The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 409

Chapter 409

Gemma’s POV

Mikhail’s hand is warm and steady at the small of my back as we move through the steps, swaying to the rhythm.

Suddenly, he leans in, his breath a tickle against my ear. “Your ex-husband is on approach. At ten o’clock. And he looks… volcanic.”

I stiffen, my head turning just as a large, familiar hand clamps down on Mikhail’s shoulder and shoves, hard. Mikhail stumbles back a step, his balance impeccable even in surprise.

Cassian steps into the space between us, “You’d better not be messing with me!”

Mikhail’s eyes, usually so easygoing, flash with a cold. alertness. My own breath hitches. I know that look. I see his hand twitch, his arm bending at an angle that means only one thing… he’s reaching for the concealed holster at his waist.

“Mikhail, don’t!”

The words are out in a sharp, panicked whisper. I lunge forward, not at Cassian, but at Mikhail, my own hand slapping down over his wrist, pressing it firmly against his side.

He looks from Cassian’s furious face to mine, the conflict

clear in his eyes. After a tense second, he forces his hand to relax, letting it fall away.

I make a mental note, my heart still hammering: I have to get that gun away from him. Permanently.

Cassian’s attention is fully on me now, “I need to talk to you.”

The last thing Dream International needs is a brawl at its anniversary gala. I give a tight, reluctant nod.

“Fine.”

I shoot Mikhail a stand down look and follow Cassian as he cuts a path through the crowd toward the French doors that lead to the gardens.

Outside, the air is scented with night-blooming jasmine and damp earth. A mosquito buzzes near my ear. I swat at it irritably. A moment later, a small insect repellent spray is being offered to me, held in Cassian’s hand.

I stare at it, then at him. Since when does Cassian Blackwell carry bug spray? The mundane consideration is more disorienting than his anger.

I take it, give a quick, perfunctory spray around my ankles, and hand it back. “Alright,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “What is this about?”

He just stands beside me, his gaze sweeping over my face as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “Gemma,” he says finally, his voice quiet. “How long did you plan to keep this from me?”

My heart gives a hard, painful thud. Which ‘this’? There’s a whole encyclopedia of secrets!

I force my expression to remain blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Still pretending?”

The question isn’t angry, it’s almost weary.

I take a steadying breath. “I’m not pretending. I genuinely don’t know which particular secret you’re referring to.”

His hand dips into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. For a wild, irrational second, I think of Mikhail, and my muscles tense, preparing for a weapon.

But what he pulls out is a simple, elegant rectangle of white cardstock. He holds it up, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

My blood runs cold.

Cassian’s eyes lock onto mine. “Explain. Who is Moonlight?”

The last time he asked this, he was accusing Zina. Who is he assuming now?

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