brick. Don’t bother trying to

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buy my work again. I’d rather met it down?”

I see Claire physically recoil, her shoulders trembling, Her mother tries a feeble, “Please, Mr. Reed, she’s just a foolish girl…”

“She’s a grown woman who dress like one,” Gavin retorts, not even looking at Sybille, “She should act like one? With a final, disdainful sniff, he lets Jeremy guide him away, leaving, a stunned silence in their wake. I notice Natalie watching, it all from her secluded spot, a faint, satisfied smile playing, on her lips. She didn’t lift a finger.

Suddenly, the space around me feels less crowded. Cassian’s arm is still a solid, warm presence around my waist.

“This set,” I say, tilting my head towards the jewelry. “What did it actually cost?”

He glances down, his expression utterly bland. “It was within budget,” he says, as if discussing a new paperweight for his desk.

Before I can even process the sheer absurdity of that statement, he changes the subject. “Maddie’s girl, Maya. She has an interview at Paramount tomorrow.”

It takes me a second. Madeline’s pushy daughter. “She hasn’t started yet?” I murmur, more to myself than to him. I was sure she’d have been installed in a corner office by now.

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“Something about conflicting exam schedules,” he replies.

+2 Bonus

I just shrug. “Well, it’s your company.” I have no stake in this game. “Do what you want.”

As if on cue, the garden lights plunge into darkness, leaving only a single, brilliant spotlight on the stage where Peter Hartley stands. The show is starting. Cassian guides me to our seats, his hand firm on my back.

The new collection is breathtaking. Emeralds and deep–cut gemstones, all twisted into shapes that feel both ancient and futuristic. It’s Gavin‘ genius. Besides the pieces I’m wearing, the rest are locked away for a grand reveal next week.

Peter finishes his speech and hands the stage to Jeremy, who commands the space with an easy confidence.

“He’s the only one of Peter’s brood with any real polish,” Cassian whispers, his voice close to my ear.

“Brood?” I mutter, turning to him. “How many are there?”

“Five or six, last I heard.”

I can’t hide my surprise. “Five or six?”

“Don’t let the tailored suit fool you,” he says, his gaze fixed on Jeremy. “Peter’s past is… colorful. Ran with crowds you wouldn’t believe. Women were never in short supply.”

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+2 Bonus

I glance back at the dignified man on stage. “That must make Jeremy a target. All those half–siblings…”

“He’s been dealing with it his whole life. Probably doesn’t know any different.”

His words make me look at him, really look at him. He knows a thing or two about navigating a den of snakes. The Blackwell family is its own minefield.

“And Mrs. Hartley?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen a wife all night.

“Jeremy’s mother passed when he was young. Peter never remarried.” He pauses, leaning a fraction closer. “Though the rumor is he’s currently seeing a woman younger than we are.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Younger than us? You’re joking.”

He just gives a slight, confirming nod. I look back at Peter, the “family man” image he projects now completely fractured.

Jeremy is speaking, but I’m only half–listening, my mind reeling. I only snap back to the present when I hear him say, “…and so, it is my genuine honor to introduce the new global face of the Opal Group.”

A searing white spotlight suddenly wrenches from the stage and pins me to my seat. I blink, blinded.

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