The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 443

Chapter 443
Gemma's POV

Cassian’s sudden, mundane question is a splash of cold water. I jolt back to the present, away from the spectral vigil. I nod, the motion feeling mechanical. “Packed? Mostly.”

“I’ll take you to the airport.” He states it, doesn’t ask, his eyes already checking the time on his watch. The window for departure is closing.

My gaze is pulled back, magnet-like, to the glowing red sign over the operating room doors. It’s been hours. The silence from within is more terrifying than any noise. Can Mr. Smith’s ravaged body endure this marathon?

“Gemma.” Cassian’s voice is firm, pulling my focus back to him. “If you don’t leave now, Mikhail will call you.” He understands the tether of my other promise. Seeing my conflict, he offers a solution, a lifeline. “I’ll have Adam stay here. I’ll come back after dropping you off. I’ll let you know the moment Mr. Smith is out of surgery. Okay?”

He stands in front of me, his hands coming up to rub my arms, a gentle, warming friction against the chill that has seeped into my bones. The gesture is so simple, so unexpectedly tender, it almost undoes me.

I let out a deep, shuddering sigh. The logic is inescapable. I have to go. “Okay,” I whisper.

We drive back to Urban Lane in a silence that isn’t hostile, just heavy. He helps me haul my suitcase down from the apartment. As I’m locking my door, the one across the hallway opens.

Jace.

He stands there, a silent figure in his own doorway, his eyes finding mine. The memory of our last conversation is a fresh bruise between us. Cassian, perceptive, takes my suitcase with a murmured “I’ll be in the car” and heads downstairs, giving us a sliver of privacy.

Jace’s gaze follows Cassian’s retreating back, then returns to me. His voice, when he speaks, is quieter than I’ve ever heard it, stripped of its usual warmth. “Have you forgiven him?”

The question isn’t about logistics or travel. It’s about the heart. The heart I’ve just spent the night leaning on.

I shake my head, the motion feeling true. “No, Jace. I don’t know when I’ll be back from Florisdale.” I take a step closer, needing him to understand this isn’t about choosing someone else. “I know my selfishness hurt you. I’m sorry for that. I truly hope you find your own happiness.” I can’t leave with this wound still open between us.

He just looks at me, his lips pressed into a thin line, a world of unspoken feeling in his eyes.

I close the last of the distance and wrap my arms around him in a firm, sincere hug. “Jace,” I say into his shoulder, my voice thick. “Whether you believe it or not, I have always considered you a trusted friend. And I always will.”

His body is stiff for a moment, then I feel a slight, almost imperceptible sag of resignation. As I pull back, he says, his voice steadier now, “I’ll accompany you to the airport.”

Even though Cassian is driving, Jace needs to perform this last rite of friendship. I don’t have the heart to refuse.

*

The airport is a vortex of noise and light, a jarring contrast to the hushed anxiety of the hospital. In the short-term parking lot, I see them: Zina, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Molly, looking nervously excited. Jeremy is a tall, watchful shadow just behind Zina. And beside Zina… is a small, sleek suitcase.

I raise an eyebrow as we approach. “Are you heading for a honeymoon?” I ask, forcing a lightness I don’t feel.

Zina reaches out and gives my arm a playful slap. “No, it’s not for a honeymoon!” She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Peter has been making suspicious trips to Florisdale lately. Jeremy thinks something’s off. So, I’m going to follow him.”

The pieces click. My eyes widen. “You’re going to Florisdale? With Jeremy?”

Once Mikhail has strutted off toward the check-in counters, Cassian turns back to me. His voice is low, serious again. “I’ll keep you updated on Mr. Smith’s condition.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. He didn’t have to involve himself. He’s doing it for me.

“Gemma,” he continues, his gaze intent. “I’m not stopping you from going. I know you have your plans. But I hope… once you’re there, you’ll take some time to think about us. About our relationship.”

The request is earnest, stripped of his usual arrogance. If she goes abroad, she’ll have time to think. I don’t want to let go.

Maybe it’s the fatigue, maybe it’s the emotional whiplash of the last 24 hours, but I don’t feel my usual reflexive opposition. A period of distance, of quiet reflection, doesn’t sound like the worst idea. I nod. “Alright. I’ll think about it.” The internal caveat follows immediately: If I’m in a good mood and have nothing else to do. If I’m busy, it’ll have to wait.

Finally, I turn to Jace and Molly. “Don’t worry,” I tell them, injecting confidence into my voice. “We’re always a team. If I decide to stay and work there, I’ll find a way to get you both over.” I reach out and pinch Molly’s cheek, the familiar gesture a tiny anchor to normalcy. We’re adults. This isn’t forever.

Jace’s pain is still visible, a shadow in his eyes, but he’s holding it together with a quiet dignity that makes my heart ache.

Mikhail returns, boarding passes in hand. “Gemma, let’s go!” he calls, waving from near the security entrance.

I have about forty minutes. I give one last, long look at the three of them—Cassian with his unresolved intensity, Jace with his quiet hurt, Molly with her hopeful loyalty—a triptych of my complicated life here.

Then I turn, hoist my carry-on bag higher on my shoulder, and walk toward Mikhail and the line for security, leaving them standing in a loose, silent cluster behind me.