The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 352

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Chapter 352(revised)

Gemma’s POV

Stepping back in the quiet of my apartment, I ignore Zina’s curious look from the sofa, heading straight to the bean bag.

I plop myself down and pull my laptop, reopening the trending posts before changing out of my clothes.

The anger I was feeling has simmered down into a cold focus. I zoom in on one of the photos to defame me, the one of me getting into the car.

The license plate of the white sedan behind my car isn’t fully visible, but a partial sequence nags at n

It seems familiar, somehow.

emory.

I carefully examine the rest of the photos, start pulling on threads in the digital dark. It doesn’t take long. The sedan with that specific partial plate, is registered to Lydia.

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The realisation slapped me across the face, while giving 1/9

me no space to be shocked.

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No wonder, it looked familiar. I remember seeing it parked outside the hospital during my mother‘

days.

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Lydia’s car is in the exact same location as me, standing just a few feet away in almost all the pictures published by the gossip websites, and all of this being totally by chance… the possibility of that is absolutely zero.

This wasn’t a coincidence, it was a setup.

I find Antonios’s contact forwarded by Meredith and quickly type out a message, attaching my discovery.

[The car in the photo belongs to a woman named Lydia, my aunt.]

He replies instantly. [Do you have any ongoing grievances with her?]

I let out a bitter sigh. [It’s probably because her daughter, my cousin Kitty, was fired for embezzlement. My aunt probably blames me.]

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It’s the only thing that makes sense. The last time I saw 2/9

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Lydia at the hospital, she was cursing me with her tongue coated in venom, swearing Kitty wouldn’t suffer

She is definitely petty and vindictive enough to plan this.

[Understood, Ms. Marino. I’ll look into this

immediately.]

[Thank you.]

The words feel inadequate to express my gratitude. I shut down my computer, the mystery solved with a bitter taste in mu mouth.

I stand up and groan, feeling my body aching with a deep exhaustion. My phone rings again, it’s from an unknown. number.

“Hello?” I answer reluctantly.

“Hello, is this Miss. Marino?”

A bright, professional voice asks.

“Yes, who is this?”

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“Hello, Miss. Marino! I’m calling from the Mortland Sales Department. I understand you’ve previously expr interest in our properties?”

I am slightly stunned. After Cassian’s unsolicited advice, I had indeed looked into Mortland, only to be immediately shocked and deterred by the astronomical price tags.

“Yes, I have heard of it.”

I say carefully. “But to be perfectly honest, I can’t afford a property in Mortland at the moment, so I won’t be able to consider it. I’m sorry.”

There is shame in stating the truth, I am who I am.

The man on the other end is silent for a moment, then speaks after an awkward chuckle.

“Actually, Miss. Marino, our building is currently running a very exclusive promotion. The prices are at their most competitive. Would you be free tomorrow to come by for a viewing? I assure you, it will be worth your time.”

“Let me call you back in a few minutes, I need to think About it.”

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“Of course, Miss. Marino.”

I quickly cut the call, but the offer is still lingeri mind like a tantalizing, dangerous possibility.

I am more than a little hesitant.

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The truth is, the houses in Mortland meet every single one of my requirements perfectly. The location is a hub of creative energy, the community is secure and modern, and the surrounding infrastructure; transport, cafes, everything… all of it is ideal for both living and running a studio.

But a promotion like that? It feels too good to be true. These houses simply cannot be that cheap.

food

I walk out of my room to find Zina shuffling in holding a greasy paper bag of takeout. The smell of fr immediately fills the space.

“Did Jeremy cut off your grocery allowance?” I ask, only half–joking. “Why do you insist on eating that every day? It’s so bad for you.”

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“You just don’t get it,” she retorts, holding the bag un like.

a trophy. “I’m not even that hungry. I just need to the cravings. Want some?”

The thought turns my stomach, but I have bigger things on my mind. “Zina, what would you think if I considered buying a place in Mortland?”

She freezes, a spring roll halfway to her mouth. “Seriously? Did you actually win the lottery and not tell me? The prices there are the stuff of legends. The cost of a single unit is enough to make my bank account weep!”

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I gulp, “A salesman just called. He said they’re running a promotion, that prices are at their lowest. What if we just went to look tomorrow? No commitment.”

Zina’s eyes light up with the pure, unadultera

oy of

someone who loves browsing things she can’t atford, which is exactly who she is.

“Yes! Let’s do it. Even if we don’t buy, it’s fun to look at those perfectly staged model rooms. It’s like free interior design inspiration.

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He expression sobers slightly, “Speaking of things that:53

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are free, what’s the deal with today’s news circus? Is someone deliberately messing with you again?”

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She sounds almost resigned, having accepted the fact that I have a more consistent media presence than some A–list

celebrities.

“Maybe I just have a particularly magnetic personality for trouble,” I chuckle dryly.

“You know, you should just start a vlog,” Zina suggests, ripping open a packet of soy sauce with her teeth. “Film your entire life. You’d make a fortune from the ads, and the hidden benefit is, no one could twist your words. You will have all the evidence.”

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