The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 525

Chapter 525

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Cassian’s POV

The sound from the other end of the phone is unmistakable. A sharp yelp of pain from Jeremy. “Ouch! It hurts!”

I don’t need a diagram, the context paints itself. I tactfully press

Il button, cutting off whatever chaos is unfolding in

ma and Mikhail are both looking at me. “Is Zina okay?” Gemma asks, her brow furrowed with concern.

Mikhail, ever practical, adds, “Can they bring the fishing net over here?”

I slip the phone into my pocket, assuming my most serious expression. The lie is for the greater good. “Yes,” I state, my voice formal. “They’ll be right here.”

A necessary fiction to preserve everyone’s dignity.

I feel the heat in my own ears. Gemma’s eyes linger on my face, and I see the moment her curiosity sharpens into comprehension. She remembers the contents of that bag, and 166

s begin to flush a delicate pink.

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I hand it to her, my touch businesslike. “Spray it on your body. There are a lot of mosquitoes here.”

She takes the bottle, but her eyes are wide with a question: How did you find that so easily amidst the mess?

I meet her gaze, feeling a new, playful boldness. This isn’t about mosquitoes anymore. “Your friend likes this,” I say, my voice dropping just for her. I gesture subtly toward the bag. “How about you?”

“What?” Her horror is genuine, comical. She looks at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head. Clearly, until today, she was blissfully unaware of Zina’s… adventurous procurement habits.

The opportunity is too perfect. I let my gaze flick again to the bag, then back to her, holding her stunned eyes. “If you like,” I say, the words low and deliberate, “I can try it with you later.”

She is utterly, completely stunned. Her mouth opens slightly, then closes. I can see the thought screaming behind her eyes: He actually wants to try those things with me?

“No way!” she finally huffs, the denial explosive. She snorts and turns sharply away, presenting me with the back of her head and the slender line of her neck, which is now also flushed a deep, telling red.

hyemember our three years. The routine, the distance he cold 8

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the chance in the future… it’s a thought worth exploring. I owe Zina a fruit basket for the inspiration.

Mikhail chooses that moment to wander over. I casually zip the bag shut before he can peer inside. He’s oblivious. “Rookie, did you catch the fish?” he asks, eyebrows raised, a reminder of our pointless bet.

Fishing has lost all appeal. The activity seems unbearably tedious compared to the delicate, flustered woman sitting a few feet

away, pretending to be fascinated by the lake. “I’m done,” I say, dismissing the competition with a wave.

When Jeremy finally reappears, holding the fishing net with a look of profound confusion, the group consensus is immediate. The sun is too strong. It’s time to go.

Jeremy holds the net limply, a man who feels he has come in vain.

“Is Zina okay?” Gemma asks, her worry resurfacing.

“She’s fine. She’s fallen asleep. I turned on the air conditioner for her,” Jeremy reports, his own composure visibly frayed.

Gemma nods, relieved. “Then let’s go back.” I see the fatigue in the slight droop of her shoulders.

Bigmediately move to her side, taking everything from her 11:18

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Later, back at the villa, my phone rings. It’s Asher. The sound of his voice yanks me back into a world I’ve been neglecting. A new partner has been found for Shawn Heavy Industries. He needs me to come and meet them. I had almost forgotten the search was ongoing. Every ounce of my focus has been laser–locked on Gemma.

Mikhail, already in the passenger seat as I prepare to leave, lets out a derisive snort. “If I don’t know, I would think Asher is the boss of Shawn Heavy Industries. How can a rookie like you run a company?” It’s a fair jab. I’ve been entirely absentee.

I hang up and roll my eyes at him. “What about you? Did you even care about Bright Moon International?”

He’s stunned into silence. We are mirrors in our neglect, two captains who have been steadfastly ignoring their ships.

I help Gemma inside, then head upstairs to change. When I come back down, I find her in the living room. “Gemma, I’ll be back soon. You don’t have to wait for me for dinner tonight.” The discussion could drag on; it’s already late. A business dinner is inevitable.

She simply nods, accepting it. But before she can speak, Mikhail’s voice cuts in from the doorway, dripping with sarcasm. “Who wants to eat with you?”

Иdon’t bother with a retort. I just give Gemma one las pok,11:18

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Gemma’s POV

The door closes behind Cassian, leaving a quiet in the villa that feels both empty and charged. I look over at Mikhail, who’s already scrolling through his phone on the sofa, the picture of casual dismissal.

A thought that’s been tickling at the edges of my mind for days finally finds its voice. I prop my chin on my hand, studying him. “Mikhail, do you have any other feelings for Cassian?”

I say it lightly, but I mean it. Their relationship has shifted. The old, razor–edged hostility has softened into something else- a constant, needling banter that feels almost… fond. I told Zina ages ago their dynamic was weird. Now, living in the middle of it, I see it’s not animosity. It’s a bizarre, exclusive form of camaraderie.

Mikhail’s head snaps up. He looks at me as if I’ve just suggested he sprout wings. “I am a man. What are you thinking about?”

The denial is instant, almost comically offended. But I see the flicker of something else like amusement, not disgust. He doesn’t have those feelings. He just finds Cassian an endlessly entertaining source of provocation. Life is boring, and Cassian is his chosen puzzle and punching bag.

“Right,” I say, letting it go with a small smile. “Then let’s think about what we’re going to eat tonight.” I push myself and 1:18

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Before he can launch into a suggestion, I preempt him, my voice firm. “You are not allowed to eat spicy barbecue, and you are not allowed to invite the neighbors.” Last time he tried that, we had fifteen near–strangers in the living room until 2 a.m.

He pouts, the picture of wounded innocence. “Gemma, you don’t have

any sense of community at all.” Then he grins, a flash of insight in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re an introvert?”

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