The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 5

**Before Rain Touches Earth: Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**

**Chapter 5**

**Gemma**

Tomorrow isn’t just any ordinary day.

It marks the anniversary of my birth, a day that has become a bittersweet reminder of the years I’ve spent here—three long years that feel like an eternity.

A wave of melancholy washes over me, enveloping my thoughts in a thick fog. Three years, and yet, I find myself grappling with the harsh reality that I have failed to win his heart.

Simultaneously, the weight of not being able to keep my marriage intact for more than three years feels like a heavy shackle of disappointment around my soul.

My mind races with these thoughts, and sleep eludes me until the first light of dawn creeps through the curtains. Just as the sun begins to rise, a sharp knock on the door jolts me from my restless reverie.

“Mrs. Blackwell? The food is ready!”

I groan, pressing my palm against my throbbing temple, the remnants of a sleepless night lingering like a fog in my mind. Peering out the window, I realize that the sun is already high in the sky—almost noon.

“Food?” I mumble under my breath, irritation bubbling within me. Then, a sudden rush of adrenaline courses through my veins as I remember the dinner party I had meticulously planned for Cassian and a few members of his family to celebrate my birthday. But now, facing those family members feels utterly impossible.

Especially after the events of last night.

“I’m coming!” I call out, my voice carrying a hint of reluctance.

I rise from the bed and slip into a silk robe, the fabric gliding over my skin, sending a shiver of discomfort through me. The sensation is both soothing and maddeningly sensitive, a reminder of last night’s encounter.

Though he had been thorough in his affections, the aftermath left me feeling hollow. All I can think about is the way he touched me, the heat of his hands lingering in my memory.

Every morning, I awaken with a sense of longing and frustration. My skin feels taut, radiating an uncomfortable warmth. The coolness of the robe is a fleeting relief, but it does little to quell the rising tide of questions in my mind.

Will he ever touch me like that again?

Not that I truly want him to, especially if he’s going to retreat into that cold, distant persona afterward. The erratic shifts in his mood leave me reeling, as if I’m caught in a tempest.

I make my way downstairs, intent on telling the servants to cancel the meal. After all, there’s no reason to celebrate when Cassian and I won’t be participating in the festivities.

Since I haven’t reminded him about my birthday, I’m convinced he’s forgotten.

But then, as I step into the dining room, my breath catches in my throat.

There, on the table, lies a designer handbag—one I recognize instantly. Reyna had posted about it on her social media not long ago, lamenting how much she desired it.

Yes, perhaps I’ve been keeping an eye on her posts, a guilty pleasure I can’t seem to shake off. It’s a bad habit, stalking my rival online, but it’s one I indulge in, despite the consequences. Cassian had even caught me once, and I felt the heat of embarrassment as I quickly shut my phone.

A wave of devastation crashes over me.

How could he bring a gift for her into our home?

Is she already his mistress, despite the fleeting moments we shared last night?

I can only imagine the rumors that will swirl in my absence.

The delivery drivers’ eyes widen in shock, and I can see the fear etched on their faces, knowing exactly who Cassian is and the power he wields. But I offer them triple the usual fare, and they reluctantly agree to fulfill my request.

“Don’t forget to honk so everyone knows you’re there!” I call after them, a sense of satisfaction swelling within me as I close the door behind them.

Blackwell Industries serves as a front for the Blackwells’ more questionable dealings. While many of their operations are legitimate, Cassian prefers to keep a low profile there—no surprises, no scandals.

Yet, whispers of a secret wife have already begun to circulate, according to Ferne’s boyfriend.

I’m merely adding fuel to the fire. Dealing with the fallout will be a fitting challenge for him.

The retribution feels more than justified after the turmoil of last night.

I linger by the door, taking a few deep, grounding breaths as I watch the delivery drivers through the window. They climb into their vehicles and drive away, and I know it’s time for me to follow suit.

“Call the housekeeper at the Blackwell Mansion. Inform them that I’m unwell and that the dinner is off,” I instruct, turning on my heel and heading upstairs to gather my belongings.

Almost everything I possess in this house is not truly mine. Thanks to my father’s debts, I entered this marriage with little more than a single box of clothes, a few personal items, and an old, battered Honda Civic.

Gathering my things takes hardly any time at all. In less than half an hour, I find myself stepping out of the house I’ve called home for the past three years. A quick stop at the courthouse allows me to secure what I need, and I return to leave it on the dining room table as a parting gift.

Then, I finally leave.