The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 456

Chapter 456
Cassian's POV 

The moment the woman asks her question, my entire body goes still. Shameless? If pursuing the person you love against all odds, against their own resistance, is shameless… then what does that make me? 

I flew across an ocean because I couldn’t stay away. I am kneeling in the hallways and buying her favourite desserts from foreign patisseries. We are the same then, just fools clinging to a ghost of a chance, embarrassing ourselves in the process. 

The similarity feels bitter.

Gemma doesn’t answer Linda, she stays silent. If I weren’t here, she would probably try to clarify, but with me standing beside her, watching, waiting—she says nothing. 

Her silence is its own answer, and it’s a blade turned on me.

Linda lets out a hollow laugh, lost in her own regret. She talks about school days, about lost time. Gemma, trying to keep the peace as always, suggests she should talk to Mikhail after the surgery. 

It’s a gentle brush-off.

The surgery stretches on, over ten hours. Mr. Smith’s warning echoes in my ears: the bullet is a lethal tenant, eviction is perilous. 

Gemma waits with a stillness that speaks of grim preparedness, not hope. I wait beside her, a sentinel to her vigil.

Then, it happens. On a trip to the restroom, Gemma stumbles. From where I'm standing, I see her double over, hand flying to her abdomen. 

Her face drains of color, while a bolt of pure, undiluted terror seizes me. I’m moving before I’m aware of it, crossing the space in two strides.

“Gemma!” My hand is on her arm, her weight leaning into me. “Are you okay?”

She’s pale, breathing hard. The answer is clearly no. Without another thought, I scoop her into my arms. “Doctor!” My voice rings down the corridor, sharp with a command that warrants no delay. “Doctor!”

The medical staff gather together and she is wheeled away on a bed, and for a few terrifying minutes, I am utterly useless. When they let me back in, the crisis has passed. She’s paler but insists she’s fine. A normal contraction, they say.

“I’m fine, really!” 

She protests, but the protest is weak. She sees the worry I can’t hide, and her resistance falters.

They conduct an exam. Thankfully, the baby is fine. The words should bring relief, but they only make my resolve tougher. 

“Lie down,” I command, standing at the foot of the bed like a guard. “Don’t get up again.” 

She will not move from this spot, I will ensure it.

That’s when Linda reappears at the doorway, hesitant. “May… may I speak with Ms. Marino for a moment?”

My gaze slices to her. I don’t trust her. I don’t trust anyone alone with Gemma right now. 

“If there is something you want to say to Gemma and can't say it in front of me, then don't say such a thing at all.”

She flinches but steps in. Her eyes are fixed on Gemma, wide with a dawning horror. 

“I just want to know. Miss. Marino… are you pregnant?”

Gemma nods silently, giving her undeniable confirmation.

Linda’s face turns to ashes. The next question is inevitable, and the shoe she’s been holding finally drops. “Is… is it Mikhail’ baby?”

Gemma says nothing. She doesn’t look at me. She just… stays silent. The silence is louder than any admission. It’s a void where denial should be.

Linda processes it. Her features twist. Then, a low, broken laugh escapes her, a sound choked with a pain so profound it seems to vibrate in the sterile air. “I always thought… he had feelings for me. But it turns out I was just fooling myself. You and he… you already have a child together.”

Her words are not meant for me, but they hit me with the force of a physical blow. They carve out the same hollow space in my chest that Linda’s laugh is echoing from. You and he already have a child together. The confirmation I never wanted, delivered by a stranger’s shattered heart.

In that moment, looking at Linda’s devastated face, I don’t see Mikhail's ex-girlfriend. I see a mirror. We are both standing on the outside, looking in at a bond, a family—that excludes us completely. 

Despite all my sense of superiority, we are both the same after all.

The nurse’s demeanor shifts instantly to one of intense relief. “You’re Rh-negative? Come with me, quickly!”

“Wait!” Cassian’s hand shoots out, blocking my path. His face is pale, his eyes fierce. “She can’t! She’s pregnant!”

“It’s okay,” I say, meeting his gaze. “I can do this. Even pregnant women can donate blood.” I know this. I’ve checked. My health is good. And Mikhail’s life is literally hanging in the balance. I can’t stand here and do nothing.

He grabs my wrist, his grip firm. “Gemma…”

I pull my arm free, the motion sharp. “I have to do this.”

The determination in my voice must finally get through to him. I see the moment his resistance crumbles, replaced by a look of stunned, helpless realization. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect I would go this far for Mikhail.

In the donation room, the nurse preps the needle. “Miss, I’m in good shape,” I tell her. “Take the maximum amount.”

She gives a soft, professional chuckle. “Everyone has a limit. Taking too much could be dangerous, especially for you. Don’t worry, we’ll take just what’s needed.”

I close my eyes as the needle goes in, trying to ignore the slow, rhythmic filling of the blood bag beside me. When it’s done, I feel lightheaded but steady. Cassian is waiting right outside the door, his expression unreadable. The nurse takes the precious bag and rushes back into the theater.

Then, the final, agonizing wait. Three more hours. The clock ticks with excruciating slowness.

Finally, the light over the door winks out. The surgeon emerges, looking exhausted. “Who here is the patient’s family?”

Both Linda and I stand up. “I am,” we say in unison.

The doctor’s eyes flick between us. He recognizes me—I was the one who checked Mikhail in. He addresses me. “The surgery was very successful. However, he’s still in recovery. We must be vigilant for infection, but if we avoid that, he should make a full recovery.”

The relief is so profound it’s almost dizzying. It feels both like a miracle and the expected outcome of a brutal, tenacious fight.

“Thank you, doctor.”

Moments later, a nurse wheels Mikhail out. He’s conscious, but just barely. His eyes are slits, his skin the color of paper.  

Linda stares, her hand flying to her mouth.