Chapter 27 A Special Day
Without even glancing up from his plate, he spoke casually.
“Baby,” he said, the word rolling off his tongue like it belonged there. “Since you won’t call me that anymore, I figured it’s my turn now.”
Krystal stilled, fork suspended mid-air.
“You used to call me ‘baby’ for two years,” he went on, his tone softer now, a hint of wistfulness sneaking through. “I got used to it. It felt... nice. Comforting. Like home. And now that you’ve stopped—” he gave a small shrug, “—I miss it. So let’s fix that.”
Krystal let out a sharp breath, her expression turning flat. She glared at him from across the table. “There’s no need for that. Just call me Krystal.”
Lorenzo lifted his spoon and made a lazy swirling motion in the air, waving off her command like it didn’t hold weight. “I’m not familiar with that name anymore. It doesn’t feel right. Too… distant.”
Then came the smirk. That familiar, maddening smirk.
“Baby sounds more… intimate, don’t you think?”
Her fork hit the plate with a little more force than necessary. “We’re not intimate. So drop it.”
“Exactly my point,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat.
“But what if we start spending more time together? What if we become intimate again?” He leaned forward and, without asking, reached for the fruit bowl, casually plucking a few slices and placing them gently on her plate like they were a cozy married couple.
Krystal narrowed her eyes at him, sharp enough to slice steel. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled like she hadn’t just stabbed him with her stare and helped himself to some more fruit, as if nothing in the world could ruin his cheerful, delusional mood.
She went silent, lips pressed tightly as she picked at her food again, trying to ignore the persistent warmth of his gaze. But it was impossible. She could feel him watching her. Every time her hand moved. Every bite she took.
She slammed her fork down.
“Mr. Moretti,” she snapped, her tone turning cold and clipped. “You’ve eaten. You can go now. I won’t be dropping you off.”
Lorenzo took his time chewing another bite, like her words barely registered. When he finally spoke, there was a teasing lilt in his voice. “Trying to kick me out already?”
She raised a brow, deadpan. “Were my words unclear?”
Instead of answering, he reached into his pocket. “Wait a second.”
She watched warily as he pulled out a small velvet box and placed it on the table between them. With a flick of his thumb, it popped open.
A diamond ring sparkled under the morning light—easily worth more than most people made in a year.
“I got you a little something,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “A thank-you… for breakfast.”
Krystal didn’t even blink. She looked at the ring, then back at him with a withering stare. “You call that a gift?”
His grin widened. He looked far too proud of himself. “Also,” he added, leaning back in his chair with an infuriating calm, “I’m thinking of moving into the apartment across from yours.”
Her face froze. “What?!”
Lorenzo nodded seriously. “I’m not a fan of living alone. I’ve started cooking, but I make too much food. So I figured, since you’re right next door, maybe you could help me finish it.”
He gave her an innocent shrug. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Three meals a day. You know—neighborly bonding.”
Krystal gaped at him, gripping the edge of the table. “You’re saying I have to eat your food three times a day now?”
“Isn’t that what good neighbors do?” he replied earnestly. “Help each other?”
She narrowed her eyes, the burn in her glare intensifying. “What kind of shameless neighbor uses his cooking skills to torture the woman next door?”
He tapped his chin like he was considering that seriously. “Don’t worry. I’ll come over and eat at your place too. Fair exchange.”
She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Why don’t you just move into my apartment and pay me rent while you’re at it?”
His eyes lit up, completely serious. “Can I?”
That did it.
Without a word, she stood, grabbed his arm, yanked him out of the chair, and dragged him toward the door. “Out. Now!”
He stumbled after her, not even trying to resist.
“Wait, Krystal—this ring—”
“Take it back!” she snapped, thrusting the velvet box into his hands and practically shoving him out.
The door slammed behind him with a thunderous thud.
Silence fell.
Krystal stood there, her back against the door, chest rising and falling in exasperation. She stared at the wood in front of her, eyes wide with disbelief.
Then she muttered under her breath, “Should I tell Xander to hire a shaman to bring Lorenzo’s soul back? Maybe they can bring Lorenzo’s soul back from whatever planet he’s living on.”
She let out a helpless groan and slid down to the floor, burying her face in her hands.
***
The CEO office of Velare Hotel Headquarters was unusually quiet.
