The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 294

< The Don Tore Up Our Divorce

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Chapter 294

Gemma’s POV

Zina’s eyes are comically wide, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O‘ of disbelief.

“You’re actually pregnant?”

I just give a single, solemn nod. Her gaze immediately darts to Jace, and I see a wave of pity wash over her face. It’s the kind of look you give someone watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Then her expression shifts into fierce, protective mode. “Okay, listen to me. It’s going to be fine. So you’re pregnant… big deal! We’ve got this. I’ll be the fun uncle who teaches them how to cause trouble, and you can be the responsible one.”

I take a slow sip of water. “I’ve made my decision. I’m keeping the baby, but the divorce is non–negotiable.”

I see Jace blink, a new layer of shock registering.

“I can do this on my own as a single mother. My last name will be the baby’s last name, it’s really that simple.”

“She’s right!” Zina interjects, her loyalty a blazing fire. “We

have more than enough resources! Who needs that… that sperm donor cluttering up the picture?”

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Jace, always the one to focus on logistics, finds his voice. “What’s the timeline for the divorce?”

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“It has to happen before I start showing,” I state, the deadline looming in front of me.

I have a couple of months, at best

“And you think he’s just going to let you walk away?” Zina asks, hitting the core of the problem.

I look down, tracing the condensation on my glass. “I don’t know what he’ll do.”

It’s the honest truth. My mind shies away from his potential reaction, focusing only on the escape route.

Mikhail’s drastic proposal lingers in the back of my mind, the fake scandal is a last resort I’m desperate to avoid.

Zina, incapable of sustaining a somber mood for long, claps her hands together. “Well, I’m claiming the title of favorite godparent right now! I’m ditching work, we need to go shopping. Immediately.”

Molly, who’s been quietly absorbing everything, gives a small, awkward smile. “Zina, it’s a bit early for that. We don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Whatever!” Zina waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll just buy

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everything in both sections. Problem solved.”

Molly shakes her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Spoken like someone who’s never worried about a credit card bill.”

The mention of money reminds me. I turn to Molly, “Your scholarship fund is active again.”

The moment the bank card was back in my possession, I made sure the transfers resumed.

But Molly immediately shakes her head. “Please, don’t. I’m managing perfectly fine. I’m part of the team now, I’ll be earning my own way.”

Zina lets out a short laugh. “Who told you that? About the earning?”

Molly looks confused. “Wait… we don’t get a salary?”

“Nope,” Zina says, popping the ‘p. “We get paid when we land projects. It’s a feast or famine‘ situation around here.”

I see the panic flicker in Molly’s eyes and feel a surge of protectiveness. “The agreement was that I’m going to support you through university. That hasn’t changed.”

She presses her lips together, visibly moved.

I decide to lighten the mood and pivot back to Zina. “Before you

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max out your cards on baby clothes, are you ever going to make good on your promise? I’m still waiting to meet this legendary boyfriend.”

She’s been dodging the subject for weeks.

The effect is instantaneous. Zina’s vibrant energy vanishes, like a rain cloud passes over her face.

“Don’t! It’s over. We broke up.”

L“What?” I’m genuinely surprised. “But you were fine just the other day. What happened?”

She shrugs, a gesture that’s meant to be casual but is tight with tension. “It’s not a big deal, many people break up every day. And besides, there are plenty of other guys out there.”

Her words are flippant, but her eyes tell a different story. This isn’t the whole truth.

“Gemma,” Zina says abruptly, grabbing her bag and standing up. “Come with me. I need to go somewhere.”

I look at her, curious. “Where are we going?”

Half an hour later, we’re standing outside an exclusive, hushed Japanese restaurant. The kind of place where the ambiance probably costs more than the meal.

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“You dragged me out for lunch?” ask, glancing at my watch. It’s barely noon.

“You’ll thank me later. The food here is incredible. Come on.”

A theory begins to form in my mind. She leads us to a private room with an easy familiarity that contradicts her claim of only having been here “once or twice.” She doesn’t even look at the

menu.

“We’ll have the otoro, the foie gras, and the unagi,” she tells the server, her order swift and sure.

The server merely bows and slips away. The moment we’re alone, I lean forward. “Do you have a secret ownership stake here? You seem awfully at home.”

At least, she has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “I’ve only been here a few times,” she insists, avoiding my eyes.

Before I can press further, the door slides open. A man enters, dressed in pristine chef’s whites. He carries a tray of glistening fish and sharp, precise tools, his entire presence radiating a quiet, focused intensity. He’s handsome, in a stern, dedicated kind of way.

Zina’s transformation is immediate and total. She straightens up, a jolt of electricity seeming to run through her. The shadows in her eyes vanish, replaced by a Brilliant, captivated light.

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“Chef Clark,” she says, her voice softening into a tone I’ve never heard her use before. “What a wonderful surprise.”

‘A surprise‘? I think, my eyebrow arching. In a reservation–only private room you specifically requested?

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