The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 506

< The Don Tore Up Our Divorce

Chapter 506

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Gemma’s POV

I shoot him a glare that I hope conveys the full extent of his ridiculousness. “Can you go into the women’s restroom?”

He falls silent, properly chastised. He knows he can’t.

Inside the restroom, the sterile, tiled quiet is a relief. I find an empty stall and take care of my business. As I’m about to unlock the door to leave, a soft, hesitant knocking comes from the stall to my left.

“Um… excuse me?” A woman’s voice, young–sounding and flustered. “Do you… do you have any extra toilet paper? I’ve run out. I can’t… get out.”

It’s a classic, slightly absurd predicament. I’m not surprised. “I have some,” I reply. “Here, use this.” I pull the remainder of the small tissue pack from my purse and pass it under the narrow gap at the bottom of the stall door.

A hand with long, sharp, impeccably manicured nails–the kind that look like weapons–snakes out to grab it. One of those sharp tips catches on the tender skin of my inner wrist as she takes the pack.

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< Chapter 506

*Ow!” 1 gap, more from serprise than pain.

The woman immediately apologers, her voice dripping with contrition. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I was in such a hurry. Did I hurt you?”

1 examine my wrist. It’s just a faint, white scratch, no blood. “No, it’s fine,” I say softly, dismissing it. Helping a stranger in a bathroom bind isn’t unusual. I’m already moving to flush and leave.

Then her voice comes again, more urgent. “Miss? I, um… I had some of that new slimming water today. It’s… wreaking havoc. And I… I didn’t wear any underwear. Could you… possibly buy me a pair from the store? Please

I pause, my hand on the latch. I understand each individual word, but strung together, they form a sentence that makes absolutely no sense. Slimming water. No underwear. It’s so bizarre it circles back to being almost plausible in a world of fad diets and poor planning, but the request is wildly inappropriate.

“Please!” Her voice crack, edging on real tears. “You’re the only one who can help me right now?“)

I’m caught. It’s not that I’m hoarse. But I’m pregnant, tired. and the idea of navigating the sugermarket to guess a stranger’s underwear size is beyond my cual upucity for goodwill.

There has to be a better slutt

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< Chapter 506

“I’ll get a store employee to help you,” I offer, my tone firm but not unkind. “They can assist you properly.”

I don’t wait for her protest. I exit the stall, wash my hands thoroughly at the sink, watching the scratch on my wrist turn a faint pink under the water. Just as I’m drying my hands, a cleaner enters with her cart and supplies. Perfect. I quickly explain the situation in the end stall—a woman in distress, needing sanitary products and perhaps clothing assistance. The cleaner, a kind–faced older woman, nods understandingly and heads toward the stall, calling out softly.

My duty done, a wave of relief washes over me. I leave the

restroom.

The men’s room is directly across the narrow hallway. As I step out, I’m not looking where I’m going, my mind already on finding Cassian. I nearly collide with a man exiting the men’s

room.

“Oh, sorry-” I begin, looking up to offer an apology.

The words die in my throat.

“William?”

My brain short–circuits. What is William doing here? Grocery shopping too? But the thought lasts only a millisecond. The man looking down at me has William’s face, his build, his coloring. But the smile that plays on his lips is all wrong–cold, cruel, a 3/7

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< Chapter 506

mockery of William’s warmth. The eyes hold a malicious glint William’s never possessed.

In that frozen heartbeat, I know. This isn’t William.

The pieces snap together with terrifying clarity. “You’re William’s brother.” The words are a whisper. The half–brother. The one from the stories. The one who has tried to kill me.

The man’s eyebrow arches, impressed. “You’re not completely dumb.”

Every nerve in my body screams danger. I take several rapid steps back, putting distance between us, my gaze locked on him. My hand dives into my bag, fingers closing around the cool, hard handle of the utility knife I’ve carried since arriving in Florisdale. A lesson learned from too many “accidents.”

“What do you want?” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Stay back!” As I speak, I try to glance past him, toward the bustling checkout area, desperately hoping to see Cassian’s tall frame. No such luck. The crowd is a blur of strangers.

The man just grins, leaning in slightly as if to share a secret, his hand making a vague, taunting wave in front of my face. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drum.

He seems delighted by my fear, throwing his head back in a silent laugh. “You’re quite amusing,” he says, his voice a low, venomous purr. “I’m really curious to see how you’ll react when 4/7

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< Chapter 506

you realize you’re about to die.”

A cold dread, different from the initial shock, seeps into my bones. “What are you talking about?” I demand, my grip tightening on the knife in my bag. “If you don’t leave, I’ll scream.”

He raises both hands in a mocking gesture of surrender. “Don’t be hasty. Didn’t you just pass some toilet paper to a poor soul in the restroom?” His eyes drop pointedly to my wrist. “Your wrist got a little cut, didn’t it?”

The world tilts. The air leaves my lungs. How does he know? The answer crashes into me with the force of a truck. The woman in the stall. She was with him. It was a setup.

A sick, oily horror begins to uncoil in my stomach.

“Enjoy the feeling,” he continues, his smirk widening into something grotesque. “Of being infected with HIV. I imagine the later stages will be quite… unbearable. I really hope you can stay as pretty then as you are now.”

He delivers the line with theatrical relish, then turns and saunters away, melting into the stream of shoppers without a backward glance.

I stand rooted to the spot, the echoing tile of the restroom hallway suddenly feeling like a vacuum. The noise of the supermarket fades to a distant hum. His words ricochet inside 5/7

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<Chapter 506

my skull.

HIV.

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