The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 508

Chapter 508

Lucky Draw

Meredith’s POV

Pushing open the villa door, the tension in the air is so thick I almost feel it like a wall of glass. We have clearly caught them off guard–Cassian looks hollowed out, Donovan is ashen and leaning heavily on his cane. Good! They should be uneasy.

Grandpa strides in beside me, his presence immediately commanding the space.

I help him to a chair, and his sharp eyes sweep the living room with open disdain. “What a backwater place,” he mutters, his voice a low rumble of disapproval. “This is where you’ve been hiding my granddaughter?”

I see Cassian and Donovan both choke slightly on the insult. The villa is sprawling, luxurious by any standard, but to my grandfather, anything less than a fortified estate is barely fit for purpose. Once everyone is awkwardly seated, grandpa gets straight to the point, as is his way

“Since Gemma is a Bernard, it is past time she returned to her roots. We will hold a press conference to formally announce her status, and then she will come home to Bernard Manor.” He’s taken a real liking to her since their dinner. Knowing she’s been staging here, with him, was the final push he needed to clear his schedule and come retrieve her himself. They’re divorced. This

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Normally, Donovan would rise to the bait, a retort already on his lips. But he just sits there, staring at his hands, his usual fiery spirit completely dampened. It’s unsettling.

Dad, however, doesn’t notice the abnormal silence. He just frowns, looking around. “Where is she? Bring my granddaughter out. We are leaving.”

Mikhail is quiet, uncharacteristically still. I’m the first to really feel it–the wrongness in the room. My eyes dart from Cassian’s grim face to Donovan’s defeated posture, to Mikhail’s lack of a sarcastic quip. A cold thread of intuition pulls tight in my chest. Why do they all look like they’ve just attended a funeral?

“Where is Gemma?” I ask, my voice cutting through the heavy quiet. “Is she out?” I glance toward the foyer. Her shoes are there, the comfortable flats she often wears. She should be home. The tension is a living thing, coiling around us. My gut churns. “Why is everyone so quiet?” I demand, my patience fraying. It’s only been a few days. What could have possibly happened?

When no one answers, my worry ignites into protective anger. I point a finger at Cassian, the most obvious target. “You! Where is my sister?”

Dad’s face is turning a dangerous shade of red, his temper about to detonate. Finally, Cassian speaks, his voice rough. “She’s here. Resting upstairs.”

2/6

* 17:55

ft’s mid–afternoon. Three, maybe four o’clock. Even if she was

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“Russell, calm down!” Donovan finally finds his voice, but it’s weary, lacking its usual fight. “She’s upstairs. I didn’t lose your granddaughter. Why the long face?” They’ve been friends for decades, but right now, Dad isn’t in the mood for their old camaraderie.

“Just let me see my granddaughter, and I won’t be angry,” Dad snaps, refusing to even look at Cassian. That boy treated her terribly. The best thing he can do now is disappear.

Cassian takes a deep breath, his hands clenching at his sides. He looks from Dad to me, his expression one of profound exhaustion and pain. “Meredith. Sir Bernard. There’s something you need to know.”

The way he says it–the hesitation, the weight–sends a jolt of

fear straight through my heart. I brace myself, my muscles locking.

pure

He decides to tell us. They’re her family. She’ll need us. And maybe, between all of us, we can find a way to fix this, to help her bear it.

“Gemma may have been… exposed to HIV.”

The words land in the quiet room like shards of glass.

What?

I blink, staring at him as if he’s suddenly started speaking in a language I don’t understand. My brain simply rejects the

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Cassian presses his lips together, the gesture one of shared pain. “She may have contracted HIV,” he repeats, the words clearly torturous for him to say aloud.

As soon as the sentence is complete, Dad moves. It’s a blur of motion. His hand flies out, a sharp, loud crack echoing in the room as it connects with Cassian’s face. “What have you done?” Dad roars, his voice trembling with a fury born of terror. “This is how you protect my granddaughter?”

Donovan flinches but stays silent. Defending Cassian now would be like pouring gasoline on a bonfire.

Cassian’s head snaps to the side. A thin cut opens on his lip, and a trickle of blood immediately wells up, tracing a path down his chin. He doesn’t lift a hand to wipe it away.

“Is this the result of your care?” Dad thunders, surging to his feet. “Every time she is near you, she suffers! Meredith, go upstairs. Bring your sister down. We are leaving. Now.”

Cassian tries to speak, his voice thick. “Sir Bernard, the situation, it was a deliberate-”

“Enough!” Dad bellows, cutting him off. “I do not want to hear

another word from you. If you wish to avoid a second blow, you will remove yourself from my sight!”

The command is absolute. The room vibrates with his

our shared horror.

4/6

rage

and

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house. I reach her door and raise my hand, knocking softly, my throat tight.

“Gemma?” I call out, forcing my voice to be calm, to be soft. “It’s me, Meredith! I’ve come to see you.”

Gemma’s POV

I’m not asleep. I’m just lying here, on top of the duvet, staring at the blank white expanse of the ceiling. My thoughts are a formless, churning storm. I don’t know what to do. Every possible future branches out from this moment, and every branch is dark.

The weight of the possibility…it’s not even a certainty, just a horrifying maybe, presses down on my chest, making each breath feel shallow and insufficient. I know this isn’t helpful. I know I should be proactive, rational.

But the fear is a living thing inside my ribcage, and it’s winning

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