Chapter 26 Apology Language #2
He pulled out his phone and tapped a few buttons. “Mr. Larry managed to recover something—a video. From two years ago. The night she met you.”
Xander handed him the phone and pressed play.
The screen lit up.
It was grainy footage, no audio, but the timestamp and the angle were clear. Late night. A car parked on an empty, quiet road.
Lorenzo watched as his past self stumbled into the backseat. His movements were slow, uncoordinated—drugged. He leaned back against the seat, completely unaware of what was coming.
A minute later, another figure entered the frame. A young woman. Her steps were uneven, like she was dizzy or disoriented. She kept checking her phone like she was calling for a ride.
She then stumbled toward his car.
Lorenzo leaned forward, eyes locked on the screen.
And then… he saw the face.
His heart dropped.
His hand clenched the phone tighter. “That’s… Krystal,” he whispered. “Not Esther.”
“Yes, sir.” Xander nodded, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “That’s what I wanted to show you.”
Lorenzo’s eyes stayed glued to the footage.
The video continued. Krystal opened the car door. Lorenzo grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside. Nearly an hour passed, and then Krystal stumbled out of the car, visibly shaken, and ran off.
And then… another woman stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.
She had a phone to her ear and slowly approached the same car.
The camera caught her face clearly.
Esther.
Lorenzo's entire body tensed.
Esther looked up and waved her hand at someone in the distance.
A car pulled around from behind. The man inside stuck his arm out the window and gave her a thumbs-up.
Esther smirked, then climbed into Lorenzo’s car.
Moments later, the car Esther had signaled slammed into theirs from behind.
At first, it approached slowly. But then, as if the driver slammed the accelerator, the car jerked forward and crashed into theirs with a violent slam.
The black car rammed into theirs at full force. The violent jolt sent the car flying forward. Metal crunched. The screen jolted with the hit. The car slammed into a wall and stilled, smoke curling up from the hood.
Lorenzo stared, jaw clenched, the old pain in his hands flaring up just at the memory of that night. That crash had nearly ruined his ability to hold a pen without trembling. That was the night Lorenzo’s hands had suffered severe nerve damage. The lingering pain, the trembles.
He remembered waking up beside Esther, confused, his vision blurry. Her shirt slightly undone. Her expression filled with guilt and innocence. She had said they’d been together.
But now, seeing the footage, it all made sense.
She hadn’t been buttoning up after a night together.
She was unbuttoning—staging it, trying to make it look like something had happened between them.
Esther had orchestrated the entire scene.
And her claim of blood clots from that “accident”? A calculated lie to manipulate him.
Lorenzo’s hand trembled. The phone nearly slipped from his grip, but Xander caught it just in time and took it from him.
“It was Krystal,” Lorenzo whispered, stunned.
Xander nodded with a wide grin. “Yes, sir. Mrs. Moretti was the one in the car with you. The woman you slept with wasn’t Esther. It was your wife.”
Lorenzo felt something tighten in his chest—rage and relief fighting for space. His blood roared in his ears. Everything Esther had built—the lies, the manipulation, the pain—collapsed in an instant.
He stared at the paused frame on the screen, his voice low and dangerous. “Send that video to the police.”
Xander blinked. “Sir?”
“Charge Esther and Jim with attempted murder. Both of them,” Lorenzo said, his voice like ice. “They tried to kill me. They tried to kill Krystal. I want them behind bars. For life.”
Xander gave a crisp nod but added, “Sir, Esther will definitely try to reach out to you before anything happens.”
Lorenzo’s jaw clenched, his voice lowering into something far more dangerous.
“Tell her to go to hell. And take back every single thing I ever gave her. I don’t care if it leaves her on the streets.”
***
The Moretti house hadn’t felt this alive in months.
Warm light spilled across the cream-colored floors, and the sound of faint chatter and rustling pages replaced the silence that had lingered like dust in every corner.
In the sprawling living room, Lorenzo sat hunched forward on the leather couch, elbows on his knees, his jaw tight with frustration.
Larry lounged lazily on one side, sipping Coke from a glass bottle while his thumb flicked over his phone. On the other end, Michael sat with one leg crossed over the other, idly flipping through a glossy fashion magazine, his expression unimpressed.
“I mistook the woman I slept with,” Lorenzo finally blurted, voice low but sharp, cutting into the quiet.
His eyes moved from one friend to the other, both of whom looked up slowly.
“That night... I thought it was Esther. I thought I owed her for the damage that night, so I pushed Krystal away... convinced myself I shouldn’t love her—just to keep her out of the mess.
I didn't want to drag her into the mess.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping it for a second before letting go with a bitter exhale. “And now? She won’t even look at me.”
Michael dropped the magazine on the table with a soft thud, his mouth pressed in a flat line.
“I told you from the start. If you’d just treated Krystal right, none of this would’ve spiraled out of control.
You acted like she didn’t matter, like she was some stranger sleeping in your guest room. Of course she walked away.”
