The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 300

Chapter 300

Gemma’s POV

I feel my breath catch.

‘Dependency’- the term is so sanitized, but the meaning is brutally clear.

I remember Mr. Smith muttering about the difficulties of managing Mikhail’s “medications abroad. I’d assumed it was about an allergy from antibiotics or something simple.

I never imagined this!

“The bullet shrapnel is still lodged in his abdomen, it’s a constant source of physical trauma. If it isn’t removed, the long–term prognosis is… concerning.”

My mind flashes back to the stories, the near–fatal injury from his military service.

“But the fragment is dangerously close to vital organs, isn’t it? Surgery would be incredibly risky. Can you even guarantee he will survive the operation?”

“I can’t offer guarantees, only probabilities. But leaving it in is also a guarantee…a guarantee of chronic pain, infection, and this… The pain management has created a separate, compounding problem. We’re caught between two dangerous

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paths.”

I run a hand through my hair as a weary sigh escapes me. I knew he had injuries, but I had no idea the situation was this dire. The doctor’s warning echoes in my head: It could jeopardize his life.

How much of this does Smith truly know?

I make my way back to Mikhail’s room, where Harold is just coming out of.

The moment he sees me, he grabs my arm, his grip tight. “Ms. Blackwell, please, you have to talk to him! He’s insisting on checking himself out. He can’t… he just collapsed!”

I push the door open without another word, to find Mikhail, his face ashen and beaded with a cold sweat, clumsily trying to pull the IV catheter from his hand.

“What are you doing?”

I demand, striding over to the bed.

He doesn’t look at me, his focus entirely on freeing himself. “I don’t need this.”

“You fainted an hour ago, Mikhail! You’re in no state to go anywhere.”

“I said, I don’t need it.”

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A horrible understanding dawns on me: he passed out because he’s been trying to go without the painkillers,

The withdrawal, combined with the agony of his injury, overwhelmed his system. I plant my feet by his bedside, “Lie down. NOW! If you take one step out of this hospital, I will call Mr. Smith immediately and tell him to cut off your access to every single painkiller on this planet.”

That makes his hands go still. He looks at me, and I see the shock in his eyes. He knows I’m not bluffing.

“What’s the difference between being dependent on pills and being an addict, Mikhail? You can’t live like this. You can’t let this thing control you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Gemma! You don’t know what this feels like.”

“Don’t I? You have a piece of metal buried in your gut that causes so much pain you need to drug yourself into numbness every single day! Is that clear enough for you?”

It’s a low blow, exposing his deepest vulnerability. He flinches, and the shame on his face is a painful thing to witness.

“Finish the infusion.“I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll figure out the rest after you’re stable.”

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I turn and walk out, closing the door firmly behind me. I need to call Mr. Smith.

I stride down the hallway, pulling out my phone, but as I pass a half–open door to another room, a raised voice makes me freeze.

“Haven’t you done enough, Mom? What more do you want from me?”

It’s Reyna, “You wanted me to get Lisette’s medication, I did it. You wanted me to clean up your financial mess, I found a way. What else could you possibly be dissatisfied with?”

There’s a muffled response, then Reyna’s voice cuts through again, louder. “No, of course you’re not satisfied. You wanted me to marry Cassian, and I didn’t manage that, did I? That’s the one thing that really matters to you!”

I don’t need to hear any more. All the mess in my life ultimately leads to a mother’s bottomless hunger and a daughter’s twisted sense of obligation.

Reyna’s POV

I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like someone was just listening. I turn sharply toward the hospital room door, but the hallway is empty.

Good! The last thing I need is some nosey nurse overhearing this.

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“Reyna, I told you to marry Cassian,” my mother starts up again. “So why are you wasting your time with Rhett? The Whittaker family is comfortable, but they’re nothing compared to the Blackwells. Are you really going to let that Gemma win?”

She just doesn’t get it. She spent her whole life in a pathetic, one–sided rivalry with Lisette, and now she’s trying to draft me into her stupid war with Gemma.

“Mother, Cassian doesn’t trust me anymore!” I snap, my patience fraying. “He’s completely cold to me. If I didn’t have Rhett as a backup, I wouldn’t even have a place to stay!” Does she think I want to be with Rhett? He’s a useful idiot, a stepping stone. He’s my only way to stay in the same social circle as Cassian, to remain visible.

A flicker of worry crosses her face, but it’s not for me. “Rhett… he won’t expect you to pay back that fortune he gave you, will

he?”

I shake my head, a genuine, confident gesture. “He won’t.” I know Rhett. He’s chivalrous to a fault. The money is a gift in his mind, a testament to his devotion. He’d never humiliate himself by asking for it back. Rhett isn’t the problem. He’s predictable. Gemma is the problem. She’s the variable I can’t control.

“The Blackwell family is clinging to her now, and Cassian… he looks at her differently,” I say, sinking into the chair, letting a mask of sorrow fall over my features. “If I push too hard, if I

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make a scene, he’ll just despise me. I’ve lost my leverage.” I used to be so sure I could drive a wedge between them, but Cassian’s defenses are up. I need a new strategy, one that targets Gemma directly.

“So, what would it take?”

My mother muses, her eyes taking on a familiar, calculating glint. “What would make Gemma so desperate, so broken, that she would pack her bags and leave Cassian for good?”

We both fall silent. We need something foolproof, something that can’t be traced back to us. And then, as if our minds are connected by the same twisted thread, the answer comes to us simultaneously.

We look at each other, and the name leaves our lips in a single, chilling whisper. “Lisette.”

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