The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 347

Chapter 347

Gemma’s POV

The evening air is cool on the balcony, a welcome change from the stuffy anxiety that’s been clinging to me all day. I’m on autopilot, collecting our dry clothes from the line, my mind a thousand miles away. My hands move mechanically, folding a shirt, then a pair of trousers. It’s on my second trip, my arms now full of soft cotton and denim, that I notice him.

A man, standing perfectly still under a streetlamp downstairs.

I pay little attention at first. People wait for Ubers, they take phone calls. But as I turn to go back inside, a prickle on the back of my neck makes me glance down again. He hasn’t moved. His posture is rigid, and his gaze seems fixed, unwaveringly, on the facade of our building. On our

floor.

My heart skips a beat, a cold dread washing over me. The stories I’ve read online, the news reports about stalkers and perverted murderers, come flooding back in a nauseating wave. I drop the clothes onto a nearby chair,

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not caring where they land, and hurry inside to Zina’s room.

She’s a lump under the covers, dead to the world. I shake her shoulder. “Zina. Wake up.”

She groans, swatting vaguely at my hand. “Wha…?”

“There’s someone standing downstairs,” I whisper, my voice tight.

She cracks an eye open. “Who is it? Just let him. Maybe he just likes standing there. None of our business.” With that, she turns over, burying her face in the pillow.

But I can’t let it go. The feeling is too strong, too wrong. I pull her back, my grip firm. “I just saw that he seemed to be looking at our apartment. Directly at it.” My sixth sense, usually a quiet hum, is screaming at me now. The more I think about it, the uneasier I feel. Is he counting the floors? Memorizing our balcony?

Zina hears the tremor in my voice and finally registers my panic. She’s not joking anymore. She rubs her eyes and sits up, the sleep clearing from her face. “Where did you See him? I’ll go check it out.”

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“On the balcony,” I reply, pointing a shaky finger toward the glass door.

She nods, swinging her legs out of bed and slipping on her fluffy slippers. I follow her out, hovering just behind as she reaches the railing and looks down. The moment her eyes find the figure, she lets out a sharp, “What the hell!”

“Isn’t it? Am I right? That person is looking at our apartment!” My words tumble out, my eyes brimming with anxiety. The confirmation from her makes it all so

much more real.

But then Zina turns, and her expression isn’t one of shared fear. It’s one of pure, panicked exasperation. “Oh, crap!” she mutters, striding back inside.

I grab her hand, my own cold with fear. “Why don’t we call the police?” It seems like the only logical, safe solution. Even if it’s a false alarm, the presence of authority would let me breathe again.

Upon hearing my suggestion, Zina seems to come to her senses. She shakes her head vigorously. “Why call the

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police? I know the man downstairs.”

“What?” I’m stunned, suspecting I’ve heard her wrong in my panicked state.

“Not only do I know him,” she says, her voice low, “you know him too.”

I’m even more confused. “Who is it?” My mind races. Cassian? But the silhouette didn’t have his height or his build.

“Aronn.”

The name hangs in the air between us. We both just stare at each other, equally surprised.

“Why is he here? To see you?” I ask, the pieces not fitting together. Our encounter at the gallery felt so final.

Zina shakes her head, just as bewildered. “I don’t know. Didn’t you make it clear to him last time? You told him I had a boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah,” I confirm. “And he said he understood. Could it Be Something serious?” I genuinely can’t think of a reason

that would prompt the quiet, composed Aronn to stand outside our apartment like a lost soul.

For some reason, a deep unease settles in my gut. This feels strange. Aronn has never struck me as the type to make rash, dramatic gestures like this.

“Why don’t you go down and meet him?” I suggest, trying to be practical. “There are a lot of people downstairs. It’s a busy area. There should be no problem.” Urban Lane is always bustling; it’s one of the reasons I chose it.

Upon hearing my words, Zina looks at me, her eyes wide and pleading. “Gemma, how about you…‘

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“No,” I cut her off, my voice firm. I know exactly what she’s going to ask. “That’s impossible. I’ve already helped you once. You have to solve it yourself this time!” I impersonated her once; I won’t do it again. This is her history, her mess.

Seeing my resolve, Zina’s shoulders slump. She pouts, a childish gesture at odds with the situation, but she grabs a coat and heads for the door alone.

ÞiЯmediately return to the balcony, a silent semnel.14:52

watch as she approaches him. They talk. Their body language is tense, not intimate. Then, Zina turns her head and looks directly up at me, our eyes meeting across the distance. A few more words are exchanged, and then Zina turns and walks back into our building, leaving Aronn standing there, still waiting.

He didn’t leave.

Zina opens the door, her expression unreadable. “What did you talk about?” I ask immediately. “Are you going to go down again?”

She waves a hand, looking almost amused now that the immediate pressure is off her. “He isn’t here to see me.”

“What?” I’m completely lost.

After kicking off her shoes, she walks over and puts her hands on my shoulders, her face serious. “Gemma, he said he wanted to see you!”

The shock is like a physical blow. I point a finger at my own chest, stammering, “Why does he want to see me?”

a shakes her head. “No idea. He said he had 50mething

to tell you, so he asked you to go down.” The relief is evident on her face; the problem is no longer hers.

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