The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 382

Chapter 382

Cassian’s POV

I’m driving to Urban Lane, a low–grade anxiety about last night’s pool incident still humming under my skin. I just need to see her, to confirm she’s okay. Halfway there, a figure darts into the street right in front of me.

Jace, sprinting like a madman, his eyes fixed on a truc

1. d.

I slam on the brakes. My hood meets his thigh with a sickening thud. He stumbles but doesn’t go down.

“The truck!” he gasps, pointing wildly, still trying to run even as he doubles over, winded.

The raw panic in his voice sends a jolt of ice through my veins. I’m out of the car before the engine fully settles. “What’s wrong?”

When he sees me, any past animosity is incinerated by sheer desperation. “Cassian! It’s Gemma… they took her! In that truck!”

The world narrows to a tunnel. My gaze snaps to the truck, idling at a red light two blocks down. A cold, lethal calm descends over me. Without a word, I jump back into the driver’s seat. Jace scrambles into the passenger side.

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I floor it. The Rolls peels away from the curb, the sudden G–force pinning Jace back in the leather seat. The light ahead turns green. The truck lurches forward.

Just as I’m about to close the distance, flashing red and blue lights erupt in my rearview. A siren whoops once. Damn it. I’m pulled over.

I hit the steering wheel, frustration a hot coal in my chest. The truck drives on, unimpeded, disappearing around a bend.

A traffic officer ambles up to my window. “License an registration.”

Jace mutters a vicious curse beside me.

I hand over the documents, my voice tight. “You need to hurry. This is an emergency.”

The officer’s eyebrows lift. “Emergency? Your emergency was doing ninety in a forty–five. You’re coming with me to the station.”

“I can’t go to the station,” I say, each word clipped. Every second we waste here is a mile farther they take her.

“We’re not negotiating.” He tears off a slip. “Your license is suspended.”

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There’s no choice. We’re both escorted to the local precinct, the chance to follow the truck evaporating completely.

In the sterile, buzzing station, Jace glares at me. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” I snap back, the fear curdling into anger. “You were the one who ran into traffic!” The helplessness is a toxin.

I demand my lawyer. The officer just shrugs; it’s my right.

“Officer,” Jace says, shifting tactics, his voice strainir calm. “Can I go? I wasn’t driving.”

The officer looks between us. “What’s your relation to him?”

Jace’s eyes dart. “I don’t know him. He’s a taxi driver. I hailed him.”

I almost choke. A taxi driver?

“You’re a taxi driver?” the officer asks me, skepticism dripping from his words.

I force a stiff nod, playing along. Someone has to stay looking

for her.

The officer shakes his head, muttering, “Economy’s really gone to hell if Rolls–Royces are cabs now.” He shoves a form at Jace.

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“Sign here. You can go.”

Jace scribbles a signature and is out the door without a backward glance.

My lawyer, Adam, arrives with predictable efficiency. He handles the bewildered officer, and within ten minutes, the “taxi misunderstanding” is resolved, though my license suspension stands. A minor, irritating hurdle.

The moment I’m free, I’m on the phone to my assistant, the

ll all truck’s partial plate number burned into my memor traffic and security camera footage for Hawthorn Avenue, from the Urban Lane intersection, starting thirty minutes ago. Look for a gray panel van, partial plate Alpha, Charlie, Echo, maybe 7 or 1. I want every direction it could have gone.”

As I speak, I know Jace is already calling Zina, the warning spreading through her network: Gemma’s been taken.

The hunt has begun on two fronts, and the clock is ticking louder than any siren.

Zina’s POV

I’m halfway through a delicious steak with Jeremy when my phone shatters the mood. Jace’s name flashes. I answer, a bite still in my mouth. “What’s up?”

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His voice is stripped of all its usual dry calm. “Zina. It’s Gemma. She’s been taken.”

The fork clatters from my hand onto the plate. “Jace, that is not funny.” My heart is suddenly hammering against my ribs. I just talked to her. I just ordered her food.

“I’m not joking,” he says, and the flat, hollow tone in his voice confirms it. Jace doesn’t do pranks.

I shove my chair back, the legs screeching on the floor “What happened?”

“Not over the phone. Meet me at Urban Lane. Now. I need a system.”

I hang up, snatch my coat, and am halfway to the door before Jeremy processes the shift.

“Zina? Where are you going?” He looks from his own fork to my abandoned meal, utterly confused.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow! Something urgent! Be good!” I toss the words over my shoulder, giving him a dismissive little wave like he’s a puppy. I see the flash of irritation in his eyes, but I’m already pushing through the restaurant door into the cool night air.

When I burst into Gemma’s apartment at Urban Lane, I nearly 5/7

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collide with a delivery guy holding a paper bag. We stare at each other for a moment before I remember, this is the order I placed for her. Wordlessly, I reach out. “I’ll take that, I’m the one who ordered it.”

Inside, Jace is already hunched over her laptop, his face illuminated by the blue glow of a traffic camera feed. My eyes dart to the coffee table. Gemma’s phone sits there, silent and damning. She’d never leave without it.

arty.

“What the hell is happening? Who took her?” My mind races. William? But that doesn’t track–he just invited her Why kidnap her now? Amanda? Reyna? Who’s unhinged enough?

Jace doesn’t answer. His fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up another feed. I see a gray panel truck speeding away. He isolates the license plate, his expression grimly focused, and switches to a tracking program.

We watch in tense silence for ten agonizing minutes. Then, a single, blinking red dot appears on a city map.

“Is that her?” I whisper, leaning in.

The location is a seafood wholesale market, twenty kilometers outside the city center. At this hour, the place will be a ghost town, all rolling metal shutters and the reek of old ice.

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Jace doesn’t waste a second. He grabs a set of car keys from the bowl by the door. “Let’s go.”

I snatch Gemma’s phone from the table, and follow him out the door, forgetting everything else in the world.

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