The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 293

Chapter 293

Gemma’s POV

A sharp, twisting pain lances through my lower abdomen, and my hand instinctively latches on to Cassian’s arm.

I flinch, my fingers tightening involuntarily on his sleeve, and a pained sigh escapes before I can stop it.

Cassian stops dead, his entire body going rigid with alertness. “Did you get hurt?” he asks, his voice low and urgent, his eyes scanning me for any sign of injury from Zoey’s attack.

A cold sweat prickles on my forehead. I can’t tell him the truth… I can’t.

I force my features to smooth out, layering a lie over the very real fear coiling in my gut. “No,” I manage, my voice a little too tight. “I might have loose bowels. Let’s just go back.” It’s a pathetic excuse, but it’s all I have.

He doesn’t look convinced. His lips press into a thin line of frustration and concern. Then, without another word, he simply bends and scoops me up into his arms. The world tilts, and I’m cradled against his chest.

He turns his head, his voice cutting through the lingering chaos as he addresses Peter and the gathered security. “As for what happened today, I expect the Opal Group will give my wife a

1/6

15:35

Chapter 293

thorough explanation as soon as possible.”

+2 Bonus

Then he’s moving, carrying me out of the banquet hall without a single backward glance. I don’t need to look to feel the weight of certain stares. I can sense Reyna clinging to Rhett, her gaze a brand of pure, bitter reluctance on Cassian’s retreating back. And I’m sure Mikhail is leaning against a doorway somewhere, watching it all unfold with that infuriating, sarcastic smile.

The moment we’re in the backseat of the car, the quiet hum of the engine a stark contrast to the party’s noise, Cassian gives Tom an order. “Drive to the hospital.”

Panic, cold and immediate, jolts through me. “No!” The word comes out too sharp, too loud. I lean forward, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

He turns to me, his brow furrowed in clear exasperation. “Gemma, you were just in pain. You should get checked out.”

“I told you, I’m not going.” I prop myself up straighter, trying to project a strength I don’t feel. The cramp has subsided, leaving behind a dull, phantom ache. “I know my own body, and I feel fine now.” It’s a gamble, pretending the danger has passed.

“Do you have to be so stubborn?”

The question comes with a sigh, and it’s that helplessness that gives me an opening.

2/6

15:35

< Chapter 293

+2 Bonus

I let my voice go cold, layering it with the bitterness of three years of neglect. “Anyway, you don’t care, do you? What’s the point of me going to the hospital? It would just be a waste of your precious time.” I look out the window at the passing city lights. “Just take me back.”

He doesn’t fight me again, and the moment we arrive, I escape to the second bedroom, locking the door behind me. I don’t come out for the rest of the night, lying in the dark, my hand pressed to my stomach, praying for the tiny life inside to be strong, to be safe.

*****

The next morning, I’m pulled from a fitful sleep by a soft knock. Chloe’s voice is gentle on the other side of the door. “Mrs. Blackwell, the dietician Mr. Blackwell hired for you is here.”

I rub the sleep from my eyes, confusion cutting through the grogginess. Didn’t she say the dietitian would come the day before yesterday? Why is she two days late? I sit up, the events of last night crashing back. “Where’s Cassian?” I ask Chloe as I open the door.

“Mr. Blackwell left for work early!”

I make my way downstairs and find the woman waiting on the living room sofa. She stands immediately as I approach, her posture perfectly straight. She offers a polite, professional smile. “Hello, Mrs. Blackwell. I am the dietitian hired by your

3/6

15:35

husband. You can call me Lauren I will be in charge of your diet from now on.”

Lauren Simmons She’s dressed in a simple white shirt and light jeans, her hair in a neat ponytail, small pearl earrings shining in

her ears.

She looks clean, educated, and competent. Without me asking, she retrieves a neat stack of credentials and certificates from her bag, laying them out precisely on the marble coffee table. “These are my credentials. Mrs. Blackwell, you are welcome to review them.”

I don’t have the energy for a formal interrogation. She seems perfectly wonderful, and right now, that’s enough. “Thank you for your future help,” I say, my voice still rough with sleep.

She gives another slight, formal bow. “That is my responsibility, Mrs. Blackwell.” She then proceeds with her professional checklist. “Mrs. Blackwell, do you or Mr. Blackwell have any specific dietary restrictions? I will be sure to account for them in my meal preparations.”

The question feels too intimate, too connected to a domestic life we don’t really share.

“You can ask Chloe about all of that,” I deflect, a little too quickly. “She’s well aware of ourn habits.”

Lauren only hesitates for a fraction of a second before her serene

4/6

15:35

Stupic 230

L

+2 Bonus

smile returns. “Yes, Mrs. Blackwell.”

The constant, respectful address is starting to grate. “You can just call me Gemma,” I tell her. “You don’t have to be so formal.”

Her smile doesn’t waver. “Mrs. Blackwell, maintaining professionalism is part of my service.”

Fine, I think, a wave of resignation washing over me. Let her do whatever she wants. “Are you going to stay at the villa, or come by every day?”

“Mr. Blackwell has made all the necessary arrangements. Please don’t concern yourself, Mrs. Blackwell.”

Her cooking, as it turns out, is impeccable. Even a simple breakfast is a perfectly balanced work of art, though Chloe is still the one who actually prepares it under Lauren’s exacting direction.

Lauren presents me with a detailed chart outlining my required daily intake of vitamins and micronutrients. She is, as promised, very strict. But for the first time in weeks, I finish a meal without a single wave of nausea.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify