The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 510

Chapter 510

Gemma’s POV

I’m not really interested in interior design right now. But Cassian is waiting for an answer, and so, I give a half–hearted reply.

“Just put it where the old one was.”

I try to put more space between us, to drift toward the stairs, but every time I shift, I feel Mikhail’s gaze as a warning.

Without saying a word, his words echo in my mind: “Don’t you dare retreat!”

Helplessly, I stay rooted, hoping Cassian won’t come any closer.

Once the last of the opulent new furniture is in place, he walks over with a soft smile and, without a moment’s

hesitation, takes my hand. His skin is warm, his grip firm. “You missed dinner. I asked William to bring something. You should eat something, at least a little.”

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because of me, because of my carelessness… the would be a living thing inside me, eating me alive.

regret

At the dining table, he finally lets go. I look at the beautiful food William has prepared, artfully arranged, but my stomach is a clenched fist. Still, I think of the tiny life inside me, utterly dependent. For the baby, I have to try.

My movements are painfully deliberate. I use a serving fork to transfer a small portion of pasta to my own plate, careful not to let my personal fork touch the communal dish. I eat tiny, mechanical bites. Normally, I’d have no such scruples with people I know. Now, I feel like an imposter at a royal banquet, every gesture constrained by an invisible, terrifying protocol.

“Gemma,” Cassian says, breaking the tense quiet. “I’m giving you a month’s leave. Just rest here, in Flroisdale. I’ve asked Zina to manage your… freelance inquiries for now.”

My eyes dart to Mikhail. He gives a slight, confirming nod.

He’s in on this. Of course. My current state is a liability in any work requiring focus or human interaction. Being sequestered in my room is the safest, least complicated

option.

Zina, having finally stabilized things with Jeremy and the

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When my phone lights up with her name, my breath catches. I stare at the screen, vibrating on the nightstand, torn between longing for her normalcy and terror of exposing her to my new, contaminated reality. The ringing stops. I let out a shaky breath of relief.

A second later, a text bubbles up.

[Hey, you! Ignoring me? Let’s get food tomorrow! I found this insane place with jerk chicken that will change your life!]

I can hear her voice in the words, bright and unburdened. The effort required to craft a reply feels Herculean. My fingers are lead.

[Mikhail says you’re on a break. GOOD. You need it,

especially now. What about a little island hopping? Molly and

Jace have the team handled. No stress!]

Even without my response, she chatters on digitally, filling the void as she always does, assuming I’ll chime in when I’m

ready. It’s our rhythm.

But I’m not ready. I may never be ready for this version of normal again. I close my eyes, reach out, and lock the phone

screen.

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it over my head, creating a dark, silent cave. Beneath the pillow, the phone continues to vibrate silently with her

persistent, cheerful plans, a distant echo from a world that no longer feels like mine.

Zina’s POV

By the next morning, my phone screen is still stubbornly blank. No reply. I stare at it, a deep frown creasing my forehead. That’s not like Gemma. Even at her most stressed, she’ll send a thumbs–up or a ‘later.’

Jeremy walks out of the bathroom, toweling his hair. “Richard’s finally cleaning up his own mess. I need to get back. The Opal Group won’t run itself.” He glances at me, still glued to my silent phone. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not leaving yet,” I say, my mind already shifting gears. “I’m going to check on Gemma. Spend a few days.”

The decision feels right as soon as I say it. Her radio silence is a blaring alarm.

Jeremy doesn’t argue, but he adds, in that infuriatingly practical tone of his, “Just… be careful. She’s pregnant. Don’t

get too crazy and jostle her. Cassian will have my head if anything happens.”

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through me. “Is your opinion of me that low?”

He sighs, the way he does when he knows he’s stepped in it

but isn’t entirely wrong. “It’s not about trust. It’s about… your

energy. It can be a lot.”

I just shoot him a withering look. Arguing is pointless. I get ready in a whirlwind, throwing things into an overnight bag. “Gemma didn’t answer last night. I’m going over there now. Don’t wait for me for dinner. And text me when you’re flying

back!” I call out as I head for the door.

I catch the tail end of his expression, a sort of resigned acceptance that he’s a very distant second priority in my world right now. If we hadn’t just been through the wringer with his father, he might actually be offended.

When I knock on the door of Cassian’s villa, it swings open to reveal the man himself. His face does a complicated little dance–surprise, weariness, a flicker of what might be relief.

I don’t give him time for pleasantries. I push past him into the foyer. “Where is she? She’s gone completely silent. What did you do?” My tone is all accusation.

He doesn’t try to stop me, just closes the door and nods

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I plop down on a surprisingly stiff new sofa and check my watch. Almost noon. “She’s pregnant,” I state, as if he needs the reminder. “Sleeping in is part of the job description. I’ll

wait.”

Just then, Donovan Shawn comes down the stairs. He sees me, gives a silent, grave nod that feels like it carries the weight of the world, and then turns right back around and heads upstairs without a word. The atmosphere is… thick.

That leaves only one other person in the unnervingly quiet living room: Mikhail Beckinsale. He’s lounging in an armchair, lazily flipping through a glossy magazine as if he’s at a spa,

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