The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 391

Chapter 391

Gemma’s POV

The regret is instant and sharp. I should have insisted on the subway. The main artery of the city is a clogged vein during rush hour, a sea of red brake lights as far as I can see.

In the driver’s seat, Zina vibrates with impatience, her fingers drumming a frantic rhythm on the steering wheel. Just as her muttering threatens to boil over into real anger, the stagnant line shudders and begins to crawl forward.

“I thought we’d be stuck here for half an hour!” she exclaims, a burst of relief as she eases the car forward.

We pass through a major intersection. The flow seems to be smoothing. Distracted, Zina half–turns her head toward me in the backseat. “So, what exactly should I say to Meredith when we see her? Should I say it’s a medical thing, or…?”

Her attention is divided for a second too long. I see it happen in slow motion: her eyes leaving the road, the sleek gray Audi in front of us slowing for the car ahead of it, our own car gliding forward, unchecked.

A sickening, metallic CRUNCH jolts us all.

The

world slams forward then snaps back. My seatbe locks:28

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<Chapter 391

digging into my shoulder. A stunned silence fills the car, broken only by Molly’s small, startled gasp from her car seat.

Zina is frozen, her hands glued to the wheel, her face pale. Then instinct kicks in. She jams the brake, throws the car into reverse, and pulls back a foot with a scrape of mangled bumpers.

My own heart is pounding against my ribs. I feel the blood drain from my face. Jace, in the passenger seat, is the first to move. He unclips his seatbelt, his expression grim. “I’ll go check it out.”

“I’ll go with you,” I say, my voice unsteady. I need air. I need to see the damage.

We step out into the humid, exhaust–filled air. The scene is a mundane tragedy: the Audi’s rear bumper is crumpled inward, a shiny dent in its perfect facade. My stomach sinks. I just want this settled. No injuries, just insurance paperwork and a headache.

Jace approaches the driver’s side and raps on the tinted window. It rolls down smoothly.

And my breath catches.

“Tom?”

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Cassian’s driver turns, his professional mask slipping into genuine surprise. “Mrs. Blackwell- Ms. Marino! What a coincidence!”

The title, the old title, hangs between us for a fractured second. I push past it. “Sorry about this, Tom. My friend wasn’t paying attention.”

The words tumble out, driven by a new anxiety about being late for Meredith. “How much for the repairs? We can settle it now, or we can go through insurance.”

Tom’s demeanor shifts completely. He waves a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, Ms. Marino, really. I’ll take it to the shop later. Just a small dent.”

His eyes are kind. I know this leniency isn’t for me; it’s a reflection of what he would have wanted. If Cassian were here, he would have insisted on no compensation.

My gaze flicks involuntarily to the Audi’s darkened back seat. Is he in there? Watching this absurd scene?

Tom follows my look and clarifies, “Mr. Blackwell went back to Blackwell Manor earlier.”

He says it offhandedly, but the information lands with weight..I’m momentarily stunned.

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I hadn’t been curious, I was just preparing to offer a deeper apology if his boss was present, knowing how much Cassian hates wasted time. My reaction must look like something else.

Tom, perhaps misreading my silence as concern, continues, “There was an incident at the manor. He had to rush back.”

A new, colder worry trickles in. “What happened?”

He seems to realize I’m in the dark. “Simeon called. Sir Blackwell fell in the garden. Broke his leg.”

The words are ice water down my spine. I saw Grandpa Donovan just days ago. He was frail, yes, but sharp, his spirit defiant in a failing body. A fall… a broken leg at his age… The implications are an avalanche in my mind.

“Is he in the hospital? Is it serious?” The questions are out before I can stop them, my voice shaking.

Jace, standing beside me, gently takes my elbow. “Gemma,” he says softly, “Tom might not know all the details.”

Right. Of course. I force a breath, trying to regain my

composure.

Tom offers a tentative suggestion. “Ms. Marino, if you’re

worried, you should go see him. Sir Blackwell would be happy to see you.”

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The conflict is immediate and paralyzing. Meredith is waiting. Antonios has evidence I need to finally clear my name online. But Grandpa… His health has been a precarious thread. The old are so vulnerable to a fall. A terrifying thought flashes, unbidden: What if I don’t get another chance to see him?

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