The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 392

Chapter 392

Gemma’s POV

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The heavy door swings shut behind me with a soft thud. I take two steps forward, and a shift in the periphery catches my eye.

Cassian.

He’s standing by the grand staircase, having just descended, his movements stilled by my presence. He turns his head. Our eyes meet across the marble expanse.

“Gemma.” My name is a statement of surprise from him.

I freeze. The pieces click together with a sickening snap. I’ve been played. Tom said Grandpa broke his leg, but the man himself is in the next room, holding a perfectly healthy–looking council with his pet. It was the dog.

Before I can process the hot wave of irritation, Grandpa hears the exchange and peers out. “Gemma, you’re here! Come over. Hazel is hurt. Help me comfort her.” His tone is one of genuine distress, just redirected.

Hazel, the aging golden retriever, is sprawled on a plush blanket, one back leg held stiff. When I lived here, she was my shadow, a quiet comfort in the cold halls.

Now, seeing me, she lets out a soft, piteous whimper, as if

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narrating her entire ordeal.

Feeling absurdly cornered, I walk over.

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I ignore Cassian’s lingering gaze and crouch beside the dog, my fingers automatically finding the familiar, soft fur behind her cars. “How did Hazel break her leg?”

I ask, keeping my voice neutral. She’s lived here for a decade; she knows every flagstone.

“I recently added a fence and a small staircase in the backyard to separate the rose garden. She wasn’t used to it and got hurt while chasing her ball.”

I used to be the one to throw the ball for her, for hours. After I left, there is probably no one to play with her.

Grandpa is too frail, and she never warmed to the staff.

My anger softens, just a little, replaced by a pang of guilt for the loyal creature. “Don’t worry, Hazel,” I murmur, scratching her chin. “You’ll be fine after some rest.”

Grandpa glares pointedly over my head at Cassian, who is standing there like a statue. He seems to jolt and takes a step closer, “Hazel will be okay, right! Who’s a good girl? That’s right… it’s Hazel.”

The dog, perhaps in thanks, or maybe just happy for the

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attention, gives my hand a warm, rough lick.

It tickles, and a faint smile touches my lips.

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But the moment of softness passes and I shoot to my feet, directing a sharp glare at Cassian. It’s all his fault, somehow.

The tangled chain of miscommunication leads back to him.

He looks utterly bewildered. “Gemma, are you leaving?”

Grandpa asks, “Why not stay for a meal, dear? Hazel misses you.”

I force myself to look at Grandpa, my expression apologetic. “Grandpa, I have an event to attend. I can’t stay long.”

Grandpa, to his credit, nods with understanding. “Oh, you have things to do. Of course. Cassian will give you a ride. It’s hard to hail a taxi here.”

The refusal is on my lips, but he’s right. This hill is a taxi desert. Cassian is already moving to stand beside me, a silent expectation in the air. “I’ll drive you,” he says, leaving no room for debate.

The interior of his car is a capsule of tense silence.

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I stare resolutely out the window, refusing to make eye contact

even once,

“Gemma,” His voice is careful. “Did I upset you?”

I turn my head slowly, fixing him with a look. “You tell me, liar.”

He actually has the audacity to look wounded. “I really didn’t know.”

“If you hadn’t told Tom that Grandpa broke his leg, I wouldn’t have dropped everything and rushed over,” I snap, imagining the awkward explanation I’ll have to come up with.

“Who told you?”

“Tom,” I say flatly.

He’s silent for a beat. “Did you meet Tom on the way?”

I just snort, turning back to the window.

me,

He focuses on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I didn’t know it was Hazel. When Simeon called signal was terrible. I only heard ‘Grandpa‘ and ‘broken leg.‘ I thought it was him. I rushed back, too.”

the

I take his words with a mountain of salt. This is the man who had a habit of transferring thousands of dollars into my account just to force a conversation.

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<Chapter 392

I doubt he’ll hesitate in using grandpa to manipulate me.

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“I really didn’t lie to you,” he insists, a rare hint of helplessness in his tone. He has no witness, no proof. Just his word against my skepticism.

“If your work was affected, I can explain it to them.”

In other words, he’ll throw his weight around at Bright Moon International.

The thought makes me bristle.

“No need,” I say, my voice icy. “I’d be grateful if you could just drop me in the city center.”

The city center approaches, but he doesn’t take the exit. He drives on, toward the riverfront district. I’m about to protest when I remember something.

“I need to go back to Oakhaven Residence in a few days,” I say abruptly. “To get my books.” The complete set of poetry anthologies, a gift from my mother, left forgotten on his study shelf.

He thinks for a moment. “Let me know when. I’ll have Emma pack your things and leave them in the living room.”

I expected him to try and stop me there for some time, but this

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easy agreement is disarming.

“Okay.”

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Maybe he wants to get rid of the books too. He wouldn’t read them anyway. In three years, he never showed interest in anything I loved.

Cassian pulls up to the curb, putting the car in park.

As I reach for the seatbelt clasp, his question comes, casual yet probing. “Who are you having dinner with today?”

My fingers are still on the buckle as I turn, meeting his gaze head–on, letting all my accumulated frustration sharpen my words.

“None of your business.”

I release the clasp, push the door open, and step out without an explanation.

Cassian’s POV

She’s coming back to Oakhaven Residence?

The thought sends a foolish jolt of happiness through me, to get her books.

if only

During the empty months of our separation, I saw that complete

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