Chapter 24 Worry About Me
Krystal froze mid-step, the words stabbing through her like ice.
She looked down at her phone. Call ended. Just like that.
Her blood ran cold.
Behind her, the car’s engine suddenly growled—no longer crawling. It accelerated.
She turned just in time to see it veer toward her, headlights glaring like eyes locked on a target.
A scream tore from her throat.
But the sound was swallowed by the roar of the engine as the vehicle surged forward—
She barely had time to scream.
***
Lorenzo returned to the table. Esther was still there, sitting like nothing had happened—legs crossed, fingers twirling the rim of her half-empty glass.
He ignored her completely and picked up his phone from the table where he’d left it earlier.
His thumb slid across the screen. He was hoping—almost desperately—for a notification. A missed call. A message. Anything.
But there was nothing.
No missed calls. No new messages. No outgoing calls either.
His heart dropped slightly in his chest.
He tapped into the call history—empty.
His brows drew together, a slow storm building behind his eyes.
“...What the hell?” he muttered under his breath.
He looked up. His gaze zeroed in on Esther like a knife unsheathing.
“You touched my phone?”
Esther blinked, feigning surprise. “What? No! Of course not.”
He took a slow step toward her, lowering the phone.
“You deleted the call log,” he said, voice quiet but sharp enough to draw blood. “Who called me?”
Her lips parted, but nothing came out for a beat. Then she gave a nervous laugh. “Lorenzo, why would I do something like that? Maybe your phone just glitched or—”
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” he cut in, eyes narrowing. “You picked up my phone, didn’t you?”
Esther stiffened, smile faltering for just a second—then reappeared, strained and forced. “I was just... worried you’d get more upset. You’re already stressed, and I thought—”
His hand slammed down on the table, rattling the glasses. Michael, returning halfway across the room, stopped short at the sound.
“Who called me, Esther?” he hissed.
Esther didn’t answer, but the look on her face said it all—and it was enough to make Lorenzo stiffen instantly.
“Krystal,” he muttered under his breath. He lifted his phone and began dialing her number.
“Lorenzo, wait—please!” Esther reached for his phone, trying to stop him. “Listen to me. Can’t you just talk to me first? We finally met again after so long, Lorenzo!”
But he roughly shook her off.
Now that he knew she wasn’t sick, he no longer felt the need to handle her gently. Esther stumbled back, landing hard on the floor—but Lorenzo didn’t even glance her way.
He focused on his phone, calling Krystal again. No answer.
“Lorenzo, please…” Esther’s voice cracked as she reached for him again. “Let’s just sit down and talk for a minute.”
He turned to her, eyes cold and flashing with fury. “Esther, have some goddamn respect for yourself.”
She flinched. He had never spoken to her like that before.
“If you want to have even a basic interaction with me in the future, stop overstepping your damn limits,” he barked.
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his keys from the table and stormed out of the bar, his steps sharp and angry.
***
Krystal threw her hands over her face as the car came hurtling toward her—but at the last second, a hard shove knocked her sideways.
She flew across the pavement, crashing to the ground with a thud, just as the car missed her leg by mere inches and smashed into a concrete wall with a bone-shaking crash. The sound echoed down the empty road.
Dirt and dust clouded the air as she gasped for breath, blinking away tears.
“Honey, are you okay?” Darren’s voice broke through her haze.
She looked up, dazed. “Darren?”
He was already kneeling beside her, holding her arms, his face pale with panic. Shopping bags he’d been carrying were scattered across the sidewalk, their contents spilled—shirts, boxes, receipts—all forgotten.
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, though her hands trembled. She sat up with his help and quickly wiped the grit and blood from her scraped arms, adrenaline pushing her to her feet.
Together, they sprinted toward the crashed vehicle.
Steam hissed from under the crumpled hood.
Darren reached the driver’s side first and yanked open the door, grabbing the man inside by the collar and dragging him out like dead weight.
The driver hit the pavement hard, groaning as his body folded onto the asphalt.
Krystal pulled out her phone and dialed 911, her voice urgent as she rattled off their location and described the crash.
Meanwhile, Darren shoved the man down, twisting his arms behind his back with a trained, unrelenting grip. He planted a knee in the man's back and used his other hand to pin his head to the ground.
Krystal ended the call and moved closer, fury flaring in her chest. She kicked the man hard in the leg.
