The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 530

Chapter 530

19 min left

Zina’s POV

I have been patient.

I have been waiting for three years, six months, and fourteen days. I have cooked his dinners, folded his laundry, laughed at his jokes, and slept in his bed. I have watched other women look at him, have smiled through the introductions, have trusted him when he said he wasn’t ready, that he needed more time, that things were complicated.

I am done being patient.

He’s standing by the window, the evening light catching the edges of his profile, making him look like something out of a painting. Handsome. Composed. Completely oblivious to the fact that I am about to detonate his entire evening.

“Do you wanna marry me or not?”

My voice comes out sharper than I intended, but I don’t soften it. I’ve softened too many things for too long. My hands are shaking, I realize. I curl my fingers into fists at my sides.

He turns. Stares at me. His mouth opens slightly, then croses.

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I count.

19 min left

One second. Two. Three.

His face is blank, shell–shocked, like I’ve just asked him to solve a calculus problem in a language he doesn’t speak.

Four. Five. Six.

I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm. Seven. Eight. Nine. The silence stretches between us, thin and brittle, ready to snap.

Ten… Twenty.

I stop counting. The numbers blur into a single, suffocating weight pressing down on my chest.

“You have insulted me enough.” My voice cracks on the last word. I don’t care. “I’m going now.”

I turn away before he can see my face crumple. I don’t want him to see. I have given him enough of my vulnerability, enough of my hope, enough of the soft, stupid parts of me that believed he would eventually choose me.

I cross to the closet, yank my bag from the top shelf. My movements are swift, angry, mechanical. Clothes. Shoes. The

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book I’ve been reading, its spine cracked, a receipt marking my page. I shove everything in, not folding, not organizing, just packing.

Behind me, there is silence. Still, he hasn’t moved… hasn’t

spoken a single word, despite knowing that he’s going to lose me forever if he doesn’t take a decision now.

I zip the bag, sling it over my shoulder and walk to the door.

At the threshold, I stop. I turn.

He’s still standing by the window. The light has shifted, dimmer now, the room filling with shadows. He’s watching me, his expression unreadable, his hands at his sides.

I wait for a single heartbeat, and he says nothing, standing there

like a stone statue.

I step through the door.

糖

His hand closes around my wrist. Hard. Unyielding. He spins me back, and the force of it sends me stumbling against the doorframe. Before I can catch my breath, he’s there, his body pressed against mine, his hands framing my face, and he’s kissing me.

It’s not gentle. It’s fierce, desperate, the kiss of a man who has boon holding something back for too long and has fina” letiġ:37

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break free. His mouth is hot against mine, his fingers tangling in my hair, and I feel the breath leave my lungs in a shuddering exhale.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his forehead pressed against mine, his voice rough, ragged. “Don’t you take another step toward that door,” he says, and there’s something in his tone I’ve never heard before, something that makes my knees go weak, “or I’ll shorten our honeymoon period by that many days.”

I blink up at him, my brain struggling to catch honeymoon?”

1. up.

“What

He grins. It’s the grin I fell in love with, the one that makes him look like a boy who has just discovered a secret the rest of the world doesn’t know. “After we get married, of course.”

The words hit me like a wave, warm and overwhelming. I laugh, and it comes out watery, half a sob. “You absolute idiot,” I say, and I’m kissing him again, and he’s kissing me back, and we’re both laughing into each other’s mouths, tangled together against the doorframe like we’ve forgotten how to stand apart.

“You were going to leave,” he says against my lips, and there’s an accusation in it, but also wonder.

“You weren’t going to ask.”

/as working up to it.”

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< Chapter 530

“For three years?”

He groans, burying his face in my hair. “I’m bad at timing.”

“You’re bad at everything that involves feelings.”

“True.” He pulls back, and his eyes are bright, and he’s still holding my face like I’m something precious. “But I’m good at you.”

My heart turns over. I open my mouth to say something, something equally ridiculous and perfect, something that captures the giddy, soaring feeling spreading through my chest.

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