7. No way out

One solid minute passes in dead silence.

Two.

Three.

Okay, this is starting to piss me off.

He still hasn’t said anything or moved an inch from where he stands. The only thing unchanged is his glare, fixed on me.

Didn’t he hear me? Why is he still standing there, staring at me like a fucking mute?

Annoyance and frustration course through me in every direction, and I repeat, more firmly than last, my eyes glinting with determination, "I said I want an annulment, Mr. Sorrentino."

After what feels like an eternity of eye contact contest, he finally speaks, nonchalance lacing his monotonous response.

"No."

My brows knit in confusion, and I retort sharply, "The fuck you mean ‘No’? I said I want an annulment. I want out of this marriage."

"And I said no, you’re not getting what you want." He tells me, undeterred. He regards me again and adds, "And I advise you to watch your language from now on, mi eposa. I have zero tolerance for brats."

This makes me even angrier. I should be terrified of