The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 453

Reyna's POV 

The last shred of control I’m clinging to snaps. The dam breaks. I collapse back onto the thin hospital mattress, the sobs wracking my body, ugly and uncontrollable. It’s not just the pain in my wrist. It’s the sheer, degrading horror of it all.

Abel. I went to him for one reason: his money. I calculated it perfectly. He was old, sterile. I thought I’d just have to be a pretty, silent companion. A living portrait on his arm. I wouldn’t have to let his withered hands touch me. It was a clean, if distasteful, transaction.

I never expected the monster underneath the bespoke suits. The kind of pervert who gets his pleasure not from touch, but from spectacle. From watching. The memory of that room, the strange men, Abel’s cold, observing eyes—it makes my skin crawl even now. I was in a daze for days after. The only thing that kept me from truly breaking was the endgame: Abel dies, I inherit everything. Then, finally cleansed by wealth and power, I could go to Cassian. We could be together.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

The irony is so vicious it’s almost funny. Abel knew, of course. I wanted to get rid of it immediately. I can’t carry some stranger’s seed, some faceless monster’s child. It’s a contamination. But Abel… he forbade it. He actually wants the brat born. He talks about recognizing it as his godchild. That’s when I knew for sure. The man isn’t just old; he’s utterly, completely insane.

I tried everything. Every trick, every old wives’ tale to miscarry. But he has eyes everywhere. His people watch my every move, my every meal. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage, forced to nurture the evidence of my own violation.

So I chose the only exit left that was still mine to take. I waited until he was away, and I took a razor to my wrists. I meant it. I feel tainted, ruined for Cassian. I don’t want this life. And yet… here I am. Alive. Saved. Again.

The door opens again, but it’s not a nurse. Men in black, moving with silent efficiency. Abel’s hounds. Fear, cold and sharp, shoots through me. I scramble back against the headboard, curling into myself. “What are you going to do?!” My voice is a terrified shriek.

The lead man speaks, his tone devoid of inflection. “Mr. Carrington has a proposition. Give birth to the child. He will provide one billion dollars upon delivery. If you are amenable, he will marry you. Upon his death, the remainder of the estate transfers to you.”

I stare, my sobs choking off. The numbers swim in my head. A billion. Marriage. The entire estate. My shock must be plain on my face. Why? Why is this decaying old man so obsessed with this bastard child?

“Reyna, don’t!” Rhett’s voice cuts in, desperate. He’s still here, pleading. “Don’t make a mistake you’ll regret forever! Get rid of it, and I’ll take you away. We can start over, leave all this behind!”

He doesn’t understand. There is no ‘starting over’ for me. There’s only moving forward, on my terms, to the pinnacle I deserve. I don’t even look at him. My mind is whirring, calculating.

“Did he really say that?” I ask the bodyguard, my voice steadier now.

A nod.

“I’ll agree,” I say, the decision crystallizing with terrifying speed. “But I need it in writing. A binding contract.”

Rhett’s face… it’s a picture of horrified disbelief. “Reyna, have you lost your mind? Do you hear what you’re saying?”

I finally turn my gaze on him, all my fury and disdain focused into a single look. “My life is none of your concern!” I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much, to be lectured by a lovesick fool now.

Rhett’s POV

She’s yanked the IV needle from her arm. Not carefully, but with a violent, terrifying jerk. A bead of bright red blood wells up at the puncture site. Her eyes are wild, defiant, holding the disconnected tube like a weapon. “Don’t you dare!” she hisses. “If you go, I’ll die right here. Right now.”

My blood runs cold. She’s weak, her system is fragile from blood loss. Yanking the line like that… the shock alone… She’s not bluffing. The woman I love is holding her own life hostage.

Pure, unadulterated terror seizes me. “Okay! Okay, I won’t go!” The words tumble out, frantic. I raise my hands, palms out, as if soothing a feral animal. “Just… let go of the needle, Reyna. Please. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here.”

She watches me, judging my sincerity. Slowly, her white-knuckled grip relaxes. The IV line drops to the sheets. I’m left standing there, a cold sweat drenching my back, my heart hammering against my ribs. I’m trapped.

I sink back into the chair by her bed. I open my mouth, but what is left to say? I’ve pleaded, reasoned, bargained. I have nothing left in my arsenal. The silence stretches, thick with her victory and my defeat.

Then, she speaks, her voice quiet now, almost childlike.

“Could you call Cassian for me?” she asks, her eyes wide, pleading in a different way. “I just want to hear his voice.”

The request is a final, exquisite cruelty. It feels like she’s reached into my chest, wrapped her fingers around my still-beating heart, and squeezed until it shattered into dust. 

I just look at her, completely paralyzed, the pieces of me scattered across the sterile hospital floor.