The usual buzz of assistants, ringing phones, and clipped footsteps in polished hallways had faded into a stillness that wrapped the office like velvet. Morning sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the sleek marble floors and dark mahogany desk.
Lorenzo sat behind it, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, the crisp black button-down hugging his frame like it had been stitched directly onto him. He looked every bit the cold, collected CEO. But his furrowed brows and the slight tug at the corner of his lips told a different story.
The tablet in his hand glowed with a headline far removed from business deals and power moves.
‘10 Gifts That Will Make Her Fall for You Again.’
He exhaled through his nose, trying not to smile.
Just then, the door swung open.
Xander stepped in briskly, his usual stoic posture intact. Lorenzo quickly straightened, dropping the tablet on the table with a dull thud and slipping into his practiced cool demeanor.
Xander raised a brow briefly at the motion but said nothing. He approached with a file in hand.
“Mr. Moretti,” he said, placing it on the desk. “Esther and Jim have been arrested. She’s been trying to reach you repeatedly, but as per your instructions, all requests have been blocked.”
Lorenzo gave a curt nod, his voice clipped. “Good. Keep it that way.”
“Yes, sir.” Xander turned to leave, but as he rounded the desk, his hip bumped the corner, and the tablet Lorenzo had been holding slid off with a loud clack, hitting the marble floor.
Xander bent quickly. “Apologies, Mr. Moretti, let me—”
“No, it’s fine—leave it,” Lorenzo said a bit too fast.
But it was already in Xander’s hands.
And then—he saw it.
His eyes flicked to the screen, still unlocked and wide open. Article tabs glowed like bright neon signs.
‘How to Win Back Your Wife’
‘How to Apologize So She Actually Believes You’
‘What to Do When She Doesn’t Love You Anymore (But You’re Still Madly in Love)’
Xander froze, blinking once, then twice.
His voice came out in a disbelieving whisper. “Mr. Moretti reads this kind of stuff…?”
In an instant, Lorenzo snatched the tablet from his hand, jaw tightening as if his pride had just taken a bullet.
“Get out,” he growled. “Now. And don’t speak a word of this to anyone.”
Xander straightened, suppressing a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, sir.”
He turned on his heel and left, quietly chuckling to himself as the door clicked shut behind him.
Lorenzo exhaled a long breath and sank back into his chair. He hesitated a moment… then opened the article again.
His eyes scanned the screen slowly, absorbing each word as if it were a blueprint to something fragile.
‘Pick a special day. Prepare something meaningful. Make her feel seen. If your love is real, she’ll feel it—deep in her heart. Remind her why she once chose you.’
Lorenzo’s fingers tapped against the edge of the tablet. His gaze shifted toward the calendar open on the corner of his phone. Then he saw the date—and everything stilled.
“Two days from now,” he whispered to himself. “Our third anniversary.”
His voice was soft, but lined with excitement. “I’ve never celebrated a single anniversary with her. Maybe it’s time I start.”
***
For the first time in his life, Lorenzo Moretti cleared his schedule for two full days.
No meetings. No boardrooms. No emergency calls. Nothing.
The entire office was stunned. Whispers echoed through every hallway like electricity.
“Even on his wedding day, he worked.” “Something must be wrong. Or… someone.”
But while rumors churned, Lorenzo was in his penthouse kitchen—shirt sleeves rolled, apron askew, covered in flour and chaos.
He cracked eggs one-handed (and failed miserably), sifted flour like a madman, and burned three cakes beyond recognition.
The countertop looked like a tornado had hit it, egg shells everywhere, batter splattered across the backsplash.
He even managed to burn his wrist slightly—nothing too serious, just enough to hiss under his breath.
But finally, after hours of frustration and determination, a single-layer strawberry cake came out just right.
Lorenzo took a step back and opened his phone. A photo of Krystal stared back at him—her elbow on the table, chin resting on her palm, that smile curving like sunshine.
He turned and opened a small plastic box.
Inside were two tiny custom figurines—chibi versions. One was Krystal, in that exact pose from the photo. The other was him, sitting beside her, his miniature arm draped across her shoulders.
He placed the little Krystal carefully in the center of the cake, then positioned the tiny version of himself next to her.
He glanced from her photo to the tiny Krystal figure perched on the cake, then back again. His usually sharp features softened, staring down at it with adoration.
His thumb brushed lightly across her photo.
“Exact copy,” he murmured, a rare, soft smile forming on his lips.
***