The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 8

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

**Chapter 8**

**Gemma**

I find myself transfixed by the glowing screen in front of me, my thoughts swirling like a tempest.

“What’s the matter?” Zina’s voice cuts through my reverie, laced with a teasing edge. “Is making money too tough for you? Are you hoping Cassian will toss a few billion your way after the divorce so you can sit on your ass and eat bonbons all day forever?”

Her words catch me off guard, a sharp jab that I hadn’t anticipated. The thought of Cassian’s wealth, his cold, unyielding empire, is the last thing I want. I would rather he keeps his billions, his ruthless reputation, and all the terrifying power that comes with it. What I yearn for is a severing of ties with the entire underworld—a chance for my heart to heal, to find peace amidst the chaos that has consumed my life.

Taking a job with Adrian doesn’t exactly mean I’m cutting ties with the mafia… but perhaps it could offer me a path to revenge. The question lingers in my mind: Do I truly desire that more than my own peace?

A wave of exhaustion washes over me, heavy and suffocating. In a different world, I would be bustling around, preparing a surprise for Cassian—our anniversary dinner, a celebration of love and commitment.

But here I am, isolated and alone, my phone switched off, resigned to the fact that I will never again celebrate even a fraction of what we once had.

The clock reads 18:34.

I place Zina’s laptop on the kitchen table and rise from my seat, feeling the weight of indecision pressing down on me. “Let me sleep on it,” I say, forcing a semblance of calm into my voice. “I’ll have your answer tomorrow.”

Zina, ever the supportive friend, jumps up and helps me prepare the extra bedroom in her apartment. I can barely keep my eyes open, and within moments, I find myself sinking into the welcoming embrace of sleep, even though the sun has barely dipped below the horizon.

But sleep brings no solace tonight; instead, it opens the door to a realm of nightmares.

I dream of unspeakable horrors, a collage of fragmented memories. Sometimes, I’m lost in dreams of Cassian, though I can never quite grasp their meaning. They’re filled with faces and places that are alien to me, yet they resonate with a haunting familiarity.

In those dreams, Cassian is often in peril. I see him surrounded by shadowy figures, feeling the pulse of fear as I watch him get shot, tortured, or worse—captured by families who would do him harm.

Despite the pain he has inflicted on me, the thought of his suffering terrifies me to the core.

But tonight, the nightmares pull me back to the past, to the day my father died and my mother spiraled into madness before my very eyes. I can still hear the echoes of her cries, the sight of her cutting into her own skin, desperately trying to swallow a whole bottle of pills…

I wake with a start, my body drenched in cold sweat, heart racing as if it might burst from my chest. I instinctively reach out for Cassian, yearning for his warm strength, desperate for a sense of safety that has always eluded me.

Which, in truth, is precisely what this is.

My wife is unraveling, and her chaos is dragging me down with her.

Divorce? Over my dead body.

The servants scatter at my entrance, panic etched on their faces, but one remains, her eyes wide with fear. I can feel the tension in the air, and despite my fury, I attempt to rein in my voice, forcing calmness into my tone, though it trembles with barely contained rage. “Where is my wife?”

I know I need to control myself, not just for the sake of the staff but because deep down, I regret how I treated Gemma. That night we shared was the best of my life, filled with passion and connection, and then I turned into a complete asshole.

Perhaps the events of today shouldn’t surprise me. Maybe I deserve this turmoil.

Finally, the servant speaks, her voice shaking. “She… she left earlier. She had two big cardboard boxes. She left that, Mr. Blackwell.” She points to a paper lying on the dining room table, and my heart sinks as I stalk over to retrieve it.

The words “Divorce Agreement” glare up at me in bold, black letters, a stark reminder of the chasm that has formed between us.