Chiara
I was about to walk past him when he grabbed my arm.
“Divorce? Only in your dreams, Chikko,” he spoke, his eyes locked on mine, his hand still holding mine firmly.
“What?” I froze. “Who decided that?” I yanked free from his grip.
He exhaled, his hardened face starting to relax.
I expected his response, but to my surprise, he spun around in his motorized wheelchair toward the mini table and began looking through the files.
I blinked, my thoughts spiraling. “What are you doing?” I walked up to him.
He did not respond. Instead, he grabbed my arm, and when I tried yanking it off, his grip tightened.
What was this about? What was going on in his deranged mind?
He did not say a word as his fingers trailed down my arm, stopping at my fingers.
“Anger doesn’t suit you. You’re tremb
