The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 389

Chapter 389

Gemma’s POV

The words are out of my mouth before his hopeful expression even fully registers. “No way!”

It’s instant and automatic, the door that has been slammed shut before it can even creak open.

The light in Cassian’s eyes flickers and dies. His face settles back into its usual, more guarded lines.

“Then I won’t have another wife.”

He says it quietly, amd I raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t speak too soon.”

No one is irreplaceable.

I thought I’d crumble after my mother died, but here I am, breathing. We shared a house for three years, not a life. There were no deep feelings to mourn. So why is he performing this act of devotion now?

A wave of emotional fatigue, deeper than physical tiredness, washes over me, and I slip back into a shallow, dreamless sleep.

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<Chapter 389

*** Bonus

When I wake up, soft afternoon light is warming my pillow.

The nurse bustles in, her smile professional and kind. She wraps the blood pressure cuff around my arm, checks my temperature.

“Your body is generally fine, just a bit malnourished. Now that you’re pregnant, you need to eat more. Or the baby could have problems, understand?”

A sharp jolt of guilt slices through my heart. My hand goes to my stomach in a silent apology to my baby. “I understand.”

Cassian, who has been a silent presence by the window, steps

forward.

“Does she really not need more tests? She inhaled smoke for so long yesterday. Shouldn’t we do a comprehensive checkup?”

I’m speechless. Does he think more poking and prodding is some kind of treat?

The nurse glances at him, her expression softening with a familiar assumption.

“She’s pregnant, so some tests can’t be done. Please trust us;

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the patient is really fine.”

Her tone is gentle, placating.

He still looks uneasy, opening his mouth to push further, but the nurse continues, a knowing smile on her face.

“Many expectant fathers experience anxiety before delivery. Some are even more anxious than the mothers. It’s normal. If you need, I can refer you to a prenatal counseling doctor.”

The word hangs in the air. Prenatal anxiety. Cassian and I stare at her, both struck dumb by the notion.

I find my voice first, flat and clear. “He’s not the baby’s father.”

The nurse freezes. Her smile wilts.

“Ah,” she manages after a long, awkward beat. “Alright. Then your… friend is really concerned about you.”

She finishes her tasks with record speed and wheels her cart out, practically fleeing.

Cassian watches her go, then turns to me. I see a flash of pure disappointment in his eyes before he masks it. “You see,” he says, his tone attempting lightness and failing, “you made the nurse uncomfortable.”

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“Better a wrong fact than a wrong, father.”

I reply coolly, and he flinches.

The sadness that floods his eyes is so real, and so confusing. This is the man who, for three years, was meticulously careful to use protection, who once told me over a cold dinner that he didn’t see children in his future.

Our future.

Now, after the divorce, he looks at my growing belly with what seems like… longing? It makes no sense. It’s baffling, to be

honest.

As if on cue, the door bursts open. Zina, Jace, and Molly pour in, their voices bright and worried.

They fill the awkward silence with plans and chatter about taking me home to Urban Lane. Cassian is gently, firmly, pushed to the sidelines, becoming a silent spectator in my discharge.

I’m about to slide into the backseat, surrounded by my friends, when I pause and turn back.

He’s standing there, like a lonely ghost on the hospital steps.

“Thank you for everything yesterday,” I say. The words are 4/8

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true, but they are also a period at the end of a sentence. “Goodbye, Mr. Blackwell.”

I get in the car. As we pull away from the curb, I try my best to not look back.

Cassian’s POV

The frustration sits on my shoulders like my devoted pet, as I push open the door to the building that once used to be our home.

The quiet of the foyer offers no peace. It shatters the moment I step into the living room.

Reyna.

She’s sitting on the edge of the cream sofa, as if she belongs here. My mood, already black, sours into something worse.

“What are you doing here?”

Emma appears from the hallway, wringing her hands. “Mr. Blackwell, Ms. Campbell said she had spoken to you and you agreed to meet her here, so I let her in.”

Her voice is tight with apology.

Reyna stands, and tears shimmer in her eyes. “Cass, don’t 5/8

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blame Emma. I lied to her.”

I don’t have the patience for this. “Don’t call me that anymore.”

The nickname feels like a violation now. “I don’t want Gemma to misunderstand.”

The shock in her eyes is almost genuine, seeing me worried about her misunderstanding even after the divorce?

Why hadn’t I stopped her all those years ago? A failure of clarity I now deeply regret.

“Alright,” she whispers, dipping her head. “Then I’ll call you Cassian.”

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