The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 89

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

**Chapter 89**

**Cassian**

As I step through the threshold of my home, the atmosphere feels thick with unspoken words. The house staff, their expressions a mix of concern and discretion, inform me that Gemma has retreated into her room, locking herself away the moment she arrived.

A wave of uncertainty washes over me, causing me to hesitate on the staircase, my hand resting on the banister. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down, urging me to act.

When I finally reach the door to the master bedroom, I lift my hand to knock, but then I let it fall back to my side, suddenly unsure. Instead, I grasp the doorknob, turning it slowly.

To my surprise, the door swings open easily, revealing a dimly lit room.

“Gemma, where’s that coffee I bought?” I call out, my voice breaking the heavy silence that envelops us.

The instant the words escape my lips, I feel a pang of regret.

The tension in the air is palpable, her silence louder than any reply she might have given. I glance around the room, noting her phone lying lifeless on the bedside table, its screen dark and unresponsive. Her expression is a mask of unreadable emotions, but it’s clear she’s upset.

And here I am, leading with a question about coffee.

What am I thinking?

I let out a nervous chuckle, attempting to ease the tension. “You really make the best coffee, you know that? The staff just can’t seem to get it right. Maybe one of these days, you could teach me your secret.”

I feel like I’m floundering in unfamiliar waters, but the truth is, I genuinely miss her coffee.

The staff follows her method to the letter—same beans, same temperature, same process—but something is always amiss. I can never quite identify what it is that makes the difference.

Gemma, on the other hand, always nails it.

She knows my preferences like the back of her hand—my restrictions, my allergies, even the way I like my coffee: no sugar, brewed to perfection.

Was it all done out of love?

Now, it seems that love has transformed into something darker—hate, perhaps.

As I stand there, she flips over onto her side, shutting her eyes tightly and resolutely ignoring my presence.

“Gemma, how long are you planning to stay mad at me?” I take a step closer to the bed, trying to keep my voice steady, though frustration simmers just beneath the surface.

Finally, she turns to face me, her eyes sharp and filled with a fire that takes me aback.

“With all these servants around, surely one of them can brew a decent cup of coffee. I’m not your maid, Cassian. If you’re that picky, why don’t you just do it yourself and leave me the hell alone?”

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