Chapter 26 Apology Language
A dull throb pounded through Lorenzo’s head like someone hammering just beneath his skull.
He stirred slowly, his lashes heavy, blinking against the harsh brightness above him. The ceiling was white. Too white. The sterile scent of antiseptic crept into his nose.
A hospital.
Panic surged.
He jerked up instinctively, pain flaring in his temples—but his mind didn’t go to himself.
“Krystal…”
The name fell from his lips like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
His eyes darted around, wide and desperate,
Then he froze.
Krystal was sitting right beside him. Slumped forward over the edge of his bed, her head resting on his arm. One of her hands curled loosely around his wrist, the other laying gently over his forearm. Her cheek was pressed against both, her breathing slow and even.
She looked drained. Her lashes cast soft shadows on her skin. Her hair was pulled messily back, a few strands falling around her face. It looked like she hadn’t moved in hours.
He froze.
Didn’t dare make a sound.
Even through the throbbing in his skull, he could feel the soft exhale of her breath against his skin—steady, warm, real. And for some reason, that… that got to him more than the injury ever could.
He just stared.
Watched her, breathed her in, like she was the only thing keeping the air in his lungs.
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just let his heart ache quietly inside his chest.
Then—her lashes fluttered.
She stirred, blinking against the overhead light. And when her eyes locked with his—everything in her face shifted.
Confusion gave way to alarm. She jolted upright with a sharp inhale, eyes wide.
“You’re awake!” she gasped.
Her hands gripped his arm tighter. Then, with a trembling urgency, one of them lifted to his face. Her fingertips threaded carefully through his hair, brushing against the bandage on the side of his head.
“Does it hurt? Are you okay?” Her voice cracked with worry.
He stared at her—barely breathing.
Not because of the pain.
Not because of the hospital.
Because of her.
Because her hands were on him again.
Warm. Familiar. Gentle in the way only she had ever touched him.
His heart pounded louder than her words, drowning out everything else.
He closed his eyes for a second to feel her touch deeper. To let himself melt into it. Her scent. Her nearness. The way her thumb grazed his temple as if afraid she’d vanish again.
Her fingers were so gentle, so warm in his hair, caressing softly. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the feel of it. His breath caught in his throat.
He didn’t want her hand to leave. He didn’t want her to move away.
When he opened his eyes again, she was still there—hovering close, her brows knit in concern.
And that’s when it hit him.
Hard.
He had the biggest damn crush on his own wife.
Always had.
A deep, gut-wrenching affection that had lived inside him quietly for years. And he hadn’t realized how deep it ran until he stopped seeing her every day.
All the casual touches he’d once taken for granted, her half-smiles, her delicate affection, the warmth she brought into every cold corner of his life.
And now—just the feel of her hand on his face felt like coming up for air after being underwater too long.
Like breathing again after forgetting how.
His throat tightened.
He wanted to say something—but the words caught. All he could do was look at her like she was his whole world.
The second thing that rushed into Lorenzo’s mind was Larry’s advice from the day before—right after he’d asked, defeated and tired, how the hell he was supposed to win Krystal back.
“To win over a woman again,” Larry had said with all the seriousness of a self-declared love guru, “you need to spend more time together. Consider her feelings in everything. And most importantly, create moments that make her cherish you again.”
Lorenzo hadn’t taken it seriously then. Now, lying in a hospital bed, staring at the woman he’d taken for granted too long, the words stuck like a thorn in his chest.
He let out a low groan, his voice rough and slightly shaky. “It hurts… a lot.”
Krystal’s brows pulled together in worry. Her eyes dropped to the bandage on his forehead. “It hurts that much?” she asked softly, her touch barely grazing the side of his head with featherlight care.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Yes,” he muttered.
She immediately withdrew her hand and turned toward the door. “Wait—I’ll get the doctor—”
But before she could take a step, his hand reached out and caught her wrist, stopping her.
“I’m fine,” he said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I just wanted you to feel bad for me.”
His voice, even with its teasing edge, carried a boyish vulnerability that didn’t match the cold, ruthless man she was used to. He guided her hand back gently to his head. “Do that again. It felt nice.”
Krystal frowned, her fingers slipping free of his grip.
He watched her pull away, disappointment flickering in his eyes.
