The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 325

Chapter 325

Gemma’s POV

Jeremy doesn’t answer immediately. He leans back in his

chair, the polished leather creaking softly, and falls into a deep, contemplative silence.

He’s actually considering it, weighing the question with a seriousness I appreciate.

I can’t give you an answer about marriage right now. But I’m sure I like her and want to stay with her.

He meets my gaze, his own steady and direct. “As for my father, I’ll talk with him about it. He’s not an unreasonable man.”

I recall the snippets Zina had tearfully relayed. Peter had his own reservations about the arranged marriage, balking at the significant age gap.

But he was trapped, unable to afford offending the powerful Patel family, who were pushing for the union. At that time, Jeremy and Zina’s relationship was a secret, a hidden variable in a very public negotiation.

I take a deep breath, deciding to lay my cards on the table. “To be frank, Zina has indeed been in contact with other men recently.”

It’s a slight exaggeration, but a necessary one. “It’s not like she can’t live without you, but since you’re sincere, I can help you:34

meet her.”

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Lucky Draw

genuine fondness for Jeremy buried beneath the layers of hurt pride. She needs a push, and he needs a chance.

Call her with my phone, I instruct, sliding the device across his desk. “Say I fainted at your company and it’s an emergency.”

Jeremy looks at the phone, then at me, his expression a mixture of surprise and mild distaste for the melodrama. He seems to seriously consider the feasibility of this ruse for a moment before, with a resigned sigh, he reluctantly picks it up and dials.

I watch him, this powerful, controlled man reduced to staging a high school prank for a chance at reconciliation. It’s almost endearing.

When Zina answers, he doesn’t give her a chance to speak. “Zina! Your friend fainted. She’s at my company right now.”

I can almost hear the jolt through the phone. Zina immediately sits up straight, her voice sharp with alarm. “Jeremy, what did you do to Gemma?”

She’s not doing well…

He continues, his composure unshaken, his eyes on me as I take a calm sip of water. “You’d better come over.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Without even changing out of her loungewear, Zina is out the door. “Jeremy, just you wait!” she shrieks, her voice tinny through the speaker. “If anything happens to Gemma, I’ll make you apologize to her at any cost!”

The line goes dead. Jeremy winces slightly, his ears likely still

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helpless bewilderment on his face

Lucky Draw

I can’t help but smile. “It’s alright. That’s just how she is.” Her fierce, instantaneous loyalty is one of her best qualities.

Twenty minutes later, the storm named Zina Patel makes landfall. She bursts through the doors of the Opal Group, a whirlwind of fury and concern. Thanks to Jeremy’s forewarning, the front desk lets her pass unimpeded. She doesn’t knock; she throws the office door open so hard it bounces off the wall.

Jeremy, you jerk! she yells, storming toward his desk, her finger pointed like a weapon. “How dare you lay a hand on my friend? Do you think I can’t dismantle the Opal Group from the inside out?”

Then her frantic gaze finds me. I’m sitting perfectly serene in a guest chair, calmly finishing my cup of specially–brewed coffee.

Gemma… she breathes, her anger evaporating into pure, unadulterated confusion.

I set my cup down and beckon her over with a gentle wave. “Come here. Sit down.”

She obeys, moving to the chair beside me like a confused puppy, her eyes darting between Jeremy and me. Once she’s settled, I rise gracefully. “You two have some catching up to do,” I say, my tone light. “So I’ll make myself scarce.”

Oh, no… Zina’s protest is weak, her face a comical canvas of dawning realization and lingering bewilderment.

3/7

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Lucky Draw

behind me, leaving her alone in the lion’s den, or perhaps, with the man who desperately wants to be her tamer.

I emerge from the Opal Group with a genuine spring in my step. The meeting served a dual purpose. While waiting for Zina’s dramatic entrance, Jeremy and I had also finalized and signed the contract for me to be the Opal Group’s spokesperson next

year.

A productive afternoon, all things considered!

I’m about to hail a taxi back to Urban Lane when a familiar car glides to a stop beside me. The window rolls down to reveal Jace’s warm, inviting smile.

Hop in!

I slide into the passenger seat, “What brings you here?” I ask.

I noticed your car was idle in the garage, he explains, pulling back into the traffic. “Thought you might need a ride. The contract is sealed?”

Yes, I say, a real sense of relief washing over me. “It’s a relief to have that settled.”

The ease on my face seems to relax him further. He glances at me, a shy, hopeful look in his eyes. “I spotted a poetry gathering at the Grand Theater tonight. I recall your fondness for Jorge Luis Borges. Care to join me?”

I’m genuinely surprised. In the whirlwind of the divorce and Growing myself into work, I’ve been completely oblivious to the

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welcome, gentle tug back to the parts of myself I’d neglected.

A poetry gathering? I quidds pullout my phone to check the details, but my face falls. “But the tickets are all sold out.”

Jace watches my crestfallen compression, mud i see the observation in his eyes… the muted change in my demeanor since the divorce. I feel lighter, more vibrant, more present,

A slow, knowing smile sprends coss his face as he confesses, “I have a pair. Thought you might fancy it, so I secured two from the start.”

My disappointment instantly transforms into delight. My eyes light up, and I look at him with genuine, unguarded appreciation. “Jace!” I laugh, the sound feeling, foreign and wonderful in my own cars. “You’s my very own magical pocket! Whatever I desire, you provide!”

Cassian’s POV

The words on the computer screen in my office at Blackwell Industries blur into meaningless shapes. I can’t focus.

Leaning my head back, I try to work the stiffness from my neck, a tension that has nothing to do with work and everything to do with the silent, echoing space she left behind.

Mr. Blackwell, here are the tickets you requested.

Adam’s voice cuts through the static in my head. He lays two thick, cream–colored tickets on the desk. A Poetry Evening: The World of Jorge Luis Borges, I see the flicker of confusion in bits34

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