Chapter 27 A Special Day #2
Later that night, another knock echoed through Krystal’s apartment, loud and persistent. She groaned, still tangled in sleep, as she shuffled toward the door in oversized slippers and a faded T-shirt. Her hair was a tousled mess, and her eyelids barely stayed open.
“It’s the middle of the damn night,” she mumbled, fumbling with the lock. “Who—”
She froze.
Lorenzo stood on her doorstep like a scene from a movie.
He was dressed in a cream-colored shirt, unbuttoned just enough at the collar to show a hint of skin, with an olive green sweater layered on top, sleeves pushed back in that perfectly careless way.
His tailored trousers matched the soft cream palette, clinging to his tall frame like they were made just for him.
He looked unfairly good for someone who showed up uninvited at midnight.
And God—he smelled even better.
Clean, warm, and expensive, like cedarwood, bergamot, and trouble.
Krystal blinked, momentarily forgetting how to breathe.
“Look at the time,” Lorenzo said, glancing at his sleek watch with a small, teasing smile. “It’s midnight.”
Then—without hesitation—he leaned in and kissed her.
A soft, gentle brush of his lips against hers.
Caught completely off guard, she stepped back, lips parted, heart thudding. “Lorenzo—what—?”
He didn’t explain right away. Instead, he lifted the box in his hands—clear and tied with a dark green satin ribbon. Inside sat a small cake, slightly imperfect but decorated with care.
“I wanted to be the first to remind you,” he said, voice low and sincere, “it’s our third anniversary today. I made this for us.”
Her gaze flicked from his eyes to the cake, then back again, unsure what to process first—his surprise appearance, the cake he made by himself, or the kiss that was still tingling on her mouth.
Before she could speak, he leaned in once more.
His lips met hers in a hungry, quick kiss that stole her breath away.
His mouth pressed fiercely against hers, warm and demanding.
His tongue darted out with a teasing sweep—slipping between her lips, flicking against her tongue just long enough to spark a fire before pulling back slightly, only to press his lips harder.
His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against his body so that the heat of him pressed all the way through her. She felt the hard press of his chest against her, the strength in his arms as he held her captive in his embrace.
He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging it just enough to make her gasp. His tongue traced the outline of her lips, licking them slowly, before plunging deeper, exploring every inch of her mouth with a slick, insistent rhythm.
Slowly, he eased back, his breath warm and lingering against her skin.
“Happy anniversary, baby,” he whispered against her lips.
Krystal’s heart kicked hard in her chest. She quickly turned her face away, blinking herself back into reason.
“Stop it,” she muttered, trying to scowl, though her voice came out too breathless to sound convincing. She pushed at his chest, pulling away from his grip.
Then her gaze dropped to the cake again, brows pinching in a scowl. “This isn’t our anniversary anymore. We’re divorced.”
“I can fix that,” he said without missing a beat. “When can I schedule our remarriage? Today? Tomorrow? Wait—give me an hour. I’ll book the venue, the vows, the violinist. Whatever you want.”
She stared at him like he’d lost his damn mind.
With a tired sigh, Krystal gave him a slow, sidelong glance. Then—without another word—she took the cake from his hands.
“Thanks for the cake. Happy anniversary,” she muttered, voice dry. “I’m exhausted. See you tomorrow.”
And with that, she shut the door in his face.
Lorenzo stood there, blinking at the wooden door that now separated him from the woman he couldn’t stop loving. His hand lifted midair as if to stop her, but he was too slow.
The door clicked shut.
He exhaled heavily, chest tightening with disappointment. He stared at the closed door like it might open again if he waited long enough.
That’s when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out and answered without checking.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly.
Xander’s voice crackled through the line. “Mr. Moretti, your grandfather found out about your divorce. He’s demanding you come home. Immediately.”
Inside the apartment, Krystal placed the cake gently on her table and dropped into the chair in front of it.
She just stared.
Then, with a soft breath, she removed the clear lid. The scent of strawberries and vanilla filled the air.
The cake wasn’t perfect—its edges uneven, some frosting clumsily smoothed. But it was clearly handmade.
Her gaze softened.
Right at the center sat two tiny figurines. A chibi version of herself, chin resting on her palm, posed just like an old photo she barely remembered. And beside it—a miniature Lorenzo, arm draped around her shoulders, smiling at her like she was the only woman in the world.
She covered her mouth, trying to hold back the laugh bubbling up in her chest.
Her eyes, once guarded, softened as they lingered on the cake.
A moment later, her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible but full of quiet fondness.
“Lorenzo Moretti… you hopeless little fool.”
Before Lorenzo could even set foot inside the Moretti mansion, a cane shot out and smacked hard against his hip.
“What the—!” Lorenzo staggered back, eyes wide, breath knocked from his lungs. He clutched his side, pain shooting through the muscle.
Grayson Moretti’s voice thundered across the marble hallway, sharper and angrier than Lorenzo had ever heard.
“You divorced Krystal?!”
Grayson stood in front of him—his gray hair tousled, his cane gripped with the fury of a man thirty years younger. His usually calm eyes burned with disbelief and barely-contained rage.
Without giving him a second to speak, the old man raised the cane again and smacked him—once, twice, without holding back.
Lorenzo winced, grabbing the cane mid-air. “Grandpa—stop hitting me! I didn’t want to divorce her! She insisted on it.”
Grayson’s jaw clenched. He was seething. His knuckles went white around the cane as he turned on his heel and stormed back into the living room, grumbling curses under his breath.
“She insisted ?” he barked, the words echoing through the grand space. “Why would she insist on divorcing you if you weren’t the problem?”
Lorenzo followed him, jaw clenched, his voice low. “Because I was the problem,” he muttered, almost under his breath.
