The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 342

Chapter 342

Gemma’s POV

A cold, clear understanding clicks into place. So that’s why she’s here.

But the dominance she’s trying to assert has already became obsolete, the day I signed my divorce papers. A grim smile touches my lips.

“If you had done a better job raising your daughter,” I retort, my voice flat, “I wouldn’t have had to teach her that lesson for you.”

Sibille’s eyes narrow into slits. “You will apologize to Claire.” The command is delivered with the unshakable

confidence of someone who has never been told ‘no.‘

I can’t help the short, humorless laugh that escapes me. “Impossible.”

The word is absolute. Apologize to that spoiled, scheming brat? After she stalked me, invaded my privacy, and splashed my life all over the internet?

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“Claire should be in a jail cell learning what happens when you take illegal photos and slander people,” I counter, my own anger beginning to simmer. “You should be thanking me for my restraint. If I weren’t so ‘kind–hearted,‘ as you put it, you’d be visiting her in a detention center right now instead of wasting my time with this nonsense.”

Fury paints her cheeks. “If you refuse to be reasonable, I’ll have no choice but to take this to your company,” she threatens, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I’ll make a scene right in your lobby. If you’re determined to humiliate yourself, I’m happy to assist. Let’s see how your colleagues view you then.”

Before the divorce, her taunts were always coated in a thin layer of condescension and sweetness. Now, she feels no need to pretend anymore.

My hand, which was resting on the car door handle, tightens. The threat, while crude, isn’t entirely empty. A public spectacle is the last thing I need. Just then, my phone vibrates in my pocket–another thousand–dollar deposit from my persistent ex–husband, no doubt. The absurdity of it all solidifies my resolve.

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I turn back to ner, my n

to coolly accepting.

Ꭸ

“Alright,” I say, my tone deceptively calm. “Let’s talk.”

head

I need to end this, once and for all. I will not have this woman thinking she can hold this over my indefinitely.

I lead her to a brunch restaurant near Dream

International, choosing a table in a quiet corner. As we sit opposite each other, I subtly pull out my phone and share my live location with Mikhail. Just in case. I then place the phone face down on the table, my attention fully on Sibille.

“Claire has been cherished by the Blackwell family since the day she was born,” Sibille begins, as if this is a compelling argument. “She has never been treated with such disrespect. I insist you apologize to her.”

“And I insist it’s impossible,” I reply, my voice even. There will be no apology. Not in this lifetime.

“Fine,” she sniffs, as if granting me a great concession. “Let’s move on. You should return the bank card Grandpa gave you when you married Cassian.“”

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I stare at her, genuinely taken aback. “I’ve never heard of anyone demanding the return of a wedding gift after a divorce.” The audacity is staggering. Besides, that card was a gift from Grandpa. What right does she, a member of the Marshall family by marriage, have to it?

“Don’t play innocent,” she sneers. “We all know how much money you’ve siphoned from the Blackwell family. I’m only asking for one card instead of the original six hundred million. Consider it a gesture of my generosity.”

So that’s her game. She heard about the card from Claire, who likely heard it from Reyna during their mean–girl gossip sessions. “I’ll return it,” I say, my voice icy. “But I will return it directly to Grandpa, and only to him.” I’m not a fool. I know the intricate, greedy politics of the Blackwell family. Handing that card to Sibille would be like throwing it into a black hole.

She looks at me as if I’m something she scraped off her shoe. “You refuse to apologize and you refuse to

return the card. It’s clear what you were after from the beginning.”

The hypocrisy is breathtaking. “If you’re not after

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money,” I shoot back, “then why are you here? Don’t pretend to be noble. You’re just as mercenary as you accuse me of being.”

“I won’t stoop to your level,” she sniffs, though her eyes glitter with avarice. “A few tens of millions is nothing to the Blackwell family. But since you are no longer one of us, you will return the pair of jade bracelets Grandpa gave you.”

That gives me pause. The bracelets. When Cassian was too “busy” for a wedding or a honeymoon, Grandpa gave them to me as a consolation prize.

They were beautiful, a translucent, cool green, and obviously ancient and valuable. My wrists were too slender for them; they would slide right off if I lowered my hand.

Knowing their worth, I’d stored them safely away and never worn them. I’d almost forgotten they existed.

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