The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 327

Chapter 327-1

Gemma’s POV

Three minutes. That’s all I need to try and compose myself, to wash the lingering feeling of his grip from my wrist and the sound of his arrogant voice from my cars.

But when I push the restroom door open, he is still there. Leaning against the opposite wall a monument to stubbornness. Cassian’s persistence isn’t charming; it’s grating, an insistent

noise I can’t switch off.

He pushes himself off the wall as I emerge. “I don’t care whose child you’re carrying.” The declaration is meant to be magnanimous, but it lands like an insult. “After we remarry, I’ll raise it as my own and won’t hold it against you.”

The audacity is breathtaking. I stop dead, my blood running cold before it boils. “Hold it against me?” My voice is dangerously quiet. “What right do you have to hold anything against me?”

You conceived another man’s child during our marriage, he states, as if reciting a legal clause, “and I haven’t contested it. Isn’t that concession enough?”

A furious, disbelieving laugh escapes me. It’s either that or scream. “That’s quite generous of you,” I sneer, the words dripping with venom. “You don’t need to concede because I won’t remarry you.” I don’t wait for a reply. I stride past him, my high heels clicking a decisive, final rhythm on the polished floor.

15:35

< Chapter 327-1

Lucky Draw

trouble you?” he asks, his voice low and grave as his eyes dart toward Cassian’s looming figure.

I shake my head, wanting nothing more than to be free of this place, of him. “No. Let’s leave. There’s no point in lingering here.”

But Cassian isn’t finished. Witnessing Jace standing protectively by my side seems to short–circuit whatever restraint he has left.

“Gemma!”

He calls out, his voice sharp with a bitter jealousy that feels both alien and pathetic. “You’re carrying the child of Mikhail, yet you are with Jace? Are you so fickle?”

The word is a match thrown on a pool of gasoline. The anger I’ve been suppressing erupts. I stop, my entire body tensing. I turn around and walk back toward him, each step measured and

cold.

A flicker of something…hope? Or triumph?-washes over his face. He actually believes I feel at fault, that I’m coming back to grant him an audience.

He is wrong.

My hand moves before my mind can fully process the action. It swings through the air, connecting with his cheek in a stinging, open–palmed slap that cracks through the hushed murmurs of the lingering crowd.

The force of it snaps his head to the side. 2/4

15:35

< Chapter 327-1

The words are a low, seething promise.

Lucky Draw

He stands there, stunned, his hand rising to his mouth. I don’t wait to see if it’s bleeding. Ignoring the shocked whispers around us, I turn, take Jace’s hand in mine, and pull him away, out of the theater, leaving Cassian and the ruined poetry gathering behind.

We walk for a long time, the cool night air doing little to

douse the fire in my veins. Slowly the frantic pulse in my cars subsides. I look down and see our joined hands, and I notice the faint red mark on Jace’s wrist from where I’d gripped him too tightly. A wave of shame washes over me.

I’m sorry, I say, releasing his hand as if it’s burned me. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

Jace simply presses his arm, a gentle smile touching his lips. “My skin is just sensitive. It’ll fade soon.” It’s a lie, a kind one. My grip hadn’t been that strong, and I know it.

I stare at the fading mark for a long moment before sighing, the sound heavy with defeat. An excellent opportunity to lose myself in poetry was ruined. “Thank you for today,” I say, my voice tired. “You can go now; I need some time alone.”

I see the immediate concern flash in his eyes. “Gemma, I—”

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