The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 354

Chapter 354(revised)

Antonios‘ POV

In the quiet living room of my temporary apartment, the names, histories, and petty grievances of Lydia and Kitty are meticulously organized in a digital folder.

The evidence of their smear campaign against Gemma Marino is depressingly straightforward; a clumsy, vindictive act born of professional jealousy and familial spite.

I’m compiling the final notes, planning to meet with Gemma tomorrow to discuss legal pathways, when my phone vibrates, shattering my focus.

I see the caller ID and suppress a sigh. “Hello, Father.”

“When do you plan on coming home today?” Thomson Voss’s voice is its usual blend of command and implicit disappointment.

I raise my wrist, glancing at my watch. “It’s not even six. The workday isn’t over.”

My definition of a ‘workday‘ and his have never aligned.

“You just returned to the country. Is it necessary for you to be consumed by work immediately? Come home for dinner.”

It’s not a request, but a command.

After hanging up, a familiar wave of helplessness washes over me.

The Voss family empire, built on steel and shrewd investments, has always been his world, not mine. I chose the rule of law over the boardroom, a decision that sparked a cold war between us for years. The threat of disinheritance was once a real weapon in his arsenal, only softened by my mother’s quiet, persistent diplomacy. Some battles are never truly won, only nego. tense ceasefires.

I save the files on Gemma’s case, shut down my laptop, and leave precisely at 5:30. The drive to the family estate is a journey back in time, every familiar street a reminder of obligations I’ve spent a decade overseas avoiding.

My father is waiting in the grand sitting room. expression isn’t cold, which somehow puts me more on edge than outright hostility would. “Welcome h We need to discuss something.”

A sense of foreboding settles in my stomach, but I take the indicated armchair. As soon as I’m seated, he approaches, holding a tablet like a legal brief. On the screen is a profile page, and a woman I’ve never seen smiles demurely from the upper–left corner.

“Who is this?” I ask, my professional instincts kicking in. Is this a new client? A witness in a case?

I take the tablet and scan the information. Age, education, family background… and then: Hobbies: tennis, classical literature, alpine skiing.

My brow furrows. “Since when do we need ac recreational preferences to build a litigation strategy?”

The question is out before I fully process the absurdity.

“Well? If she’s not to your taste, there are more.” With a dismissive swipe of his finger, he brings up another profile, then another. A gallery of eligible heiresses in digital form.

Understanding crashes down, heavy and unwelcome.

I lean back into the sofa, a defeated sigh escapi “Father, I’m not interested.”

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