The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 457

Chapter 457
Linda’s POV 

In the past, Mikhail was a force of nature. A reckless, untamed spirit who laughed in the face of danger. Seeing him now, pale and broken on this sterile gurney, is like watching a mountain crumble. The contrast is so violent it steals my breath. Tears, hot and unbidden, spill down my cheeks. I can’t stop them.

I rush forward before the nurses can stop me, my fingers closing around his hand. It’s cold, lifeless. A shiver runs through me. “Mikhail,” I whisper, my voice thick. “How are you feeling? It’s me. Linda. Do you remember me?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Gemma just standing there. She looks… impassive. It’s as if having surgery will make him lose his memory, her expression seems to say, dripping with silent, judgmental practicality. Like this is all some silly soap opera. The indifference stings.

But I don’t care about her. My world has narrowed to his face, his closed eyes, the faint pulse I feel under my thumb.

Then Cassian Blackwell, of all people, gives her a shove. I hear his low, goading voice. “Aren’t you going over? That’s the father of your baby!” 

“You used to rage over Reyna… now what happened?”

He mutters under his breath. 

Gemma, looking exasperated, finally approaches. Her posture is stiff, her voice flat. “Mikhail, are you okay?” 

It’s a world away from the gentle, worried tone I used.

And Mikhail… he simply nods at her. A tiny, almost imperceptible movement. Then, with a visible, painful effort, he uses his other hand to pull his fingers from my grasp.

The rejection is so blunt, so physical, it feels like a slap. I stumble back a step, my own hand falling empty to my side. The tears come faster, a hot flood of humiliation and hurt. The nurse, sensing the tension, quickly steps in. “Let’s get him to his room. He needs rest!”

I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose myself, and follow the entourage into the private room. Gemma trails behind, Cassian a silent, looming shadow beside her.

Mikhail is awake, but the drugs are still holding him. He lies there, quiet, his eyes heavy-lidded. It’s my chance. I flutter around him, trying to be useful, to reclaim some ground. “Are you cold? Should I wipe your hands? Does it hurt anywhere?” My voice is a desperate, gentle hum.

Gemma and Cassian just stand by the wall like statues, contributing nothing.

Cassian speaks, his voice cutting through my fussing. He’s talking to Gemma. “Now that the surgery was a success, you can rest. You’ve still got a baby to think about.”

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