The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 529

Chapter 529

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Liam’s POV

The restaurant I have chosen for today is the kind of place that makes a statement without saying a word.

I have been here before, for negotiations that required the right atmosphere of old money and new power.

The private room is at the end of a long corridor, behind a door that requires a key card to open. Inside, the table is set for three, the candles already lit, the wine already breathing. Jessica Bardem is already seated when we arrive, a glass of red wine cradled in her elegant fingers.

She rises when Cassian enters, a smile curving her lips. “Mr. Blackwell,” she says, her voice warm, accented with the faint lilt of someone who has spent time in Paris, in Rome, in all the places where power is an art form. “I have heard of you for a long time.“.

Cassian inclines his head, his hand extended. “Ms. Bardem, it is an honor for Blackwell Empire that you’re willing to cooperate with us.”

I watch from my seat, already pouring myself a glass of water8:36

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< Chapter 529

Jessica Bardem is young to be heading the Bardem family, but she carries it well. There’s a sharpness behind her smile, a calculation in her gaze that tells me she didn’t get here by being pretty. She is exactly the kind of ally we need–connected to the Parisian mafia, with reach that extends across borders, into markets we’ve been trying to crack for years.

“Mr. Blackwell, you are too polite,” she says, settling back into her chair. Her eyes linger on him as he takes his seat. “I have heard of Blackwell Empire in Mamaica for a long time and have always wanted to find an opportunity to cooperate with you. This cooperation is exactly what I want.”

She leans forward slightly as she speaks, her fingers brushing the stem of her wine glass. There’s a confidence in the gesture, an invitation that’s not quite subtle. I see the way her gaze tracks across his face, the way she holds his eyes a beat longer than

necessary.

Cassian doesn’t seem to notice. He’s already pulling out a folder, his focus narrowed to the documents inside. “Before we start cooperating, Ms. Bardem, I hope you know the current situation of Blackwell Empire.”

I suppress a sigh. This is classic Cassian–lead with the problems, lay out the obstacles, make sure the other party

knows exactly what they’re getting into. It’s honest. It’s also, in this moment, excruciating.

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The issues with Kranton Bank are no small thing. If the Bardem family aligns with us, they’ll be painting a target on their own backs. Cassian believes in transparency. I believe in getting the deal done before the other party has time to reconsider.

He’s barely gotten through the first paragraph when Jessica raises her hand, stopping him. Her smile hasn’t wavered. “Mr. Blackwell, I know all those things.” She says it simply, as if the complications are nothing more than weather. “I’m a smart person. I know who to trust and what to do.”

The words land like a gift. I feel the tension in my shoulders ease. She’s already decided. The meeting is a formality, the deal already done in her mind.

I raise my glass, unable to help myself. “Come on. Let’s have a drink to celebrate our cooperation!”

Jessica lifts her glass toward Cassian, her smile widening. “To new partnerships.”

Cassian clinks his glass against hers, his expression unchanged. “I hope we can have a pleasant cooperation.”

“The pleasure is mine,” she says, and there’s a double meaning in her voice that I catch, that I’m sure Cassian catches.

He doesn’t react.

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We drink. The wine is good, old, expensive. Jessica sets her glass down and leans back in her chair, her posture relaxed, her attention still fixed on Cassian. She’s wearing a silk blouse the color of cream, her dark hair swept back from her face, and at her ears, a pair of earrings catch the candlelight—blue agate, deep and luminous.

Cassian’s gaze drifts. I notice it first because I’ve been watching him, waiting for him to engage, to show some flicker of the

charm I know he possesses when he bothers to use it. His eyes land on her earrings, and something shifts in his expression. Not interest. Recognition.

Jessica notices too. Her cheeks flush slightly. “Mr. Blackwell, is there something on my face?”

“No, Ms. Bardem, you misunderstand.” His voice is flat, clinical. “I just think your earrings are beautiful.”

I nearly choke on my wine. I stare at him, waiting for the punchline, the follow–up, some indication that he’s actually learned how to speak to a woman who isn’t his ex–wife. But there’s nothing. He just sits there, looking at her earrings like they’re a problem to be solved.

My mind races. Has Cassian learned to praise people now? He used to disdain these things. Business was contracts and logistics and the cold, hard numbers of partnership. He never noticed earrings or necklaces or the way a woman’s ha

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the light. Is there something in the wine? Has he been possessed?

Jessica’s composure wavers, just slightly. Her blush deepens. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwell.”

Cassian leans forward. “Ms. Bardem, could you please take off your earrings so I can see them?”

The room goes very quiet.

I stare at him, my glass frozen halfway to my mouth. He’s not flirting. He’s not being charming. He genuinely wants to examine her jewelry. I want to put my head through the table.

If he weren’t handsome, if he weren’t wealthy, that statement would be unforgivable. Even with the looks and the money, it’s toeing a dangerous line. I open my mouth to intervene, to salvage something, to remind him that we are here to secure a partnership with a woman who could make or break our expansion into Europe.

“Michael,” I hiss, my voice tight. “How can you let Ms. Bardem take off her things?”

He doesn’t even glance at me. His attention is entirely on the earrings.

Forica to her credit, recovers faster than I do. She let at 8:36

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small, genuine laugh and reaches up to unclip the earrings. “It’s okay. Since Mr. Blackwell likes them, you can take a look.”

She hands them over. Cassian takes them, his fingers careful, his eyes intent.

“Thank you,” he says, and then he’s turning the earrings over in his palm, examining the cut, the setting, the quality of the stone. He holds one up to the light, watching the way the blue deepens

and flares.

I watch him, a knot forming in my stomach. This is not the behavior of a man closing a deal. This is something else entirely.

Jessica leans forward, curiosity replacing her earlier composure. “Mr. Blackwell, are you studying earrings as well?”

“No.” He doesn’t look up. “My wife also has a pair of blue agate earrings.”

The words land like a grenade.

Jessica’s eyebrows rise. “Your wife?”

I stare at him, my jaw tightening. You’re divorced. What’s the point of bringing up your wife? The thought screams through my head, loud enough that I’m surprised neither of them can hear it. Has he forgotten? Has he lost his mind entirely?

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Cassian seems oblivious to the tension he’s created. He looks up at Jessica, and for the first time tonight, there’s something human in his expression. “Where did you buy them, Ms. Bardem?”

She blinks, momentarily wrong–footed. “They were a gift from a jeweler in Paris. Why?”

“Because I want to buy them for my wife.”

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