The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 490

Chapter 490

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Gemma’s POV

Zina’s voice through the phone delivers the truth in blunt, staggering blows. I stand in the middle of the quiet villa, the morning sun feeling too bright, too ordinary for the revelation.

ley was never Peter’s lover. The obsession that brought him

Florisdale, that made him choose her over his

s from a ghost. She is the living image of his first in from his youth–Haley’s mother. A relationship by family pressure. Peter married Jeremy’s mother, his empire, but that first love, it seems, never faded. Seeing ey was like seeing her resurrected. Of course the baby isn’t s. It belongs to some other careless rich man, which explains Haley’s desperate, money–focused boasts to Zina at the salon.

The story is so convoluted, so tragically clichéd, it takes me a full minute to find my voice. “So… Peter is being nice to Haley now to atone for what he did to her mother in the past?” It’s the only thread of sense I can grasp.

“Basically,” Zina confirms, her tone flat with exhaustion.

“Then why not just be nice to her mother directly?”

1/7

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to the bone raising Haley alone overseas. Died of overwork.”

The tragedy completes its sickening circle. Peter’s guilt, his midlife crisis, has manifested in this dangerous, delusional devotion to a stranger who resembles his ghost.

person

“And Jeremy?” I ask, pushing past the soap opera to the who matters. “He didn’t damage his brain, did he?” The irony is bitter–if Peter’s obsession actually broke the brilliant mind of his true heir…

“He’s fine. Just a concussion and some blood. The doctor says he’ll be back to normal in a few days.” The relief in her voice is palpable.

I share it. Jeremy is a friend, in his own chaotic way. The Wesley family drama, however, is a quicksand pit I have no intention of stepping into.

The project with Rehena is finally, officially, complete. The file is submitted, approved. Oliver Rennet is effusive in his praise, shaking my hand in his lavish office. “Ms. Marino, a stellar result. I hope we have the opportunity to work together again in the future.”

I offer a professional smile. “Thank you, Mr. Rennet. Though in the future, I believe I prefer to work on projects indep dently’s

My gono flicks to Dal

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nothing. During this forced collaboration, she’s been confronted with a simple, undeniable fact: my work ethic and focus surpass hers. It’s a truth she hates but can no longer dismiss. Even if she never wants to see me again, the bite has gone out of her sarcasm. She’s been… neutralized.

Later, at home, a question that’s been nagging at me finds its moment. William is in the kitchen, prepping dinner. “William,” I begin, keeping my voice casual. “Did you put something in the food Rehena ate that day?”

I remember the beautiful scallop dish that was whisked away from me, served to her by mistake.

He doesn’t pause in his chopping. “Those things won’t put her life in danger. At most, she’d be uncomfortable for a few days.”

His easy admission surprises me. I expected denial. “Why did you do it?”

He sets down the cleaned broccoli and looks at me, his expression straightforward. “I thought you said she bullied you at work. This little punishment is what she deserves.”

The statement lands with a cold weight. Did he do this for me? A flicker of unease, something close to alarm, stirs in my chest. “William,” I say, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t do that kind of thing again.” Rehena and I have our rivalry, but if I win by using the same underhanded tactics she employs,

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He doesn’t reply directly. Instead, he walks to the sink with the broccoli. “Gemma, doesn’t this broccoli look fresh and clean?”

The subject change is jarring. I look at the vibrant green florets. “Yes.”

“But broccoli often has the most worms,” he says calmly,

running water over it. “Tiny ones, hidden deep in the florets. If you don’t blanch it thoroughly in hot water, they’re impossible to wash away.”

I frown. I’ve heard that before, though I’ve never cooked much

to notice.

“So, Gemma,” he continues, his tone deceptively light, almost instructive. “Something can look perfectly clean on the surface, but be dirty enough to require a very hot, very thorough wash.”

He meets my eyes then, and beneath the calm, I see a glint of something hard, something stubborn and possessive. It sends a faint, unwelcome chill down my spine.

“Anyway,” I say, breaking the strange tension, “thank you for… wanting to stand up for me. But you don’t need to do anything to her again. After this project, she and I will have nothing to do with each other.”

He is silent for a long moment, the only sound the sizzle as he hurns on the stove. Finally, softly, he says, “Okay.”

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I return to the villa with the final, substantial payment wire notification on my phone, a tangible reward for the completed chaos. Pushing the door open, I’m met with a sight that makes me question my sanity.

Cassian and Mikhail are on the living room floor, facing the large TV, game controllers in hand. Their expressions are identically grave, jaws set, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration. How can the two of them possibly be co–existing like this?

A second later, Mikhail makes a sharp, jerking motion with his controller. On screen, Cassian’s character plummets into a digital abyss.

“Mikhail! Are you even a man?” Cassian snarls, throwing his

controller on the cushion.

Mikhail just grins, utterly unrepentant. “Winning on the battlefield is what matters! All’s fair in love and war, and this, my friend, is war.”

They glare at each other, the air crackling with competitive hostility. I brace myself for a physical fight.

But then Mikhail turns, spotting me, and his expression shifts into one of cheerful inquiry. “Gemma! You’re back. Pret:58

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