“I didn’t expect Mr. Moretti to have such a childish side,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
Lorenzo’s gaze traveled slowly from her hand to her face. She stood still, the hospital light catching on her tired features, and after a pause, her voice softened.
“Thank you… for today,” she said. “If you hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me.”
“Just a thank-you?” His brow arched slightly, lips twitching. “That sounds way too formal.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, not amused. “Fine. I won’t take the fifty million you gave me for treating Esther. That’s my way of returning the favor. Is that sincere enough?”
His expression changed instantly—lips flattening, jaw tightening just a bit. “Do you really think I helped you for money?”
Before she could answer, he caught her hand again, pulling her closer, bringing that hand to his chest.
“I’ve been thinking about you constantly,” he said, all the humor gone. “I know I was horrible to you. I pushed you away. I don’t expect forgiveness overnight. I just want one chance. One chance to earn your trust back. Let me make things right, Krystal.”
A flicker of surprise passed through her eyes.
For a long time, the man in front of her had been cold, distant—a Cactus who pricked her every time she got too close. Now, that same man sat before her, vulnerable and open in a way she had never imagined. Like he’d been carrying regret for far too long.
Her chest tightened. For a moment, she didn’t know how to react.
Because she wasn’t innocent either.
She’d entered the marriage fully aware of Esther’s place in his life. It was supposed to be transactional—a favor for his grandfather. A duty. Something to cross off a list.
But somewhere in the middle of all that pretending… her feelings had turned real.
And that scared her more than she’d ever admit.
Without saying a word, she gently pulled her hand free. He didn’t stop her this time.
“I should go,” she whispered, her voice fragile, barely audible.
Then she turned and walked out of the room, her footsteps fading with each step.
Lorenzo stared at the door she disappeared through, a hollow ache expanding in his chest. He sat frozen for a second, his jaw clenched, his breathing uneven. It was like someone had cracked his ribs open and left his heart exposed.
And then the urgency slammed into him.
He groaned and shoved himself upright, the sudden motion making black spots dance in front of his eyes. Pain tore through his skull like a hammer, sharp and blinding. The bandage pulled against his skin, hot blood soaking through at the edge.
He didn’t care.
He reached down and yanked the IV out of his arm. The sting barely registered. Blood welled up and trailed down the inside of his forearm, but it was nothing compared to the panic clawing at his chest.
She was leaving—again.
His bare feet slapped against the cold hospital floor as he stumbled after her. A nurse shouted something behind him, but her voice was drowned out by the pounding in his head and the thundering urgency in his chest.
“Krystal—wait!” he called, voice hoarse and cracking.
But she didn’t turn back.
She kept walking, slipping through the double doors at the end of the corridor like a dream dissolving in the morning light.
He pushed through the doors after her, ignoring the stabbing in his side and the aching weight in his legs. By the time he burst outside, the hospital lights cast long shadows across the street.
She was gone.
The sidewalk stretched out before him, empty and silent. Cars rolled by in the distance, oblivious. The air was cold, brushing over his skin like punishment.
His shoulders dropped. He stood at the entrance, chest heaving, eyes scanning the street in disbelief, desperately hoping for one last glimpse of her—her hair, her scent, anything.
But there was nothing.
“Mr. Moretti!”
Xander’s voice sliced through the moment. He jogged up to Lorenzo, breathless, his gaze darting from the IV wound to the bloodied bandage on Lorenzo’s head.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said firmly, concern etched across his face. “You need rest.”
Lorenzo didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at him. His eyes were still locked on the street like if he stared long enough, she might reappear.
Xander exhaled, then straightened his stance, his tone shifting. “Sir. I found something. About the attacker—Jim.”
Lorenzo’s head turned slowly, his gaze hardening like steel.
“Jim is connected to Miss Esther.” Xander said.
Lorenzo’s expression darkened. “What?”
“We’ve traced multiple payments made to him over the past two years. Large amounts. Regular. Consistent.”
Lorenzo’s jaw ticked.
“And after he tried to run over Mrs. Moretti last week, he got bail… fast. Too fast. The money came from an anonymous account. We dug into it. The trail leads back to Miss Esther.”
The blood drained from Lorenzo’s face.
“She paid for that attack?” he asked, voice low, almost a growl.
“Yes, sir,” Xander said grimly. “But that’s not all.”