Chapter 23 Stop Stalking
Grayson grinned like a satisfied villain as he turned the key in the lock and sauntered downstairs.
No performance could fool the old man—he saw right through them. A couple just needs a night together in the same bedroom alone to fix all problems in their marriage.
Krystal thumped her fists against the door. “Grandpa! Please open the door! What are you doing?!”
Grayson’s voice floated from the stairs. “It’s important for a couple to spend some alone time together. Don’t come out. Get some rest.”
And with that, he strolled away.
She groaned and turned around—only to jump in surprise. Lorenzo stood right behind her, tissues pressed to the corners of his eyes.
She burst into laughter, her body shaking uncontrollably. “What the hell are you doing?”
He sniffed. “You gave me the thing I hate most and it was spicy as hell. What did you expect? I can't stop tearing up.”
“You’re so dramatic,” she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “It was barely spicy.”
“Barely spicy?” He pointed at his red, watery eyes. “I’m trying not to sob! And you had the nerve to feed it to me with your own hands. What was I supposed to do—spit it out?”
Krystal folded her arms with a mocking smirk. “You could’ve gone to Esther's place. I’m sure she’d cook you your favorite food.”
Lorenzo’s expression hardened immediately. “What’s wrong with you? Why would I go to her?”
Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply and stormed off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Krystal rolled her eyes, shouting after him loudly, “Isn’t she your one true love? I can’t even mention her name now?”
Grumbling, she crawled onto the bed and picked up a book, trying to read.
Minutes later, Lorenzo emerged from the bathroom and walked toward the bed. Krystal lifted her gaze, glare in place. He halted mid-step, pursed his lips, and then changed direction, throwing himself onto the couch instead.
After a while, she peeked over her book.
The shameless man had turned on his side, casually undoing his shirt buttons, chest exposed under the soft bedroom light like he was posing for a Calvin Klein ad.
She nearly fell off the bed.
He caught her reaction and shot her a cocky grin. “Aren’t I more interesting than whatever’s in that book?” His voice was low and husky as he nodded toward the pages in her hand.
Krystal didn’t even lift her gaze. “There are plenty of hotter guys in bars.”
Lorenzo tugged the shirt further open, revealing more of his chest. “Bar boys are just boys. They’re not billionaires like me, are they?”
Finally, she turned to him, deadpan. “Where are you even learning this stuff? The Kama Sutra for CEOs? Doesn’t suit your cold, rude CEO vibe.”
He flexed slightly, showcasing his abs. “I’m offering myself to you. You won’t get this kind of opportunity again.”
She slammed the book down on the nightstand, sliding under the covers with exaggerated irritation. “I don’t need this kind of offers from you, Mr. Moretti.”
Lying with her back to him, she muttered under her breath, “The second Grandpa leaves tomorrow, I’m getting the hell out of here. This Cactus has gone full lunatic.”
***
The next morning, as soon as Grayson left for his morning walk with his friends, Krystal wasted no time. She packed her suitcase, dragged it downstairs.
Outside, Darren stood by the curb, waiting beside his Ferrari.
Lorenzo, still in his T-shirt and trousers, was on a call in the garden. The moment he saw her walking away with luggage, he ended the call mid-sentence and strode toward her, his long legs closing the distance with urgent, determined steps.
His brows furrowed. “Krystal?”
He rushed toward her, crossing the driveway. She tried to ignore him, focused on lifting her bag into the trunk. But Lorenzo reached her in seconds, grabbed the suitcase handle, and yanked it back out.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was low and tense, jaw tight as he placed the luggage back on the ground. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Krystal reached over to snatch the suitcase from his hand. “You’ve got no right to question me. The divorce is already in process.”
But Lorenzo only pulled the suitcase further away. “It’s not finalized yet,” he said coldly. “I’m still your husband, and that gives me every damn right to know where you’re going.”
She tried again to take it back, but he held kept it out of her reach. After a short, frustrating struggle, Krystal let out an annoyed breath and stood up straight, glaring at him. “Are you done pretending, or are you still playing this game?”
Lorenzo dragged the suitcase behind him, putting even more distance between her and the bag. His jaw clenched.
“I won’t let you drag my family’s name through the mud, walking around like you’re single—cheating on me in public.”
He shot a hard side glance at Darren, who just rolled his eyes. But Lorenzo kept going, voice edged with steel. “I won’t tolerate it.”
