Chapter 11

I didn’t understand Jonathan’s anger. I wasn’t angry, so what gave him the right to be? “Why are you glaring at me? You’re the one cozying up to Alicia, and I’m not glaring at you!” He tugged on my collar, pulling me toward him. I stumbled, landing astride him. “Jonathan!” This was a precarious position, leaving me helpless. He held my waist firmly. His voice was low and impatient. “Don’t move.” I gritted out, “Jonathan, I’ll sue you for assault if you continue this!” He snorted, unfazed. “You can try.” His superior attitude enraged me. “If you don’t agree to a divorce, we’ll end up in court!” His expression hardened, the mockery vanishing. A storm brewed in his eyes; they were intensely stifling. I didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze directly. He seemed to recognize my seriousness; his lips tightened. “Elise, stop threatening me with divorce.” “It’s not a threat. I genuinely want a divorce!” His gaze darkened, and he grasped my chin. “Because of Alicia? How many times must I tell you, you’re misreading the situation?” “Misreading it? When you two were cozying up? Must I catch you in bed before you admit it?” I instantly regretted my words. It sounded as if I cared. I was simply mocking him. The person I liked was my idealized past Jonathan—slightly aloof, but well-mannered—not this overbearing, heartless man! He grabbed my wrist, ignoring my gasp of pain. “I don’t want to argue, Elise.” “Then grant the divorce!” My repeated mention of divorce only darkened his expression. “I asked you to wait at the Ford residence. Why are you here?” I sneered. “Because I wouldn't have seen that little scene otherwise.” “You came here just to throw another tantrum?” His phrasing suggested this was a pattern. Bob mentioned I’d worked here. Perhaps I’d joined Millenia to keep an eye on Jonathan. How foolishly in love had I been? I smacked my head, wincing as pain shot through my wrist. Sadness and anger warred within me, intensifying my irritation with Jonathan. “An easy way to stop the tantrums—a divorce!” He squeezed my cheeks, forcing a pout. I could only mumble, the word “divorce” barely audible. His expression softened slightly. “Stop mentioning divorce. I know you’re upset, but this acquisition deal is important—” I brushed his hand away. “Fine. Let’s get a divorce. Then you can be as busy as you want. Marry Alicia!” His patience snapped. “You want a divorce? Okay.” Before my elation could bloom, his icy voice continued, “According to the prenup, you owe me 100 million dollars.” I froze, rage exploding. “What nonsense? I never signed a prenup!”