The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 439

Chapter 439
Cassian's POV

My eyes scan the social media post on her phone screen. The image is grainy, but the timestamp is from the middle of our honeymoon. 

Reyna, smiling coyly at the camera. And me, in the background, holding a small pharmacy bag. 

The caption is a masterpiece of insinuation; 

‘I wonder why Mr. Blackwell went through all that trouble to buy Panadol overseas…? #blessed #together #in_sickness_and_in_health’

But I have no memory of this, until I suddenly remember the Nassau trip. It was raining heavily when Gemma stood me up, and Reyna almost fainted while accompanying me to the hotel. 

It was basic decency to show to a former colleague and friend, but I never saw her take a single picture… let alone the collage of pictures she has posted to her account, implying a completely different story for that night. 

“She even had the medicine with her already, I didn't buy it. I really didn’t know she would post something like that.”

Gemma just shrugs, like she is dismissing me out of tiredness. 

She has already built a case against me with evidence I didn’t know existed, and my explanations sound feeble, even to my own ears. 

The silence is broken by Hazel, padding up the stairs with a happy grunt. She nudges Gemma’s hand and she bends over, her expression softening as she strokes her head. 

She doesn’t look at me again, leaving with the dog at her heels, leaving me standing alone.

Before following them downstairs, I pull out my own phone. My fingers are cold. 

I find the audio file, the damning recording of Gemma's conversation with Reyna, that Gemma had leaked. I’d dismissed it as a cleverly faked evidence, designed to suppress the online chatter. 

But now, with this social media post, I can't take risks. 

I send the file to Adam with a terse message: [Verify the authenticity of this. Full forensic analysis, now.]

Gemma's POV

I'm squatting on the carpet with the comfortable weight of Hazel leaning against my leg, scratching behind her ears.

Cassian finally comes down the staircase with a stern expression that reminds me of the serious, focused CEO of Blackwell Industries. 

“Gemma, I have some news about the incident at yesterday’s festival.”

My hand stills on Hazel’s head. 

“The light stand collapse wasn’t an accident?”

He gives a grim nod. “There was damaged surveillance footage from a perimeter camera. The data was restored today.” 

He pauses, his gaze fixed on mine. “I recognized a very familiar face.”

Grandpa, who has been watching us with hawk-like attention, sets his teacup down. 

“Then we should all see it.”

Cassian pulls up the footage; it's grainy, washed out in places, but clear enough. The timestamp places it just before the crowd arrived. A shadowy figure moves with deliberate steps toward the base of the massive spotlight stand. 

He is dressed in dark clothes, a cap pulled low over his face, but as he turns, a sliver of light from a passing utility vehicle catches his profile.

“William again!” 

I blurt out, caught between fury and disbelief.

My mind races, rejecting the possibility of coincidence. 

“Wait…” I say, pulling out my phone. “Let me call Zina.”

She answers on the first ring. 

“Zina, is the tracker on William still active?”

“Yes, it is. Why?” 

Her voice is instantly alert, hearing the tension in mine.

“William was the one who tampered with the light stand yesterday. The footage shows him loosening the screws.”

“What? Hold on, let me check.” 

I hear some swishing sounds, followed by a rapid-fire clatter of keys. A moment later, she speaks up. 

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