The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 77

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**
**Chapter 77**

**Gemma**

“I don’t live here,” I assert, my voice a mix of defiance and disbelief as the car glides to a halt in front of the house I once called home with him.

Cassian raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his gaze. As we drive into the garage, he dismisses the driver with a wave, the sound of the door closing echoing in the silence between us. “That’s peculiar, because I’m fairly certain this is still your legal residence.”

“Not for long. I haven’t set foot in this place for weeks. Cassian, please, take me home!” My heart races, a desperate plea lacing my words.

“You are home,” he growls, his voice low and commanding. “This is where you belong.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the possessiveness that drips from his tone, stirring emotions I thought I had buried deep within.

“I’m not getting out of this car,” I declare stubbornly, crossing my arms defiantly.

“Then neither will I,” he replies, a smirk playing on his lips, as if this is some sort of game.

We sit in the back seat, the tension thickening the air around us. Minutes stretch into an eternity, the silence punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine. Finally, Cassian breaks the stillness. “On second thought, I’m feeling tired. We’re going inside.”

With that, he swings open the door and, before I can fully comprehend his intentions, he effortlessly scoops me into his arms, hoisting me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all.

“Cassian!” I shriek, my voice a mixture of indignation and surprise. “You bastard! Put me down!”

He ignores my protests, his grip unyielding, and I realize there’s no escaping his incredible strength. He strides into the house, up the stairs, and I can hear the murmur of servants in the distance, their voices filled with curiosity. Cassian reassures them with a simple wave, dismissing their concerns as if they were nothing more than a passing breeze.

He carries me straight to the bedroom. Not mine—his.

When we reach his sanctuary, he unceremoniously tosses me onto the bed, the soft fabric meeting my body with an unexpected gentleness. “Get some food and her pajamas from her old room,” he calls out to a servant, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I spring to my feet, determined to escape. “I’m not staying here!” I exclaim, darting past him.

But he anticipates my move, catching my wrist with a firm grip and effortlessly pulling me back, though this time, he doesn’t throw me onto the bed. Instead, he draws me close, his forehead resting against mine, the heat radiating from his body almost overwhelming.

To my astonishment, he confesses in a gravelly voice, “I don’t want you to go.”

His words send a jolt through me, igniting a whirlwind of confusion and longing. Every inch of his body pressed against mine feels electrified, a dangerous spark that threatens to consume us both.

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