Chapter 9 Intoxicated
She stared at him, biting back her irritation.
‘Seriously?’ she thought. ‘Out of everything I just said, that’s what he chooses to focus on?’ She exhaled slowly, trying not to lose patience. ‘Forget it. It doesn’t matter what he thinks about me anymore. I’m not his wife. I don’t owe him anything.’
She nodded once, her voice calm but cutting. “If I don’t find someone new, do you expect me to stay in love with you for the rest of my life?”
Lorenzo’s gaze darkened. That burning intensity was back, but this time it was tinged with panic. The shock melted into something more restless,more anxious. His feet shifted on the ground, and for a second, he looked lost. Like her words had knocked the air out of him.
His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. He visibly tensed up, hands clenched.
“I just want to get this over with,” she said quietly.
Her fingers curled around his wrist again, gently pulling it off her neck. This time, he let her. His fingers trembled, as if letting go physically hurt him.
That simple touch, the warmth of her skin leaving his... it burned. He hated how badly he still wanted it back.
But she stepped away, unbothered, as if it meant nothing.
She looked straight into his eyes, speaking with that soft, delicate tone that always managed to hit him harder than shouting ever could.
“Can’t we just end this with a little dignity, Lorenzo? Respectfully, and soon? We owe each other that much.”
Lorenzo was already losing the war inside him. His control was shot, his mind a storm of frustration, disbelief, and something dangerously close to heartbreak. Everything she said dug deep and left him raw.
He turned his face away from her, shoulders tensed, his entire body rigid with emotion he couldn't name or express. His whole body was stiff as hell, trying to rein it all in.
Without saying a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette box. His fingers shook slightly as he took one out, placed it between his lips, and lit it. He inhaled deeply, eyes fixed on nothing.
When he finally looked back at her, his voice was cooler—controlled.
“I don’t have time right now. I’m busy with work,” he said. “We’ll deal with it another day.”
He took another drag from the cigarette, turned away, and added, “Get in the car. I’ll drop you home.”
Krystal felt the last of her excitement drain away. All her urgency, her emotions—it fizzled into nothing. ‘So that’s it? After all this, he still won’t go through with it? What the hell did I even bother dressing up for?’
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed. “I have a date with a friend,” she said evenly. “He’s picking me up, so I won’t be going with you.”
Lorenzo stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, his entire body going rigid.
“A date?” His voice tightened. “What kind of date? Who’s this friend?”
He stepped closer, tension radiating off him.
As far as he could remember, she had never mentioned having any friends. Not once in two years. Her entire world had revolved around him—his moods, his schedule, his wants. There had never been a single damn mention of another man.
Just then, a red Ferrari pulled up and came to a stop a few feet away.
The sleek door opened, and Darren stepped out, casually leaning against the side of the car. His dark sunglasses covered half his face, but his smirk was unmistakable. He wore straight-leg brown pants paired with a cream shirt, the golden buttons catching the sunlight—effortless, expensive, cocky.
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed instantly. The cigarette in his fingers burned close to his skin, but the heat in his chest drowned out the sting. He stared, stunned for a split second, then that shock twisted into something far more dangerous.
A glare.
Darren didn’t flinch. He smirked and tilted his head, resting his weight against the car. “Let’s go, honey. What are you waiting for?”
That word— honey —snapped Lorenzo out of his stunned silence. His head whipped toward Krystal, fury written all over his face. He jerked his thumb toward Darren and hissed, voice low but biting, “He just called you honey?”
The word felt like acid in his mouth. His voice burned with disbelief, rage, and something deeper, something painful. Her words echoed in his mind—’I want to live my life. I want to fall in love. ’ And suddenly it all twisted into a flame inside him.
Lorenzo’s fists clenched. His voice dropped, guttural. “So that’s the man you’re trying to fall for now?”
Krystal stood stiff, trying to hide the tremble in her shoulders. Her voice was soft, her face sad as she looked at him.
“Don’t ask questions. Or I’ll start thinking you actually care about me.”
Then, without sparing him another glance, she turned to leave.
But Lorenzo didn’t let her.
He strode forward, caught her wrist, and spun her back around to face him. His eyes searched hers, frantic and raw. The end of the cigarette singed the skin between his fingers, but he didn’t even blink.
