The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 91

**Before Rain Touches Earth: Memories Return With Gentle Warmth**
**by Eli Dane**
**Chapter 91**

**Gemma**

As I stand in the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of cooking envelops me. My fingers reach for a box of shrimp, a reflex honed over countless meals prepared for Cassian. Yet, as I twist the lid open, a pang of hesitation strikes me.

Cassian has been entrenched in his work for years, his life a whirlwind of responsibilities that keep him away from home. The weight of managing shipments at the warehouse, piloting crucial cargo missions, and navigating the treacherous waters of turf wars with rival mafia families consumes him. Each day brings a new challenge, a new crisis to resolve.

And that’s not even touching on the legitimate businesses he oversees, which require just as much vigilance and dedication.

With the smuggling operation growing increasingly hectic, the stress began to take its toll. It manifested physically, and soon he was battling a bleeding ulcer. It’s a sobering reminder that even the most formidable mafia bosses are not immune to the frailties of the human body.

The doctor’s advice had been clear: he needed to drastically reduce his intake of oily and spicy foods. A shift to a lighter diet was essential to prevent further damage.

The first recommendation, however, had been something Cassian found almost laughable: he needed to work on minimizing the stress in his life. I can still picture the way he chuckled, a sound that echoed with disbelief.

I’ve diligently noted all his food preferences and the dietary guidelines from his doctor in my phone, but after three years of marriage, they’ve become second nature to me. I know them by heart, each detail etched in my mind.

Yet, as I reflect on this, a bittersweet realization washes over me. While I can recall every nuance of Cassian’s likes and dislikes, he remains blissfully unaware of my own culinary passion.

Since my childhood, I’ve reveled in the heat of spicy food; the fiery thrill of chili igniting my taste buds has always been a source of joy. But in the years since we became a couple, I’ve adjusted my own preferences to align with his. It was partly to ease the burden on our kitchen staff, but also a desperate attempt to reshape myself into the kind of wife he might genuinely desire.

I suddenly become acutely aware of how long it has been since I’ve indulged in my beloved spicy dishes.

With a determined flick of my wrist, I discard the shrimp and reach for a box of crushed chili peppers, eagerly mixing them into the pasta. The vibrant red hue of the chili flakes dances against the creamy strands. Next, I slather on some savory meat sauce, followed by an indulgent layer of shredded cheese, letting it melt into a gooey delight.

As I place two plates of pasta on the table, Cassian slides into the chair beside me. His brow furrows at the sight of the fiery red pasta, each strand glistening with crushed chili flakes. He instinctively leans closer, taking a tentative sniff, only to erupt in a fit of coughs.

“Why does it smell so spicy?” he asks, his voice laced with trepidation.

I can hardly contain my excitement as I prepare to dive into my meal. The moment I take my first bite, the heat explodes on my tongue like a burst of fireworks—bold, intense, and utterly exhilarating. Oh, how I’ve missed this sensation!

Sneaking a glance at Cassian, I can’t help but tease him a little.

After finishing my plate of pasta, I take it to the kitchen, feeling a warmth in my heart. As I start to ascend the stairs to my room, my phone buzzes, pulling me back to reality. It’s Jace.

“Hey, Gemma, I’ve got a project I can’t take on. Can you handle it?”

I hadn’t intended to take on any new clients today, and my delay in responding prompts Jace to elaborate.

“The commission is pretty lucrative. I’ve arranged a meeting at five p.m. today at the Grand Hotel, if you’re interested.”

I glance at the clock, noting it’s nearly four. The drive from Blackwell Manor to the Grand Hotel will take about forty minutes. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” I reply, my mind already racing with thoughts of the upcoming meeting.

I hang up, momentarily heading upstairs, but then I pivot back to the entrance, slipping off my slippers and pulling on my shoes.

“Where are you going?” Cassian’s voice cuts through the air, a hint of curiosity lacing his tone.

A sly smirk spreads across my face as I respond, “I’m off to work.”