The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 31

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane**

**Crest 31**

**Chapter 31**

**Cassian**

Seated at a table by the expansive window of one of downtown’s most prestigious restaurants, I find myself sharing a meal with Liam. The ambiance is a blend of soft chatter and clinking cutlery, yet my mind is far from the culinary delights before me. Instead, it is consumed by the complications of our supply lines, which seem to be unraveling at the seams.

Moreover, I can’t shake off the unsettling news circulating among the families in our circle. Whispers of alliances being forged to undermine others are creeping into our discussions, and the thought sends a chill down my spine. I’ve witnessed the devastation that such power plays can unleash—war, chaos, and the bitter taste of loss. It was a conflict that claimed my parents, and the mere prospect of history repeating itself fills me with dread.

Liam is engrossed in detailing the latest maneuvers of one of our fiercest competitors when he abruptly halts mid-sentence. I arch an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “What’s going on? Do you think they’re behind the sabotage of our plane or not?” I press, urgency lacing my voice.

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t them. But look over there. Isn’t that Gemma?”

My heart lurches as I pivot to the window. The glass is tinted, allowing us a view of the bustling street outside while keeping us hidden from prying eyes.

It’s 11:18, and there she is—Gemma, gliding down the sidewalk alongside her whimsical friend Zina and a tall figure cloaked in a hoodie. My gaze narrows as I watch him take her bag, effortlessly shouldering her burden. Laughter bubbles between them, and I can’t help but grimace, baring my teeth like a cornered animal.

The sight of her with another man strikes me harder than I anticipated. Even when I had my doubts about her intentions, she remains my wife. I am Cassian Blackwell, and what is mine is mine. But this feeling is more than mere possessiveness; it’s a visceral punch to my gut watching her smile at him, as if I’m being hollowed out from the inside.

A voice within me stirs, urging me to act. Go after her. Show him who she belongs to.

But I remain rooted in my seat, unwilling to create a scene by confronting another man in public. Instead, I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I dial her number.

I see her pause, retrieving her phone from her pocket. A part of me anticipates the disgust that will surely mar her features when she sees my name flash across the screen, followed by the inevitable rejection of my call. Yet, the fact that my call goes through at all indicates she has unblocked my number at some point.

To my surprise, she answers. “Cassian?” Her voice, soft and airy, sends a jolt through me, making me clench my jaw.

I refuse to acknowledge how deeply I miss her presence—her scent lingering in the air, her voice echoing through the halls of our home, even the way she would irritate me with her playful banter.

“Where are you?” I ask, my tone as frigid as the winter air outside.

Her expression shifts to one of annoyance, tinged with disgust. “None of your damn business. Why are you calling me?”

“I’ll give you thirty minutes to show up at home,” I growl, my voice low and commanding.

“Why?” she retorts, her tone laced with defiance. It’s a challenge I’ve rarely encountered from her, and it ignites something primal within me—a desire to reclaim what is mine.

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