“A guy like him won’t give you a real home,” he said, voice rough and raw. “He won’t give you happiness. A future. Don’t date him.”
Krystal’s expression shifted. Whatever was in her chest cracked a little deeper.
The sadness disappeared, replaced by something blank—cold.
“I was married to you. What did you give me, Lorenzo?”
He flinched. His grip on her hand loosened on its own. She pulled free and turned, walking straight to Darren without looking back.
Lorenzo stood frozen, every nerve in his body on fire. The cigarette finally slipped from his fingers, falling to the pavement without a sound, forgotten.
He watched her climb into the Ferrari—his wife, still his in name, but now sitting beside another man.
He couldn’t breathe. Everything inside him felt like it was caving in—tight and burning, and it showed on his face now. That carefully built control? Gone.
His jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
Darren, who had opened the car door for Krystal, now walked around and slid into the driver’s seat. Before starting the car, he looked over at her. Her face was turned toward the window, but it didn’t hide the hurt written all over it.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer. “You look... off. What’s wrong?”
Krystal let out a sharp, frustrated breath and muttered,
“Don’t ask. I don’t know what that asshole is thinking. Talking to me like he has a right. Like any of this is his business. Especially now, when he has his precious little lover.”
Darren raised an eyebrow. “So... are we still leaving?”
She scoffed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we? Leave that damn man standing there. Let him watch.” She glanced at him, her tone sharp. “In fact, let’s hit a bar tonight. I need drinks. Lots of them.”
Darren grinned. “Now that’s a plan.”
He started the car and pulled away smoothly, leaving Lorenzo behind on the curb.
Lorenzo watched the taillights disappear, his face dark. He’d already lit another cigarette, and now he was halfway through his second, barely breathing.
He stared down the road, the smoke coiling around him as his thoughts raced.
‘If I hadn’t slept with Esther two years ago…’
He cut the thought off instantly. It was too late. The damage was done. He’d already ruined one life. He couldn’t destroy another.
Another harsh drag of the cigarette. Another breath that burned in his lungs. Clenching his jaw, he dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe. Then, without a word, he turned around and stormed back into the Moretti mansion, forcing down the overwhelming urge to chase after that car.
Jim, who had been watching everything from the shadows, stayed quiet as Lorenzo disappeared inside. Once the coast was clear, he stepped out, tense and grim, pulling out his phone and calling Esther.
Esther picked up on the first ring.
“Well?” she demanded breathlessly. “Did you see them? Did he go with that bitch or someone else?”
“With Krystal,” Jim answered grimly. “But she left with another guy. And Lorenzo looked like he wanted to punch a wall or burn that car to the ground. He clearly has feelings for her.”
Esther’s tone turned venomous. “How is that possible?” she snapped. “I’ve waited two years— two years —to kick that bitch out of his life. I’ve planned everything. I can’t afford this now.”
Jim grumbled, a deep frown etched across his face. He kept watching Lorenzo long after he left, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“There’s definitely something wrong with him,” he muttered. “If you want to lock him down, you better move fast. He’s already slipping out of your hands.”
Esther took a slow, deep breath. A small smirk crept onto her lips.
“No problem,” she said softly. “I just need to have another… accident.”
***
Lorenzo looked up when he heard footsteps approach his table in the Moretti mansion. The party was still going strong—music, laughter, clinking glasses all around. Grayson had retired from the business, he was still tucked away somewhere inside, negotiating deals with high-profile guests.
A tall, broad-shouldered man strolled up to Lorenzo’s table, a familiar grin on his face and a few gift boxes in his hands.
“Nothing for you tonight, man,” the guy chuckled. “All for Grandpa—the hero of the night.”
Lorenzo smirked faintly. “Michael,” he greeted, rising and offering his hand.
Michael clasped it and pulled him into a firm hug, giving him a brotherly pat on the back.
He looked every bit the classic charmer—tall and broad-shouldered, with dark, slightly tousled hair and a sharp jawline softened by an easygoing smile.
His dark suit was impeccably tailored, but he wore it like it was second nature—confident, relaxed, like he belonged in any room he walked into.
Both men sank into the plush couch, drinks arriving almost instantly as the ever-attentive waiters moved around them.
Michael leaned in, raising a brow as he grabbed his glass. “Heard you’re about to tie the knot,” he said. “You’re going to marry that girl from two years ago?”