The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 472

Chapter 472

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Cassian’s POV

A commotion happens somewhere down the hall, and staff members in crisp uniforms sprint towards a room. My eyes dart to the location still glowing on my phone’s screen.

That’s it, then! That’s her room.

My heart lurches into my throat. I’m running before I even think, shoving past a confused guest.

The door is already open. I hear the blaring alarm, see the faint haze of smoke, the glint of sprinkler water. A staff member is blocking the doorway, chattering about property damage.

Then I see her.

Gemma is soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her head, a damp towel draped over her shoulders. There’s a smudge of soot on her cheek.

She’s standing there, chin raised, somehow looking utterly defiant and completely vulnerable at the same time.

The sight steals the air from my lungs. A fear colder than an3616

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strides. My arms go around her, pulling her tight against my chest before she can speak. She’s shivering. “I felt scared to death,” I choke out, the words raw. My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frantic drum she must feel.

She

goes still for a second, then relaxes slightly against me. “I can walk on my own,” she murmurs into my shirt.

“You inhaled smoke,” I say, my voice firm despite the tremor underneath. I’m already bending, sliding one arm under her knees, lifting her. She’s lighter than I remember. “You’re getting

checked out.”

She pushes against my chest, a weak protest. “Cassian, put me down. This isn’t over. Someone locked me in here. I need to find

out who.”

I look down at her. Her eyes are sharp, clear, blazing with a fury that outmatches any residual fear. The woman just engineered a fire alarm to escape, and now she wants to hunt.

I let out a slow breath, the panic receding, replaced by a grim resolve that matches hers. My grip on her tightens, not to restrain, but to carry. “Fine,” I say, turning and striding out of the wrecked room, ignoring the staff still calling after us. “Then we’ll find out together. But I’m not putting you down.”

Gemma’s POV

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Marino? Why are you back?”

“Back?” I echo, letting the anger I’ve been banking seep into my tone. “Shouldn’t I be?”

He glances from my ruined appearance to Rehena’s suddenly pale face. “Ms. Carey informed me you had an urgent matter arise and had to withdraw from our discussions today. Has it

been resolved?”

An urgent matter. Of course.

I walk straight to Rehena, ignoring the man behind her. I look down at her. My voice is quiet, but it cuts through the room’s tense silence. “Ms. Carey. Care to explain why you told Mr. Rennet I left, and why you had your lackey lock me in a resort room and jam all signals?”

Rehena’s composure cracks. She didn’t plan on me standing here, dripping on her designer shoes. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oliver’s eyes narrow. He’s not a stupid man. “Ms. Carey is also here to pitch for the security partnership. I was evaluating both proposals.”

There it is. The missing motive. Not corporate espionage. Not a personal grudge. Just pathetic, cutthroat competition. She saw meas a threat and decided to remove me from the board. 16:16

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Her face twists, the mask of pleasantry shattering into ugly

resentment.

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Oliver watches the exchange, his initial confusion hardening into clear disappointment as he looks at Rehena. “Ms. Marino,” he says, turning to me, his voice formal.

“My sincerest apologies for the distress you’ve endured. Please, allow my assistant to take you to get changed into something dry. We can reconvene when you’re more comfortable.”

Rehena lurches forward in her seat. “But Mr. Rennet, you were just saying my proposal had merit!”

“That,” Oliver says coolly, “was when I believed Ms. Marino was unavailable. It seems her unavailability was… manufactured.”

He’s being diplomatic. He invited two contenders; he wants to see who’s better, and he won’t throw away an option because she plays dirty. Business is business. But he’s offering me a clean slate, a chance to wipe off the soot and fight on a level field.

Rehena isn’t done. She leans forward, her voice pitched to persuade. “You know my firm’s reputation, Mr. Rennet. Our capabilities. Choose us, and you will not be disappointed.”

I tune her out. The assistant is hovering nervously. I give a curt nod to Oliver. “Thank you.”

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like armor after the wet chill. By the time I return to the conference room, cleansed of the physical evidence, the atmosphere has settled into a tense, professional standoff. Rehena is still there, composed once more, but a tightness around her eyes betrays her.

Oliver offers a conciliatory smile. “Ms. Marino. This project is vital to our future security. I hope you understand the need for… thorough evaluation.”

“Of course,” I say, taking my seat. My voice is calm. My mind is already racing ahead.

“Given the… unusual circumstances,” he continues, steepling his fingers, “and the clear caliber of both candidates, I believe a more formal comparison is in order. You are both top talents. Therefore, I propose a fair competition. In three days, each of you will submit an initial proposal and system architecture overview for the upgrade. We will evaluate them side–by–side.”

An initial proposal. In security consulting, it’s unusual, since work often speaks for itself in demonstrations, not documents. But this project is sprawling: a full system overhaul, new protocols, custom design. A proposal would show strategic thinking, not just technical skill.

Rehena’s lips press into a thin line, but she nods. It’s a challenge she can’t refuse without looking weaker.

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الحد