The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 338

Chapter 338-2

I’m even thoughtful enough to ensure the date on the document is clearly visible, a preemptive strike against anyone trying to claim it’s a recent fabrication. I hit ‘post,‘ and a profound, quiet relief washes through me. It’s done. I’ve taken back the narrative.

The drive back to Urban Lane feels lighter. I pull my Porsche into its usual spot in the underground garage, the familiar routine a comfort. But as I walk towards the elevator, a figure detaches itself from the shadows near the mailboxes. It’s a woman. Amanda.

A flicker of surprise passes through me, but I quickly quash it. Whatever she wants, it’s none of my concern. I plan to walk right past her.

“Gemma.” Her voice stops me, sharp and deliberate. “I want to talk to you.”

I sigh internally but lead her upstairs to my studio. I offer her a glass of water, which she pointedly ignores. Fine. I set it on the table and sit on the sofa opposite her. “Miss Hartley,” I begin, my tone neutral. “To what do I owe this Visit?”

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She looks at me, her eyes burning with a jealousy so potent it’s almost a physical force in the room. “Why are you still pretending?” she spits out. “I know it’s you. You’re the one he’s in love with. You gave me false information, made me think his loyalty was to some faceless company, ‘Moonlight‘! But it was all because of you!”

She believes I’ve been playing some elaborate, scheming game, redirecting her suspicion towards a corporate rival while I secretly held Jace’s heart.

I’m momentarily stunned. “Miss Hartley, you’re mistaken. Jace and I, we’re just—”

“Enough!” she cuts me off, her voice trembling with fury. “Do you think I’m an idiot? He’s not here to protect you now. Look at this!” She yanks a thick, well–worn document from her bag and throws it onto the coffee table between us with a slap.

I frown, my dislike for her ruddy dramatics solidifying. The document isn’t a report. It’s a personal diary, filled with pages of handwritten script. Jace’s handwriting. I know he prefers pen and paper, finds it more personal 2/5

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than typing. The pages are dense with text, a chronicle of his college years and beyond. There’s too much to read.

“Overwhelmed?” she sneers, snatching the diary back. “Let me help you find the highlights.” She flips through the pages with practiced familiarity, stopping at a specific entry and thrusting it back towards me, her finger stabbing at a single sentence.

[She seems like my redemption, rescuing me from the darkness. She is the only light in my life, and who will refuse the light?]

I look up, meeting her accusatory glare. “This is… vague. It’s not necessarily about me.”

She lets out a harsh, disbelieving grunt. “Keep reading.”

She turns the page for me.

[She taught me so much today. She’s brilliant, and it makes me feel unworthy, but I can’t stop myself from admiring her.]

The pronouns are consistent. A cold dread begins to Bekle down my spine. She turns more pages, her

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< Chapter 338-2

movements jerky.

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[Today, Zina said she got married. I wanted to wish her happiness, but I don’t think she is. Or maybe I’m the one who’s unhappy. Why couldn’t she wait for me?]

My breath catches… He… he is talking about my wedding to Cassian.

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