The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 367

Chapter 367

Gemma’s POV

The petty standoff between Mikhail and Vicky sours the air around my workstation.

An irritable tiredness settles over me.

I just want to be anywhere else. My phone vibrates with a message from William: [Are you finished for the day?]

The dinner! I’d completely forgotten about it.

I look up from the screen, “Are we doing this or not? If not, I’m leaving. I have plans.”

Mikhail’s head snaps toward me. “With whom?”

His possessive tone annoys me, but before I can answer, Vicky pounces, her voice shrill with outrage. “Why do you even care who she sees!”

That’s my cue to leave, this drama is a sinking ship. Without another word, I grab my bag and walk out, leaving their unresolved conflict behind me.

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Chapter 367

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Downstairs, I spot William waiting ne

è entrance, and a flicker of surprise replaces my irritation. “Mr. Clark. You didn’t have to come all the way here. I could have met you at Urban Lane.”

He offers a polite, unassuming smile. “It’s the rush hour. I thought I’d save you the trip to Urban Lane, and at the same time, we could eat near your office. Consider it a small thank you in advance for the neighborhood tour later.”

“Mm.”

I accept his invitation with a smile.

$What are you in the mood for?”

I almost say smoked salmon, but stop myself. He’s a professional chef; my suggestion might feel like a test or an insult.

“You choose,” I defer. “I’m not picky.”

“Steak, then,” he decides, and leads the way to a chic bistro a short walk away, practical for our return trip to 2/9

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Urban Lane.

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As we enter, he glances at me. “I didn’t reserve a private room. I hope that’s alright?”

“Of course,” I assure him. “A private room for two would be unnecessary.”

Not to mention, completely awkward and needlessly intimate.

We’re barely seated, menus unopened, when the door chimes again. A familiar laugh cuts through the quiet atmosphere.

I look up to see Liam, and right behind him stomach drops. What are the odds?

khail. My

“Gemma!” Liam calls out as if we’re old friends. “Fancy meeting you here!”

Before I can muster a response, Gavin trails in behind them. His eyes land on William and light up with genuine delight. “William! Talk about a happy coincidence. The boys and I were just talking about heading to your place Ponight!”

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Gavin, I recall, is a devoted fan of Wi salmon, a top–tier regular.

‘s smoked

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Liam seizes the moment, his gaze shrewdly sliding from me to William. “Well, since we all know each other,” he declares, too cheerfully, “why don’t we just combine tables? More fun!”

I know this move. Liam is Cassian’s friend. This isn’t about fun; it’s a surveillance operation. He doesn’t want me having a quiet, unsupervised dinner with another

man.

William remains impassive, his expression neutral. He turns the decision over to me with a polite incline of his head. “Ms. Marino? What would you prefe

The question is a trap. Under the weight of four pairs of eyes, refusal feels like an admission of guilt.

“Why not?”

I hear myself say, and we are ushered upstairs to a larger table upstairs in a semi–private alcove. The moment we’re seated, Liam pushes back his chair.

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“I’m just going to pop to the men’s ro a little too brightly. “Be right back!”

Liam’s POV

he announces,

The moment I’m clear of the room’s hearing range, I pull

out my phone.

Cassian needs to know… he’s been moping around like a kicked dog for weeks, and here’s his chance to actually do something.

He picks up on the second ring, his voice clipped with fatigue. “What is it?”

“Your ex–wife,” I say, not bothering with the

amble.

“She’s having dinner with a man. Are you coming or are you just going to sit on the sidelines and brood some more?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end. He just says one word, hard and flat. “Address.”

“The new restaurant on the penthouse level. It’s ten minutes from Blackwell Industries if you drive like you 5/9

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mean it. I’d hurry.”

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I hang up, having completed my duty as a friend, and turn to leave, already imagining the fireworks. I’m not looking where I’m going as I round the corner toward the elevators and walk straight into someone coming the other way.

“Sorry!”

I mutter automatically, stepping back, “I didn’t see you—”

The apology dies in my throat when I look up to find Jeremy Hartley.

I blink, my mind doing a quick, absurd rec

lation. Is

there sitcom episode being staged today? Fist Chloe and her chef, now the eldest Hartley heir appearing in the same exclusive, overpriced venue?

Wesley just looks at me and gives a calm nod. “It’s fine.”

Before either of us can say another word… not that we ever have much to say to each other, there’s a rush of footsteps on the stairs.

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Zina appears, slightly breathless, her

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widening when

she sees not just Wesley, but me stanug there.

The universe, it seems, has decided to cram all the complicated relationships into one hallway tonight. Perfect.

Cassian’s POV

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