Grayson spun around mid-walk and slammed the cane into Lorenzo’s leg again.
“Goddammit!” Lorenzo hissed through his teeth.
“Exactly!” Grayson barked. “You were the problem. And now you have the audacity to act like the victim?”
With a loud huff, Grayson reached the couch and dropped onto it with a grunt, still muttering curses under his breath. The grand chandelier above them shimmered in the silence that followed.
“She saved your damn life,” he growled, “and this is how you repay her? You let her walk away without even putting up a fight?”
Lorenzo paused in the hallway, heart skipping. “What are you talking about?”
Grayson looked up, his eyes filled with disappointment and rage.
“You remember when your hands wouldn’t stop shaking?” he began slowly. “When you couldn’t even hold a pen steady, and you refused every doctor I sent your way?”
“Yeah…” Lorenzo said cautiously. “But the symptoms went away on their own?”
Grayson scoffed, his gaze scorching. “No. They didn’t fade on their own, you arrogant fool. Krystal treated you.”
Lorenzo’s body went still.
His jaw worked, but no words came. “What?” he finally whispered.
“All those meals she made for you, those exact times she insisted you eat—even when you were busy or annoyed? That wasn’t just about feeding you. That was your medicine. She was curing your damn condition while you were too blind to see it.”
Lorenzo’s chest tightened, something in him cracking. “She never said anything.”
“She didn’t need to,” Grayson said bitterly.
“She married you to repay a favor. My favor. I sponsored her education because she was a brilliant girl. I knew she was Astra. So I asked her to treat you without telling you the truth. Because if you knew, you would’ve refused again even if it killed you. ”
Lorenzo’s breath hitched. His mind reeled, but Grayson wasn’t done.
“I asked her to marry you so she’d always be close enough to treat you—however long it took. To give you back the future you thought you’d already lost.”
A deep silence fell between them.
Lorenzo stared at the floor, his pulse thudding in his ears.
Grayson sighed. His tone shifted, gentler now. “That may have been how it started. But don’t act like she treated you like a job. She gave you more care than any doctor could. Hell, she gave you more love than any wife ever would. She didn’t owe you that.”
Lorenzo couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His legs felt rooted to the floor, and the walls around him suddenly felt too close, too tight.
Grayson leaned back on the couch, a weary sigh escaping him as he closed his eyes. “Let it be,” he muttered. “Maybe this is how it was always meant to end.”
He paused, and when he spoke again, it was quieter… more broken.
“I had thought... I had hoped... that by the time you were healed, you two would have grown close enough to stay together forever. To choose each other, even after the favor was done. But I was wrong. I guess this marriage was already destined to end before it even began.”
Lorenzo stood frozen, his body locked up, shoulders tense. His voice barely came out—low, dry, like something had died inside him.
“So my whole marriage…” His voice was hollow. “It was all built on a favor?” The question scratched his throat raw, each word cutting as it passed. His heart slammed in his chest like it couldn’t decide whether to fight or fall apart.
Grayson opened his eyes slowly and looked up at his grandson, his expression hard.
“She married you to help you. To treat you when everyone else failed. because she felt she owed me something,” he said plainly.
“But don’t twist that into thinking it was all fake.
That girl did a hell of a lot more than that, didn’t she? ”
He pointed a finger, his voice sharp as a blade. “She did more for you than any doctor ever would. She gave you your life back. Not just your hands—your strength, your pride, your damn dignity. You were falling apart, Lorenzo. You couldn’t even hold a glass of water. And still, she stayed.”
Grayson’s chest rose with each breath, fury burning behind his words.
She cooked for you. Timed every meal to match your meds.
Took care of you without making it feel like pity.
She carried you through it, step by step, without ever asking for anything in return.
No praise. No recognition. Nothing. She gave you everything—her time, her care, her heart.
She cared for you in a way no one else ever would.
She didn’t treat you like a patient. She treated you like you were her world! ”
Lorenzo’s fists curled tighter. His throat burned, and he couldn’t look up.
Grayson’s voice softened, but the weight behind it only grew heavier.
“She treated you better than any wife would’ve. She didn’t just do her duty. She loved you, Lorenzo. Hell, even I saw it. She loved you in every small, invisible way you never bothered to see. Even when you gave her nothing back. And still—still—you threw it all away.”
His voice turned cold. “You divorced her. Why?”
Lorenzo turned his face away, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Grayson shook his head. His voice dropped, firm but sad.
“If you don’t love her, then let her go.
Fully. Don’t drag her back into this if you’re just going to break her all over again.
She doesn’t deserve it. She deserved love.
And if you were too blind to give it then—and too damn cowardly to admit it now—then maybe you never deserved her at all.
Don’t drag her into your mess if all you’re going to do is hurt her again. ””
***
Lorenzo’s car had been circling the city for hours, aimless and restless. After leaving his grandfather’s house, he couldn’t bring himself to return to the suffocating silence of his home. Every corner of that house felt empty without Krystal.
His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles pale. His chest ached like it was being crushed under invisible weight. Breathing felt like a chore.
Ever since she walked out of his life, something inside him had come undone. But hearing the truth from Grandpa—that she’d only married him to repay a favor, to heal him, like some moral obligation—shattered what little was left of his sanity.
The words wouldn’t stop echoing.
‘Was that all I ever was to you, Krystal? Just a patient? Just a debt you had to clear?’
His body burned with a fever, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t tell if it was grief or guilt anymore. All he knew was the ache in his chest wouldn’t go away.
An hour passed before he realized where he’d driven. Her apartment building stood quietly under the orange glow of the streetlights. He pulled over, rested his head against the steering wheel for a second, then grabbed his phone with trembling fingers.
He dialed her.
“I want to see you.”