The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 515

< The Don Tore Up Our Divorce

Chapter 515

Gemma’s POV

I’ve always been paranoid about taking medication in public. In the age of smartphones and instant outrage, the last thing I need is a grainy video of me popping pills trending online with a vicious, speculative caption. It’s a fear that now feels both trivial and horrifically prescient.

Inside the cramped, sterile bathroom stall, the air feels thick. This is it. I unzip the inner pocket of my bag, my fingers closing around the small, cold plastic bottle. My heart is a frantic bird against my ribs. I twist the cap, shake out a single pill–a tiny, beige thing that holds so much hope and terror -and dry–swallow it, the bitter taste a fleeting punishment. Then, before I can lose my nerve, I hold the bottle out to Zina.

She takes it, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s this

for?” she asks, her tone more curious than accusatory.

I don’t answer with words. Instead, I dig into my bag again and pull out the folded paper pharmacy insert, the one with the clinical instructions and stark warnings I haven’t had thes

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courage to throw away. I hand it to her, my hand trembling slightly.

She takes the paper, her eyes scanning the text. I watch her face, a live broadcast of dawning horror. Her expression shifts from puzzlement to concentration, to disbelief, then to a sharp, stunned comprehension as her gaze snags on a specific line—likely the drug’s indication for post–exposure prophylaxis for HIV. Her eyes fly wide. The bottle nearly slips from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

“Gemma, you…” Her voice is a breathless whisper. The unspoken question hangs between us: How is this possible?

I take the bottle back from her slack grip, securing it in my bag. “Now you know,” I say, my voice hollow. “Now you know why I’ve been… keeping my distance. I didn’t want you anywhere near it. Near me.”

Zina’s mind is visibly whirling, trying to catch up, to find a foothold in this nightmare. Then logic pierces the shock. “No, wait,” she says, grabbing my wrist gently, her eyes searching mine. “This medication… it’s for after exposure, right? PEP. So… you’re not positive. You don’t know yet.”

Her grasp on the distinction is my first flicker of relief. She 2/7

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understands the nuance. I nod, a jerky movement. “Yes. Twenty–eight days of this. Then… we test.

The relief that floods her features is so profound it’s almost painful to watch. “Oh, thank god,” she breathes, her shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, that’s… that’s manageable. You just take the pills. You’ll be fine. Don’t spiral. We’ll get tested in twenty–eight days, and it’ll be negative. It’s going to be okay.” She’s talking as much to reassure herself as me, her words tumbling out in a frantic, supportive stream.

Sesing her like this–scared but instantly switching to fight mods, to planning mode–sends a sharp pang of guilt through me. “I’m sorry, I whisper, the apology tearing from a raw place. “I didn’t want to lay this on you. I was trying to… to protect you from the worry?

“Protect me?” she echoes, her voice rising with a mix of fear and fierce loyalty. “Gemma, you can’t protect me from you! You don’t get to keep something like this to yourself!” She’s shaken, I can see she has no idea what to do, but her primary emotion isn’t disgust or fear–it’s anger at my secrecy. As we leave the stifling bathroom, she turns to me, her expression hardening into something determined and fierce.

Who she demands, her voice low and deadly serious, “did 317

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this to you?”

She knows. This isn’t an accident. This is an attack.

“William’s brother,” I answer flatly.

A familiar, cold fury ignites in her eyes. “Him again,” she snarls. “I’m calling Jeremy. Right now. If Jeremy can’t find him, I’ll have Jace and Molly start digging. We’ll turn over every rock-”

“No!” The word is sharp, desperate. I grab her arm. “Please. I don’t want Molly and Jace to know. Not yet.” The circle of

people who know is already too wide, a burden I can feel

expanding. Molly and Jace are back home, living normal lives. I can’t drag them into this orbit of dread.

Zina studies my face, sees the real fear there; not just of the

virus, but of the spreading stain of the secret.

After a tense moment, she relents, but only partially. “Fine,” she says, her jaw tight. “I just need a location. I won’t tell them why.” It’s a compromise, but her resolve is clear. The

hunt is on.

Cassian’s POV

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Mikhail and I pull up to a remote villa on the edge of

nowhere. The landscape is desolate, scrubland stretching to distant hills. The only structure for miles, it’s the perfect place for a conversation no one will ever hear. The air is still and silent, heavy with implication.

We approach the reinforced door and ring the bell. A man in a dark suit and opaque sunglasses answers. He recognizes me immediately. “Mr. Shawn,” he says with a deferential nod, stepping aside to let us enter.

Inside, the villa is unnervingly bright, all white walls and clean lines, a stark contrast to the grim purpose it currently serves. It feels more like a sterile gallery than a prison. On the first floor, the space is almost empty. A single modern sofa faces a lone wooden chair. On that chair sits our guest, a black hood pulled over his head, his hands bound securely

behind him.

Mikhail and I settle onto the sofa. I give a slight nod to one of the suited men standing guard. He steps forward and yanks

the hood off.

Erik–William’s younger brother–blinks rapidly, squinting against the sudden, brutal light. As his vision adjusts, his eyes

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find us. Recognition flashes, followed instantly by the cold understanding of his predicament. He tries to laugh, a bitte defiant sound, but the towel gagging him turns it into a choked, guttural wheeze, a grotesque mix of mockery and despair.

Once his muffled amusement subsides, I signal again. The bodyguard removes the sodden towel from his mouth.

don’t waste time. “Who sent you after Gemma?” My voice is flat, demanding. I want a name, a direction for my rage.

Erik tilts his head, a smirk twisting his swollen lips. “The great

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