Chapter 23 Stop Stalking #2
Larry smirked and tugged his collar free from Lorenzo’s grip, straightening himself with smug satisfaction.
Esther walked straight to Lorenzo, all smiles, and slipped into the seat beside him. “Hi, Lorenzo. It’s been so long since I last saw you. I missed you so much,” she purred, wrapping her arms around his.
Lorenzo stiffened.
Michael blinked in disbelief. Larry raised an eyebrow, but the smirk never left his face as he leaned back in his seat, watching the scene unfold like a twisted play.
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
Esther tilted her head and gave a sugary smile. “One of your friends mentioned you were here drinking, so I just… followed along.”
He turned sharply to Larry, who was already throwing up his hands in defense.
“What are you looking at me for?” Larry said, shrugging. “She literally followed me here. I didn’t invite her.”
Esther leaned forward, unfazed, and grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table. She poured a drink into Lorenzo’s glass, then casually filled one for herself.
“Here,” she said, clinking her glass gently against his. “I haven’t had a proper drink since I left the hospital. Drink with me tonight?”
Lorenzo frowned and shrugged off her hand from his arm. His voice was cold and detached. “I’m not interested.”
Without another glance at Esther, he picked up his phone and quickly dialed Krystal’s number. It rang once—and then went silent.
She blocked him. Again.
His jaw clenched, the muscles twitching under the strain. He stared at the screen, his fingers tightening around the phone.
‘You don’t even pick up my calls anymore. Do you really want me out of your life that badly?’
He dropped the phone back onto the table with a dull thud, the ache in his chest growing heavier.
Esther leaned closer, brushing her arm deliberately against his. Her perfume filled the space between them—a scent he used to ignore, now unbearably sweet.
“Are you still blaming me for lying about my illness?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with something between guilt and manipulation. “I was confused, Lorenzo. I fell in love with you, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I just wanted to be close to you, that’s all.”
At the table, Michael and Larry exchanged a glance. Michael’s lips were pressed into a line. Larry rolled his eyes.
Lorenzo turned his head slowly to face her. His voice was stern. “You did what you did. It’s over. You’re not sick anymore. There’s no reason for us to meet anymore.”
Esther’s smile faltered, but before she could respond, Larry leaned back in his chair and called out mockingly, “Didn’t you used to like Esther? Everyone’s been saying she’s your one true love.”
Larry’s eyes flicked toward Esther, full of cold disdain. His voice lost all patience.
“Everywhere I go, people keep saying you divorced Krystal because of Esther. That you and Esther are madly in love.”
Lorenzo’s voice spiked with fury at once. “When did I ever say I’m in love with Esther?”
Larry’s brows lifted, caught off guard. Esther, unfazed, placed her hand on Lorenzo’s arm again, her voice syrupy and fragile.
“It’s been two years, Lorenzo... we’ve been together—”
He raised his hand sharply, cutting her off without looking at her. “No, we haven’t. It happened once. By accident. And after that, I only stuck around because you were injured. That accident was my fault. I took responsibility. That’s it.”
Esther’s face drained of color, her hand slipping away from his arm.
“So that’s all I am to you?” she whispered. “Just... an accident?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly, not even flinching. “There’s nothing more.”
A heavy silence settled for a second before Larry sat forward, his smirk now gone. His voice was serious.
“But people are saying you don’t even like Krystal. That you only married her because Grandpa forced you. And now you're divorcing her because you want Esther.”
Lorenzo straightened, his entire posture tense and rigid. “All of that is a lie. When did I ever say I don’t like Krystal?”
“Then why are you divorcing her?” Larry shot back, eyes narrowed.
“She’s the one insisting on it!” Lorenzo shot back with frustration.
Larry let out a loud, exaggerated sigh, throwing his arms up before folding them across his chest. He leaned back in his chair, disbelief etched across his face.
“Man, at first, I thought it was just your eyesight that needed help,” he said, shaking his head. “But now I’m convinced—your brain’s broken too. You say one thing, do another, and then talk like none of it’s connected to you.”
Lorenzo’s scowl deepened, his jaw tightening as he opened his mouth to fire back.
But before a single word left his lips, Esther reached across the table. She picked up a glass, poured a drink slowly, and pushed it toward him, her smile soft—calculated.
“Even if we can’t be together,” she said sweetly, “I still want us to be friends.”
Lorenzo didn’t even spare her a glance.
Without a word, he shoved his chair back with a sharp screech and stood. His expression was cold.
“I need some air,” he muttered, and strode out of the room, his steps clipped and angry.
Michael pushed back his own chair, watching Lorenzo disappear through the door before rising. “I’ll go check on him.”
As Michael left, silence fell over the table until Larry’s gaze slowly turned to Esther. His eyes, usually playful, were now hard and cutting.
“Ms. Esther,” he said, tone dangerously calm, “you need to stop following me around just to find out where Lorenzo is.”
Esther stiffened, trying to look surprised. “I—what? No, I didn’t—”
Larry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his stare pinning her in place.
“You think I don’t notice? I’m not blind,” he said coldly. “I’ve seen you lurking outside my gym, outside the office, at dinners, at private parties you weren’t even invited to. Stalking me just to get to Lorenzo.”
Her mouth parted like she might argue—but no words came.
“If it happens again,” Larry continued, his voice sharper now, “I’m calling the cops. No warning next time.”
Esther sat frozen, her fingers trembling slightly around her untouched drink. Her posture stiffened, lips tightening into a thin line.
Larry didn’t stop. He leaned in closer, his voice now laced with disgust.
“All this talk about Lorenzo divorcing Krystal because of you, about how he’s madly in love with you, you’re the one spreading those rumors, aren’t you?”
She blinked, eyes darting to the side, silent.
Larry scoffed under his breath. “Thought so.”
He stood, snatching his phone from the table, movements clipped with anger.
“I’m not your friend,” he snapped. “I don’t know you. So quit using my name to get into parties and places just to snoop around about Lorenzo.”
Without giving her another look, he turned and walked out, his jaw clenched, boots thudding against the floor with every step.
***
Krystal walked down the dimly lit road toward the nearly empty parking lot, her shopping bags digging into her wrists.
The cold evening breeze rustled the trees, and with every step, fatigue weighed heavier on her shoulders.
They’d been out for hours. Darren was still inside, obsessing over jackets like he was preparing for a Mars expedition.
Impatient and drained, she had slipped out ahead, craving air and silence.
But the silence that met her was... wrong.
The parking lot was too quiet. No footsteps. No voices. Just the faint echo of her heels on the pavement and the dull rustle of wind through the leaves.
Then—headlights.
A car slowly turned the corner and began crawling behind her.
Krystal’s stomach twisted. Her steps faltered, and she glanced over her shoulder.
It was the same black car that had been parked outside the mall entrance earlier.
Her heart kicked against her ribs.
She walked faster, clutching her bag tighter. The lot was too empty, too wide. There were no security guards. No bystanders. No place to hide.
Her hand scrambled into her coat pocket, yanking out her phone. The screen lit up—1 missed call: Lorenzo.
She didn’t think. She hit ‘Unblock.’ Her thumb trembled as she pressed ‘Call Back.’
Her breath caught in her throat as the car inched closer, its tires crunching gravel beneath it. Her hands were shaking now. “Please pick up… please pick up,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over her pounding heartbeat.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Click.
Finally, the call connected.
“Hello? Lorenzo, I’m on Missionary Road. Can you—”
A female voice cut in sharply, cold and venom-laced.
“Lorenzo’s busy. You should know people have lives. Stop calling him all the time.”
It was Esther.
Then the line went dead.