The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 468

Chapter 468
Meredith’s POV

The silence after Gemma’s declaration is heavy. 

She has just drawn a line in the sand with the unwavering certainty of a daughter’s love. 

After Charles died, Lisette had transferred both their household registrations. She severed the legal tie herself. She was free, and in death, she would remain free. 

If anyone, even with good intentions, tried to stamp the Bernard name on her now, it would be a betrayal. Lisette would be upset.

I look at Gemma’s face, set in firm resolve, and the part of me that is all big sister wants to wrap her in my arms. The part that is a Bernard heiress knows when to retreat.

“Alright,” I say, my voice gentle, conceding the ground. “If you’re not willing, then let’s drop the matter.” I won’t pressure her. I understand this is an earthquake, reshaping her entire world. She needs time to survey the new, unstable landscape. Pushing now would only make her dig her heels in deeper.

But there is another question, one my family across the ocean is burning to have answered. I choose my words carefully, treading on eggshells. “Then, Gemma… when do you think you might have time to come back to the Bernard family with us? Just to meet everyone.”

I can picture the scene at home: the shock, the tears, the frantic joy. They are desperate to see her, to lay eyes on the sister, the niece, the cousin they never knew they had.

Gemma doesn’t meet my eye. She looks down at her untouched water glass, tracing the condensation with a finger. “Can you give me some time to think about it?”

The hesitation is a wall between us. 

I can see the calculations behind her eyes. She never imagined this. In her experience, wealthy families are gilded cages, intricate webs of expectation and judgment, like the Blackwells. If it weren’t for old Mr. Blackwell’s protection, her life there would have been even more difficult. She fears we are the same. She doubts our motives, wonders if this ‘homecoming’ comes with hidden strings. And the most practical part of her, the survivor, knows she can support herself now. She doesn’t need a new family. Need makes you vulnerable.

I force a smile, though it feels tight on my face. “Okay,” I say, too brightly. “Let’s not talk about this for now. Let’s eat first!”

The meal passes in a stilted pantomime of normality. Gemma moves food around her plate, eating little. The weight in her heart is a palpable thing at the table, a guest of dishonor. Finally, she sets her fork down with a soft clink.

“I’m a bit tired,” she says, her voice flat. “I want to go back and rest.”

Her face is carefully blank, but the exhaustion in her eyes is real. It’s the weariness of the soul, not the body. I nod, my own heart aching for her. “Then I’ll have Harry take you back!”

Before Harry can even push his chair back, Cassian speaks from beside her. His presence has been a quiet, watchful shadow all evening. “I’ll take Gemma back.”

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