Right after I spoke, I got up to grab my suitcase and walked past him. But all of a sudden, he stood up too and wrapped one arm around my waist, pulling me straight into his chest.
I hadn’t even figured out what was happening when I stumbled over my step and basically fell into him. My heart skipped a beat—I instinctively grabbed onto the front of his shirt to steady myself, then shot him a glare.
"Ronald!"
His arm was still firmly around my waist, not letting go. He looked down at me, eyes cold, that usually good-looking face shrouded in a rare, dark anger.
"You really brought the divorce papers with you? Even when we're overseas for work?"
I didn’t hold back. "I’ve been planning to get divorced anyway. You're the one clinging on and refusing to let go. What's wrong with
