The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 9

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**
**Chapter 9**

My fingers tremble violently against the paper, crumpling its edges as I fight the urge to shred it into tiny pieces. The thought of doing so is tantalizing, yet I manage to restrain myself, if only just.

What is happening to me? This overwhelming madness that grips my heart at the mere idea of her leaving—it’s suffocating. I know one thing for certain: I cannot let her slip away.

“She’s been gone all day?” I inquire of the servant, my voice barely above a whisper, thick with the weight of my concern.

She nods in response, her eyes reflecting a mix of sympathy and understanding.

Without hesitation, I pull out my phone and dial my tech team. In mere moments, they respond with a text containing an address.

I feel an impulse to rush to my car, to chase after her right away, but I pause, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Patience, I remind myself. I can afford her a bit of time. Let her be the one to come back to me.

*****

**Gemma**
**1/11**
**18:34**

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

A sudden, furious pounding on the door jolts me from my slumber. I blink, my mind struggling to shake off the remnants of sleep as I yawn and sit up.

These past two weeks have blurred together in a fog of confusion and sorrow, and I feel as if I’m just beginning to emerge from its depths.

I had hoped that Cassian would come looking for me, but that hope shattered like glass after the first few days. He never came.

Now, all I want is to piece my life back together, to find some semblance of normalcy again.

As I step into the kitchen, I notice Zina’s purse is missing, a clear sign that she’s out on one of her late-night escapades. I assume she’s forgotten her keys, so I head to the door and pull it open, clad only in a black camisole nightgown that clings to my skin.

To my surprise, it isn’t Zina standing there. It’s Cassian.

He finally decided to come for me.

“Cassian?” My voice is sharp, my spine straightening as drowsiness evaporates in an instant. Despite the anger brewing within me, a flicker of hope ignites at the sight of him. Is he here to fight for me? “Why are you here?”

The air shifts, enveloping me in his intoxicating scent—wild and free, reminiscent of a summer night by the sea. But there’s something else mingling with it. Is that… perfume?

“Leave Blackwell Industries out of your little emotional outbursts,” Cassian growls, his tone laced with irritation. “Telling people I have a secret wife? Is that amusing to you?”

“You do have a wife,” I retort, bitterness seeping into my words.

Until those papers are signed, I remind myself, but then clarity strikes, and I want to smack myself for my own foolishness. I want to smack him, too, just for good measure.

“Holly crap, Cassian. You waited two weeks to confront me about this?”

So that’s it. He’s here to vent his frustration over my little prank, nursing that anger like a wound for all this time. I can almost picture him in the office, stewing in his thoughts, that unmistakable scent of Reyna’s perfume clinging to him.

My heart shatters anew, and the pain cuts deeper than ever before.

Hope is a cruel mistress, only serving to deepen the wounds each time it’s dashed.

He hasn’t even mentioned the divorce papers, making my decision to leave them behind for him feel like a childish stunt.

I inhale deeply, steeling myself as I meet his eyes, trying to summon the coldness I need. “I’m still your wife—legally. I’m entitled to half of our marital properties until a judge says otherwise. That includes Blackwell Industries. If you don’t want me to involve it in… what did you call it? My ‘emotional outbursts?’… then sign the—”

Before I can finish my sentence, Cassian grips my waist with a fierce urgency, pulling me against him.

“You think I’m going to let you take half of everything my grandfather built?” Cassian snaps, his voice low and dangerous.

One hand presses firmly against my back, anchoring me to him, while the other grips my chin, forcing me to look up into his piercing gaze. “Are you finally revealing your endgame? Proving that you’re not the obedient little rabbit my grandfather thinks you are?”

I should push him away, after everything he’s put me through the last time we were this close. But a spark ignites within me, and for a moment, my mind goes blank, consumed by the heat radiating from his body.

He lets out a cold laugh, his finger trailing down my cheek, igniting a war of emotions within me.

“Not a rabbit. You’re a vulture, an opportunist, just like the rest of them.”

I can’t help but feel the pull of desire, even as I resent him for it. I try to push against him, seeking to create space, but he holds me firm, unyielding.

“I’m not like them.”

By “them,” I refer to his family—his aunts, uncles, cousins.

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