“Why were you trying to hit me?” she snapped. Her voice shook from sheer rage. She bent down and picked up a jagged rock from the roadside, waving it at him threateningly, eyes blazing. “Talk. Who sent you? If you tell us now, it might help your case before the cops get here.”
The man groaned in pain, blood trickling down the side of his forehead. His breaths were short, ragged, his chest heaving from the impact. He glared up at her with hate in his eyes.
“It’s none of your damn business!” he spat. “Let me go! I didn’t do anything wrong—it was an accident!”
“Was it Esther?” Krystal asked, voice low and deadly.
That struck a nerve.
The man thrashed harder under Darren’s hold, growling like a wild animal. “It’s none of your damn business!”
Then, like lightning, he wrenched one arm free, grabbed a loose rock from the ground, and smashed it against Darren’s head.
“Ah—!” Darren staggered, wincing as pain exploded through his skull.
The grip loosened.
The attacker shoved Darren off and lunged straight at Krystal.
From a sheath on his belt, he drew a small blade, gleaming cold and sharp in the dim streetlight. His face twisted into a snarl. “You should’ve stayed quiet!”
Krystal stumbled backward, heart in her throat, breath stolen.
But before he could reach her, a figure stepped between them.
Lorenzo.
He stepped between her and the blade, shielding her with his entire body. The knife slashed across his palm with a sickening sound, crimson spilling instantly from the cut.
The man froze.
He stared at Lorenzo—recognition dawning. He glanced past him at Krystal, eyes wide with sudden fear. He turned, ready to bolt.
But Darren, blood trickling down his temple, was already back on his feet—blocking his escape like a wall of steel.
Sirens howled in the distance, growing louder.
Within moments, red and blue lights painted the night. Police cruisers screeched to a halt, and officers poured out, weapons drawn. They swarmed the attacker, dragging him to the ground and forcing handcuffs around his wrists with brutal efficiency.
Krystal stood frozen, her knees weak. Lorenzo turned around, blood dripping from his hand, and rushed to her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, eyes darting over her face, her arms, her shoulders with worry. “Tell me where it hurts.”
“What were you thinking, blocking a knife?!” she snapped at him, grabbing his injured hand and inspecting the cut. She grabbed his hand carefully, inspecting the cut. “As if treating your tremor wasn’t hard enough! Now this? What if it comes back?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she froze.
Lorenzo’s eyes locked onto hers.
He stepped closer, gripping her shoulders. “What did you just say?” he demanded, voice deep and tense.
Before she could answer, a police officer approached, holding up a small black purse. “Do either of you know this man?” he asked. “We found an ID on him. Name’s Jim McAlister.”
Krystal shook her head. “I don’t know him.”
Lorenzo gave the same answer.
“We’ll run a full check,” the officer said. “One of you needs to come in to give an official statement.”
“I’ll go,” Darren stepped forward, wiping the blood from his forehead. “I saw everything.”
As the police led Darren away, Krystal turned back to Lorenzo. She gently took his hand again, voice soft now. “It’s just a shallow cut. Nothing too deep. But you still need to get it cleaned and bandaged.”
She reached for his arm to guide him, but Lorenzo pulled away—only to lift his hand and cup her cheek, his thumb brushing softly across her skin.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You called, and I wasn’t there.”
Krystal didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly walked over to a nearby bench at the bus stop and sat down, letting the silence swallow the chaos around them.
Lorenzo followed and sat beside her.
After a long beat, he asked, his voice softer now, edged with worry. “Why did that man attack you?”
Krystal answered calmly, “I’ll handle this on my own. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself. And… thank you for today.”
He stared at her and then muttered “If you really want to thank me,” he said quietly, “don’t go through with the divorce.”
Her breath caught, but only for a second. Krystal’s face remained composed, though the storm inside her eyes darkened. She could still hear Esther’s voice over the phone. ‘Lorenzo’s busy. You should know people have lives. Stop calling him all the time.’
Krystal couldn’t forget what Esther had said on the phone. How Lorenzo had been too busy with her to even care.
Her lips lifted into a bitter smile. “A decision is a decision. You can’t kiss someone and just take it back like it never happened.”
Instantly, Lorenzo answered. “Then kiss me back.”
Krystal blinked, stunned, before her gaze snapped to his. “Mr. Moretti, since when did you become this shameless?”
He leaned back slightly, a shrug in his shoulders, but his gaze never wavered. “I saved your life today. Just repay the favor.” His voice dipped into something teasing but strangely vulnerable. “I’m still your husband. One kiss isn’t too much to ask.”