The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 385

Chapter 385

Gemma’s POV

The phone clicks. Kitty spins, her grin wild in the dim light. “He agreed,” she tells Lydia, and her voice is a shiver down my spine.

Lydia’s laugh is a short, harsh bark. “We should have asked for one hundred million!”

I shift against the rough rope binding my wrists. The insane. The word echoes, clear and cold, in my head. I watch them from the floor, this twisted partnership. I didn’t expect him to come. Not so decisively. Not with the money. He doesn’t even like me. We’re divorced. Shouldn’t he feel nothing?

Kitty pulls a small box from her bag. Matches. She strikes one. The sudden flare paints sharp angles on her face. I watch the tiny fire, feeling its heat from here, and my heart becomes a trapped, frantic thing in my chest.

She kneels, bringing the flame close enough I feel its spit. The light dances in her eyes, which hold no warmth, only a flat, gleaming malice. “Gemma,” she whispers, her voice sweet as poison. “Don’t think because Michael is bringing the money, you’ll survive. I promise you won’t live through tonight.”

Hey face twists. I stare, trying to understand the geog_phy 908

< Chapter 385

this hatred. Why? Why does it run this deep? She and Lydia, tormenting my mother, who was already broken. Do they have no heart at all?

“Gemma,” Kitty snaps, jerking my chin up with a cold finger. “Don’t look at me with that superior expression. I’ve hated it since we were kids. Like the whole world isn’t good enough for you.”

It’s almost laughable. It wasn’t the whole world. Just her. It was always just her.

A heavy thump sounds at the door. Cassian…. my breath catches, and my traitorous heart, begins to hammer against my ribs, playing an uncontrollable drumbeat of dread hope.

Cassian’s POV

The phone buzzes against my ear, the ringtone tinny and sharp. But this time, it doesn’t just come through the receiver.

It chirps, muffled but distinct, from inside the collapsing wooden hut in front of me. I end the call, and the ringing inside stops instantly.

My voice is flat like a stone dropped into still water. “Open the door. I brought the money.”

–

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figures in cheap plastic masks stare out.

Kitty and Lydia. I see their eyes, darting past me, to my empty

hands.

“Where’s the money?” Kitty’s voice is a tight wire of suspicion.

I keep my face still. If I didn’t have it, how else would she plan to pay back Blackwell Industries? The thought is like a stab of

ice.

“I told you, it’s too heavy. It’s in the car.”

Their masked faces turn toward each other. I see the

skepticism in the tilt of their heads. My own gaze sweeps past them, into the dark, gloomy hut.

There she is, Gemma… tied to a chair, a dark silhouette against the grimy wall. Something heavy and cold settles in my gut.

“You said it’s in the car.” Lydia speaks now, her voice more measured. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

I shift my attention back to her, my expression giving nothing. “Then come with me to the car. You’ll see I’m not lying.”

Lydia hesitates. I see the calculation, the greedy lure of fifty million dollars, fighting with caution.

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At the end, the greed wins. She gives a sharp nod. “You wait here!”

She orders me, stepping outside. I nod once. “I need to see her.”

I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. Kitty shifts, and the stench of jealousy hits me kn waves.

Why would I spend fifty million on Gemma? The unspoken question hangs in the air between us. She’s still smart, in her twisted way.

She moves to Gemma, produces a pair of handcuffs, and snaps one end around Gemma’s wrist, the other around a rusted pipe of an old radiator bolted to the wall.

Only then does she step aside, like a cruel invitation for me to talk to her now.

I move inside and the moldy, decaying smell hits me, mixed with fear.

Gemma looks up. Her eyes are wide, a storm of disbelief and a fragile, desperate relief. My heart sinks like a stone in deep

water.

Her cheek is swollen, an angry red. A dirty cloth is shoved between her lips. I crouch in front of her, my movements 4/7

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deliberate. My fingers are careful as I find the knot of the gag and loosen it, pulling the cloth free.

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice low, for her alone. “We’ll be fine soon.”

A sharp crack makes us both flinch. Kitty has snatched up a wooden stick and slammed it against the dirt floor.

“Do you really like her that much?” she spits out. “What makes her worth it?”

Suddenly, a dark memory rises to the surface. Her givi the drugged drink, my refusal to let her come any close..

Despite the dense fog of the drug, I remember her whiny question, “the rumors said you never liked her! Then why are you doing this, why are you rejecting me for her?”

I shake my head, dismissing the memory. My only focus is only on the woman in front of me.

I reach out, gently brushing a strand of damp hair from Gemma’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear. My silence is my answer, and it fuels Kitty’s fire.

She paces, the stick tapping against her leg. Her eyes keep darting to the door. “Where is she?” she mutters. “It’s been too long.” 5/9

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The unease curdles into suspicion and she wheels on me, pointing the stick like a blade. “Did you pull some kind of trick?”

I say nothing, just watching her movements silently. The quiet seems to scream in her ears.

With a cry of pure frustration, she swings the stick. It connects with a sickening thud across my shoulders. The pain is a bright, white flash.

I grunt, my body instinctively curling forward, but I shift, placing myself more squarely between her and Gemm periphery, I see Gemma’s eyes, wide with terror and concern for me.

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