The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 482

Chapter 482

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Liam’s POV

The familiar scent of roasting beans fills the air as I step into the coffee shop. It’s a habit to visit this afternoon stop. I wait at the counter, my mind pleasantly blank, until my eyes drift across the room during the idle scan.

And then I freeze.

There, at a table by the window, is Zina. And she’s not alone.

She’s with William, laughing at something he’s just said, a real, unguarded laugh that lights up her whole face. A cold knot tightens in my stomach. Jeremy. He’s a good friend, and he’s been through enough chaos with his father’s mess without this.

I find a shadowed corner table, my back to the wall. This isn’t my business. And yet, seeing William… knowing what he once was to her during that rough patch with Jeremy, it feels like a betrayal I’m witnessing.

I pull out my phone, my thumbs hovering. It feels like meddling, but letting Jeremy walk in blind feels worse.

I call him. “Jeremy, it’s Liam. I’m at The Grind on the

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waterfront. Zina’s here. With William.” I hang up before he can ask questions I can’t answer. My job, as I see it now, is to stay. To keep a discreet eye on things. To ensure nothing… out of line occurs. I sip my coffee, but it tastes like ash.

Jeremy arrives with a speed that speaks of fury, not traffic. I see him pause in the doorway, his gaze laser–locking onto their table. A cold, dangerous glint flashes in his eyes. He knows William. He knows the history. Other men might be annoyances, but William is a ghost from a painful past, now sitting in the flesh, making his wife laugh.

“Zina!”

His voice slices through the cozy murmur of the cafe. Zina jumps, her smile vanishing as if wiped away. She looks up, and I see the genuine shock on her face as Jeremy strides toward her, his posture rigid with controlled anger.

But then she does something unexpected. As soon as he’s within reach, she grabs his hand and tugs him down into the seat beside her. “Jeremy! What are you doing here?”

I watch his face. He’s thrown. He was braced for guilt, for evasion. Not for this quick, pulling hand. “I thought you were here to see Gemma,” he says, his voice tight, still trying to assemble the scene.

Zina reads his scowl perfectly. “I am here to meet Gen na,” she2

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explains, her tone earnest. “He just came along with her.”

Jeremy blinks, the anger stuttering into confusion. Just then, his phone buzzes on the table. It’s me, from my shadowy post.

[What’s the situation?]

He reads it, then his eyes dart around the room until they find mine in the corner. I give a minimal shrug. He looks back at Zina, then at William, who has been watching this domestic drama unfold with a calm, unreadable expression. Realization dawns on Jeremy’s face. I gave him bad intel.

His thumbs move furiously on his phone. I feel my own buzz.

[Damn it, the guy came with Gemma and had nothing to do with my wife!]

I’m about to text back, a defensive Well, how was I to know? Maybe she’s playing you… because I still haven’t seen any sign of Gemma. But as I lift my head to type, the restroom door at the back of the cafe opens.

And out walks Gemma Marino, smoothing her sweater, heading straight for their table.

“Whoa.”

The muttered word escapes me. My theory crumbles. My fingers

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fly, switching conversational tracks entirely. I find Cassian’s contact. This is more his department.

[Your ex–wife’s out dining with another guy. Didn’t she give you a heads–up?]

I hit send, then watch as Gemma slides into the booth beside William, greeting everyone with a casual smile.

The puzzle pieces are all there, but they form a different picture than I’d painted. And now, thanks to me, Cassian is about to arrive to witness that same wrong picture.

Gemma’s POV

Walking back from the restroom, the faint, lingering discomfort finally easing, I stop short at the edge of our booth. Jeremy Jenkins is now sitting beside Zina, looking like he owns the place. I slide in, glancing between them. “Hasn’t Zina just told me you couldn’t make it?” I ask, my tone more curious than

accusatory.

Zina just shrugs beside him, her face a perfect mask of bewildered innocence. She has no idea how he got here.

I take my seat beside William and turn to Jeremy with polite hostess energy, needing to diffuse the sudden tension. “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Jenkins?”

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“Just a latte, please,” he says, his voice tight.

He opens his mouth, probably to explain his unexpected presence, but he’s interrupted. A woman approaches our table. She’s striking, impossible to miss–voluptuous, with a cascade of blonde waves and an aura of confident glamour. Her Aikopnish is fluent, polished.

She stops right next to Jeremy, her eyes widening in theatrical surprise. “Jeremy? I can’t believe it’s you!”

Jeremy offers a polite, minimal nod. A social reflex. “What a coincidence.”

Her face lights up with a practiced, dazzling pleasure. “It’s been ages! You’re in Florisdale and didn’t let me know? We simply must catch up!”

From the corner of my eye, I see Zina suddenly become very interested in dissecting her tiramisu, her gaze firmly locked on the plate.

Jeremy’s demeanor remains strictly businesslike, a wall of polished stone. “I’m here on work. I don’t have much time for socializing.”

Someone calls her name from the restaurant entrance. She pouts prettily, then swiftly presses a business card into Jeremy’s hand.

We’ll catch up later! I simply must go!” With a final,

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flirty wave and a blown kiss sent directly to him, she swivels and leaves in a cloud of perfume.

The silence she leaves behind is thick. Zina finally looks up from her demolished dessert.

“Wow,” she says, her voice deceptively light. “Her figure is amazing. That waist. That… posterior. She must be a G–cup, right?” Women notice these details with a forensic eye. Zina might not have caught the woman’s name, but she has the measurements cataloged.

Jeremy sighs softly. “How would I know?”

“You’ll find out tonight if you call her,” Zina fires back, her irritation now simmering openly. “Get a real feel for it.”

Jeremy turns to her, his expression earnest, trying to douse the flames. “She’s the daughter of a former business partner. I’ve met her once. She’s like that with everyone. I swear, there’s nothing there.”

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