The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 59

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**
**Chapter 59**

**Gemma**

My breath comes in ragged gasps, a tumultuous rhythm echoing in the charged atmosphere. Suddenly, a male dancer approaches, concern etched across his face. “Is this man bothering you, miss?” he inquires, his voice a blend of protectiveness and curiosity.

Cassian stands beside me, his eyes dark and filled with a simmering rage that sends a thrill of fear through me. Yet, the alcohol coursing through my veins dulls that fear, making me feel almost invincible, or perhaps foolish.

“You want to use my mom’s house against me?” I slur, the words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. A snort escapes me, and I can’t help but giggle, the absurdity of the situation washing over me. “I don’t deserve this kind of treatment. You were a terrible husband. You hated me. You never wanted me. So why do you care if I find someone else for… companionship?”

I turn to the dancer, running my fingers playfully down his arm, and he grins back at me, clearly enjoying the attention.

But in an instant, Cassian’s hand wraps around my wrist, yanking me away from the other man with a fierce grip.

“Were?” His voice is a low growl, dangerous and possessive. “There is no ‘were.’ I am 1/6 your husband.”

**11:36**

**Chapter 59**

*****

**Cassian**

With a firm grip on Gemma’s hand, I pull her close, my instincts taking over. In one swift motion, I hoist her over my shoulder, ignoring her surprised screech of, “Cassian!”

I stride out of the club, my focus unwavering as I head towards my waiting car.

“Hey!” The dancer, emboldened by a misplaced sense of heroism, dares to follow.

I halt, slowly pivoting to face him, my glare sharp enough to cut through the tension. I pull back my suit jacket, revealing the gun holstered at my side, and snarl, “If you touch her again, I will kill you.”

With that, I turn back to my car, a sense of satisfaction coursing through me as I place Gemma in the back seat before sliding in beside her.

I reach across her, my fingers brushing against her skin as I fasten her seat belt. She swats at my hands, but the motion is weak, a mere shadow of resistance.

“Bastard,” she mutters, her voice laced with a sleepy irritation.

Then, as if the world has cradled her in its arms, she curls up in the seat and drifts off into slumber.

**+19 Bonus**

I cross my arms over my chest, watching her with a mix of irritation and tenderness. In her sleep, her features soften, an innocent mask that tugs at something deep within me, a feeling I’m not accustomed to.

Gingerly, I reach over, brushing her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The strands are warm and silky, and her skin radiates a familiar scent that envelops me, a fragrance that is distinctly her.

She always smells incredible.

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