The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 348

Chapter 348

Gemma’s POV

The cool night air does little to calm the unsettled feeling in my chest. Watching Aronn’s retreating back, I’m left with a familiar, bitter taste in my mouth–the taste of forced politeness. I have never been good at rejecting others. It was a flaw long before I ever met Cassian, a weakness that led me to nod silently when Grandpa presented his life–altering proposal instead of shouting I the refusal that burned in my throat. For three years, learned the hard way that compromising yourself doesn’t earn you kindness; it only teaches people they can walk all over you.

I did not want to go to that concert. I do not want any more complicated men in my life. So, for once, I chose to be frank. The shock on Aronn’s face was almost comical, a stark, stunned blankness. A deep flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. He looked like a man who had never been told ‘no‘ so directly.

After a long, awkward silence, he finally found his voice. “Ms. Marino, please accept my apology. That was… perhaps out of line.”

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my unease. “I’m not that desperate for attention.”

But my mood is a stark contrast to her teasing. The whole encounter feels wrong. He could have called. He could have texted. Why show up under my balcony like some romantic specter, only to set himself up for a rejection he had to have seen coming?

“Oh, lighten up!” Zina continues, oblivious to my concern. “Gemma, he’s a senior chef! Think of the food! You’d never have to cook again.”

I am speechless. Sometimes I wonder if Zina believes the sole purpose of a relationship is to secure a permanent personal chef. “Zina,” I say, my voice dropping to a serious tone. “This doesn’t feel right. It feels off. Can you do me a favor? Can you help me look into Aronn? A proper background check.”

The request sobers her instantly. The teasing glint vanishes from her eyes, replaced by a flicker of concern. She gives a slow, deliberate nod, “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

*****

3/6

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I offered a small, tight smile, shaking my head. “It’s quite alright. But Mr. Clark, you should really find someone who shares your passion for music to go with you.” The truth is, I have limited knowledge about concerts, and even less interest. I won’t waste my time on a performance I’d only endure.

When I get back upstairs, Zina is practically vibrating with curiosity, her earlier dread replaced by a gossipy spark. “Well? What did he want? Don’t leave me in suspense!”

“He invited me to a symphony,” I say, dropping my jacket onto a chair.

Zina’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait. So Aronn has a thing for you?” She says it like it’s the most obvious conclusion in the world. I know what she sees. She sees the face that attracted modeling scouts all through university, the one I consistently hid behind textbooks and a refusal to engage. She’s always believed a line of perfect, interesting men should be knocking down my door, and she treats any potential candidate as free entertainment.

“Stop it,” I retort, a flare of annoyance cutting through 2/6

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The strange tension of Aronn’s visit lingers for a day, until another, more professional summons pulls me from my thoughts. Mikhail, true to his word from Linda’s wedding, has actually remembered his promise of a business opportunity.

The next day, I find myself walking beside him through. the sleek corridors of his company. “Today, I’m taking you to meet a client from Nuving,” he states, his stride efficient and purposeful. “They’re a major player in the financial sector.”

I match his pace, curious. “And what does this have to do with me?”

He glances at me, a hint of dry amusement in his eyes. “I’m introducing the project to you. I said I would.”

I raise an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. I hadn’t expected such a firm commitment to a casual promise. We exit the building and head to a restaurant famed for its local cuisine. From the outside, it’s unassuming, but inside, the decor is lavishly high–end, all dark wood and soft, golden lighting. I suppress a pout. While everyone raves about places like this, I’d always preferred the simple, Adaforting taste of my mother’s cooking. A pang of Id53

Chapter 348

+4 Bonus

hits me, sharp and sudden. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted anything that felt like home.

We’re shown to a private room; the client hasn’t arrived yet. Mikhail picks up the heavy, leather–bound menu and hands it to me. “Order whatever you’d like.”

“Aren’t we waiting for the client?” I ask, taken aback by his casualness.

“She can add more when she arrives,” he replies with a shrug. It’s a trait I’ve noticed in him, a

straightforwardness born from his time in the army, with little patience for the delicate dances of business etiquette.

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