Lorenzo leaned back and rubbed his eyes hard, groaning. “I know, okay? That was my mistake. So now just give me a damn plan to fix it.”
Larry looked up, eyes gleaming with mischief and something dangerously close to wisdom. A smirk crept across his face.
“Give me a sec.”
Without another word, he got up and vanished into one of the side rooms. Lorenzo sighed, stretching out his legs, only to pull them back up again seconds later. He couldn’t sit still.
A few minutes later, Larry returned, holding a sleek tablet. He tossed it onto Lorenzo’s lap with a confident smirk, the screen already glowing.
Lorenzo picked it up and stared.
“‘How to Treat Women Right?’” Michael read over his shoulder, one brow rising into his hairline. “Wow.”
Lorenzo looked from the screen to Larry, incredulous. “You’re joking.”
Larry plopped back down on the armrest beside him, entirely unfazed.
“Dead serious. You want to fix this? Try starting from the basics. You’ve done damage.
It’s going to take more than flowers and a five-minute apology.
This isn’t a business deal, man. She’s not an acquisition. She’s your wife. Treat her like it.”
Michael let out a short chuckle. “Well, at least it’s a start.”
Lorenzo stared at the tablet like it was some strange alien artifact, but then sighed and tapped the first article.
An hour later, the house was still again. Michael had wandered off. Larry was in the kitchen, arguing with the housekeeper over whether Coke counted as hydrating. And Lorenzo remained in the same position on the couch, brows furrowed, scrolling.
One headline caught his attention: ‘Apologize Like a Grown Man, Not a Caveman’
He huffed a laugh, surprised and amused. “What the hell…”
Another title popped up: ‘If You Think You’re Right, You’re Probably Single’
He blinked, clicking into it briefly, then backed out. His lips twitched at the next one:
‘Flowers Are Good. So Is Actually Listening’
He read a few lines, and something in his chest tightened.
More titles flashed across the screen:
‘Learn Her Coffee Order—And Her Triggers’
‘Apology Language: When “My Bad” Just Won’t Cut It’
‘Apologizing for Dummies: Because Apparently “Calm Down” Was the Wrong Answer’
Lorenzo let out a quiet snort. “Yeah... I said that once. Didn’t go well”
He kept scrolling.
‘Don’t Have Any Clue What You Did Wrong? Good. Say You’re Sorry Anyway’
‘How to Look Sorry Without Looking Pathetic’
‘She’s Not “Overreacting”—You’re Under-Understanding’
‘Yes, She Remembers What You Said in 2019. Apologize for That Too’
He leaned back into the couch with a long, heavy exhale, the tablet resting on his stomach now.
Maybe he’d been a fool. No—he was a fool. He thought pushing Krystal away had been noble. He thought silence was protection. Distance was safety. But the woman he loved had spent two years being married to a man who couldn’t even say I love you without choking on his own pride.
No wonder she left.
And now? He was learning how to apologize from blog articles written for clueless men.
***
The next morning, Krystal sat at her small breakfast table, lazily poking at her scrambled eggs. A faint breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying the hum of morning traffic.
She raised her coffee mug and took a slow sip.
That’s when a loud knock rattled her front door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
She shut her eyes, groaned, and muttered under her breath, “There’s only one man who bangs on my door at ungodly hours like he owns the building.”
-She didn’t even have to check the peephole.
Dragging her feet to the door, she walked over.
When she opened the door, Lorenzo stood there, leaning casually against the frame.
His tall frame was dressed down in a plain T-shirt and trousers instead of his usual suit.
His hair was slightly tousled like he’d just run his hands through it, and a shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, making him look rugged and sleep-starved in a way that made her stomach do something annoying.
Krystal blinked. “What are you doing here?”
“Room for one more at the breakfast table?” he asked casually, lips curved into an easy grin—like this was normal.
She folded her arms, arching a brow. “It’s not even 8 a.m.”
“I know,” he said, glancing at her plate inside like he’d timed it perfectly. “You always eat around this time.”
She frowned. “Are you stalking my breakfast habits now?”
He didn’t answer—just smiled that maddeningly boyish smile that made him look ten years younger and more dangerous than ever.
She hesitated. Part of her wanted to slam the door in his face and go back to cold eggs and silence.
But another part—the part that remembered his bloodied head, his pained expression, the way he’d stood between her and death without hesitation—kept her still.
She sighed, stepping back. “Fine. One meal. For the sake of you saving my life. That’s it.”
Lorenzo stepped in quietly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he whispered to himself, “This article stuff actually works.”
She didn’t catch the words, but she did notice the glint in his eyes as he walked in.
Krystal moved to the counter and fixed him a plate—scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a cup of her strongest black coffee. She placed it in front of him with a quick, wordless gesture, then sat back down across the table.
He picked up his fork and said warmly, “Thank you, baby.”
Krystal froze, her hand jerking mid-motion as she reached for her glass. Her head snapped up.
“What… did you just call me?”