Krystal scoffed, her patience thinning. “I rented an apartment. Darren lives with me—but in another bedroom. There’s nothing going on between us. Can you move aside now?”
She reached out again for the suitcase, but Lorenzo reached out and grabbed her hand gently, his tone suddenly softer. “Let’s go for a walk. We need to talk.”
Before she could respond, Darren stepped forward and slapped Lorenzo’s hand away, freeing her hand out of his grasp.
“You didn’t care for her when she was yours,” Darren said coldly. “Now that she’s finally free, you want to tangle her back into your mess? Mr. Moretti, be a man for once and stick to your words. You’re not worthy of her.”
Lorenzo’s eyes darkened, and before the words had even finished ringing in the air, his fist connected with Darren’s jaw.
The punch landed hard.
A storm of heat raged through him. ‘This bastard has been living with her. Now he’s standing in the way of us getting back together. He wants her. And he thinks I’ll just stand here and take it?
Krystal rushed forward, shoving Lorenzo aside with both hands.
“Why do you always hurt the people I care about?” she snapped. “I don’t want to see you anymore. Please respect my choice!”
Darren stood up, rubbing the side of his face where Lorenzo’s punch had landed, glaring silently.
Krystal turned to him, her eyes full of concern.
But Darren gave her a small shake of his head and a shrug, then walked toward the suitcase lying forgotten on the ground.
Krystal rounded the car, getting in the passenger seat.
Without a word, Darren picked up the luggage, loaded it into the backseat, and drove away with Krystal.
Lorenzo stood still, his fists clenched at his sides, his heart burning as he watched the car disappear down the road.
***
In the VIP room of the Blue Orchid Bar, the leather couch creaked under Lorenzo as he slouched back, a bottle of whiskey on the table and his glass already half-empty.
Across the table, Larry sat beside Michael, his eyes burning with annoyance. He leaned forward and growled, “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re still drinking yourself to death over Krystal?”
Lorenzo let out a sharp breath, frustration flickering across his face as he glared at Larry. “If you’re here just to piss me off, I’ll walk out right now.”
Larry grabbed a glass of whiskey, downed it in one shot, and slammed the glass back on the counter. “What the hell are you losing your mind over now? I’ve been mad at you for a long time already. You want to push it further?”
Michael cut in between them, trying to calm the rising tension. “Lorenzo, man—what are you doing? Why are you so worked up? All Larry did was mention Krystal’s name. He didn’t say anything else, did he?”
Lorenzo raised his head and glared straight at Larry. “Why are you even angry? What the hell have I done to you? And what business is it of yours what goes on between me and Krystal?”
Larry lost all patience. He slammed his glass down so hard it rattled the table, his face twisted in frustration. Michael tried to stop him, grabbing his arm, but Larry shoved him off, jabbing a finger in Lorenzo’s face.
“Don’t push me to speak, Lorenzo. I always thought your wife was too damn good to be true. When you said you divorced her, I figured maybe she had issues—maybe she wasn’t supportive or good for your work. Hell, maybe she wasn’t even good-looking.”
He scoffed, shaking his head with bitter disbelief.
“But then I met her. She’s fucking beautiful! And for two damn years, she brought you meals three times a day, took care of you, and did everything you asked. And how did you repay her? You divorced her?”
Michael grabbed Larry again, trying to drag him back down. “Larry, that’s enough! It’s none of your business!”
Larry shook him off and shouted, “It is my business! I wanted her for myself! I fell for her the moment I saw her. Do you know how messed up it is to fall in love with your best friend’s wife?
But look at her—she gave him everything and got a damn divorce in return. She should’ve married me instead!”
Lorenzo’s anger exploded.
His jaw had been clenched for too long, his breath shallow and sharp. The moment Larry said those words, he snapped. His lip curled, and he lunged forward across the table, grabbing Larry by the collar and yanking him halfway out of his seat.
“Take those words back!” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “And stop thinking about my wife!”
The air turned razor sharp. The tension in the room snapped like a live wire.
Michael froze, hand half-raised to intervene.
But before anyone could say a word—
The door swung open with a soft creak.
Esther stepped in.
She wasn’t dressed like before. Gone was the hospital gown.
Now, she wore a tight, short dress that barely skimmed her thighs, hugging her curves like it was painted on.
Her stilettos clicked against the hardwood as she entered with slow, delicate steps and a seductive smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.