The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 336

Chapter 336

Gemma’s POV

Sibille’s hypocrisy is a dense fog in the room, suffocating and impossible to ignore. She draws herself up, her expression one of pained superiority. “If it weren’t your own failing, how could Cassian possibly be seeking companionship elsewhere?” she chides, as if delivering a universal truth. “Gemma, a man of Cassian’s standing naturally attracts admiration. As his wife, it was your duty to possess the grace and capability to hold his attention.”

I find her logic not just flawed, but utterly ridiculous. It’s a convenient, age–old script that blames the woman for a man’s wandering eye. I decide to toss the script back at her.

“So, Sibille,” I say, my voice deceptively calm, “by that reasoning, it must also be your own shortcoming that your husband is so frequently… close… to other women outside your home, correct?”

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The effect is instantaneous. Sibille looks as if I’ve 1/8 physically slapped her. She freezes, her mouth slightly

sure e suratterea.

We all know the unspoken truth about Andrew Marshall. He’s a man with no real power, who has coasted for years on the Blackwell family’s coattails.

Claire’s lavish lifestyle is funded entirely by Grandpa’s generosity, a silent apology for his son–in–law’s incompetence. Lately, Andrew’s been claiming he’s started a company, using it as an excuse to come home later and later.

Sibille, with her towering pride, would never stoop to questioning him like a suspicious housewife. She’s been too busy scheming to secure a position for Claire at Blackwell Industries. I’ve heard the whispers. I’ve even seen Andrew once, in a restaurant, with a woman who was decidedly not his wife. I’d filed it away, none of my business.

But now, it’s very much my business.

The shock on Sibille’s face morphs into brittle denial. “Gemma, that’s absurd! How dare you suggest such a thing about my husband? You’re just trying to deflect

bm your own disgraceful behavior!”

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“Am I?” I counter, holding her panicked gaze. “The truth isn’t difficult to uncover, is it? If you’re so confident.”

I see the flicker of fear in her eyes, the dawning horror that my words might not be a bluff. She quickly tries to steer the conversation back to safer, more attackable

ground: me.

“We are discussing your conduct, Gemma,” she says, her voice regaining a shred of its sharpness. “You know it is improper for a married woman to be so familiar with another man. Why would you choose to make such a mistake?”

Claire, emboldened and blind to her mother’s discomfort, jumps back in. “Grandfather, we saw her! She was all over some man at the amusement park, and then they got into the same car and drove off together! Who knows what shameful things they did after that!”

Grandpa’s face, which had been stern, darkens further at her crude language. “Claire, mind your words,” he rumbles, his displeasure clear.

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But Claire misinterprets, thinking his anger is directed at 3/8

my alleged actions, not her vulgarity. She’s triumphant, sure she has me cornered. “I’m not lying! Zoey was with me, she saw it too! If you don’t believe me, call her right now!”

She’s like a dog with a bone, refusing to let go. “And I have proof!”

With a dramatic flourish, she pulls a stack of photos from her bag and scatters them across the coffee table like a winning hand of cards.

I look down at the glossy images. There I am, talking to Aronn. There we are, standing near his car. The invasion of privacy is staggering. “It must be exhausting,” I muse aloud, “playing the part of a wealthy socialite while doubling as a low–rent private investigator.”

Grandpa picks up one of the photos, his expression unreadable, but I see a profound weariness in his eyes. He knows, as I do, that if I were still married, this would be a serious matter. But I’m not.

“Well, Gemma?” Claire demands, her posture aggressive, her chin lifted in disdain. “What’s your explanation for Ala? That’s you, isn’t it? You can’t deny it!”

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1. c) 43 Bonu

I rise from the sofa, meeting her glare head–on. The time for passive defense is over. “That’s me,” I confirm, my voice clear and steady.

A victorious, ugly smile spreads across her face. She thinks she’s won. “Aren’t you ashamed? You’re a disgrace to Cassian and an embarrassment to the Blackwell family! You’re just an ugly duckling who will never, ever be a swan!” Her venom spills over, and she takes a step forward, her finger lifting as if to jab my shoulder.

I don’t give her the chance. My hand snaps out, catching her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip before her finger can make contact. “Claire,” I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “Be civil.”

She tries to yank her hand back, but I hold fast. “I’ll be civil when you learn to be faithful! Do you think Cassian will ever forgive you after he sees these?”

That’s all she’s ever wanted–to see me gone. She once championed Reyna, and now that Reyna is out of the picture, she’d rather see Cassian alone than see me standing here, in her grandfather’s house, treated like family.

5/8

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“The person in these photos is me,” I repeat, my gaze locked on hers. “I admit I got into a car with another man. But so what?” I pause, letting the silence stretch for a beat. “I am divorced from Cassian. Our marriage is legally dissolved. I have absolutely no connection to the Blackwell family anymore. I am free to see whomever I please.”

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