The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 485

Chapter 485

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Gemma’s POV

“There’s really nothing between me and Reyna!”

I blink, pulled from my thoughts about bank funding and corporate targeting. His explanation lands in a space of complete confusion.

Reyna? For a moment, I’m not sure what he’s talking about.

My mind is on the contents of the text message.

“What’s with the text message?” I ask, my voice practical, cutting through his panic. “Did Kranton Bank stop funding

Blackwell Industries?”

I don’t understand what Reyna has to do with a bank pulling its

support.

He deflates slightly, the defensive tension leaving his shoulders. He runs a hand through his hair, the worry for his company finally surfacing now that he sees it’s my primary focus.

“I’ve been dealing with this,” he admits, his voice lower. “I saw grandpa before we left. He agreed to a loan to stabilize things

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initially. But if Kranton cancels the partnership entirely, I need a new bank. A new collaboration…”

He trails off, but I understand. It’s not simple. It’s months of negotiations, due diligence, building trust from scratch. “I didn’t expect Abel to actually give Reyna that kind of authority,” he finishes, a note of frustrated disbelief in his tone.

“Don’t worry about this. I’ll take care of it.” He says it like a vow, reaching to turn his phone off, as if shielding me from the notifications will shield me from the problem.

But that’s the old pattern. The one that built the wall between us, brick by silent brick.

He has always handled everything alone, in stoic silence. I, his wife, had to learn about the new rivals, new agendas and everything else from passing comments by his relatives.

The question that used to scream inside me back then echoes again: If we’re going to spend our lives together, why am I in the dark? Does he think I’m incapable? Or does my opinion just not

maller?

Even now, after the divorce, the urge to know the truth is a compulsion I can’t control.

“If you don’t want me to worry,” I say, my voice firmer than 1 feel “tell me everything.”

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I regret the words instantly. I remember our new, fragile reality. I cough, awkwardness flooding in. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. We’re just roommates living together now anyway. You don’t have to tell me your business.”

It’s a retreat, a clumsy attempt to rebuild the boundary I just broke. I turn to go upstairs, to escape the charged air.

His hand closes around my wrist, not harsh, but firm, stopping me in my tracks. The warmth of his skin is a shock. “I never thought of you as a roommate!”

I press my lips together, trying to gently pull my hand free. He doesn’t let go, but his grip loosens.

“It’s Reyna,” he says, the words coming in a rush now that the dam has cracked. “You saw her at the party. She’s with Abel now, the chairman of Kranton Bank. He gave her the authority. She doesn’t want to work with Blackwell Industries anymore.”

He lays it bare, simple and stark.

I process this, my confusion growing. “Why? Why is she targeting your company specifically?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture of pure weariness. “Because she wants to come back to work at Blackwell

Industries. And I don’t agree.”

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The silence that follows is heavy with understanding. It’s clear to me, perfectly clear.

At least part of the reason he’s refusing her is because of me. Because of our history, our present, the complicated tangle of it all. So, I am implicated. My presence in his life is now a factor in a multi–million–dollar business crisis.

“What are you going to do?”

My voice is quiet.

“I’ve stabilized it for now with grandpa’s help. I just need to find a new partner.”

He makes it sound like picking a new brand of coffee. I know

better. It could take months. Or worse… it could fail.

A question rises from a place of deep–seated confusion. “Why haven’t you gone back to deal with it? Why have you stayed in Florisdale all this time?”

He doesn’t even pause to think. “Because I can’t leave you.”

The words hit me with a soft, stunning force. He’s said more affectionate things in these past weeks than in three years of marriage. But we are adults. We are responsible. His company, the legacy of his family, is on the line. If he stays here for me,

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and Blackwell Industries falters… that is a weight I cannot carry. I don’t want it. I never asked for that kind of sacrifice.

He looks into my eyes, and it’s as if he reads the silent protest there. “Gemma, give me some time,” he says, his voice softening into a plea. “Just until after your birthday. I’ll go back and deal with it as soon as we celebrate. I’ll come back to you when it’s settled.”

My birthday… it’s half a month away.

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