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Krystal stared, stunned. Her head snapped up toward Lorenzo.

He looked down at her with a grin—and kissed her cheek before she could even process what was happening.

Smack.

She shoved at his chest with a palm, scowling. “Let go of me!”

Lorenzo chuckled under his breath and finally loosened his hold, backing away as she wiped her cheek furiously with the back of her hand.

Then, Lorenzo’s gaze sliced through the room, locking straight on Xander like a heat-seeking missile.

He stormed toward the door, his footsteps loud, sharp, each one echoing his irritation.

Xander’s confident grin faded the second their eyes met. His entire posture deflated.

“Uh—right. I’ll just… go.”

Clutching the massive bouquet like a shield, he turned on his heel and bolted out the door without another word, nearly tripping over the threshold in his rush.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the apartment like a gavel hitting wood.

Lorenzo groaned under his breath and dragged a hand down his face, frustration carved into every line of his expression. He turned slowly back toward Krystal, shoulders tight, and then walked back to her.

From the pocket of his slacks, he pulled out a small black velvet box. His fingers lingered on it for a second before he offered it to her.

Krystal didn’t take it.

Instead, she stared at him, arms crossed. “Why do you keep showing up for no reason?”

“Do I need a reason to make you my wife again?”

She flinched, but recovered quickly, her voice steady and clipped. “Who told you I want to be your wife again? This is called stalking!”

He grinned, unfazed, stepping closer, the box still in hand. “Krystal—”

“I don’t care what you have to say,” she cut him off, placing a hand on his chest to block him. “The time to show affection was long ago. That window has closed. Please leave.”

She turned and walked toward her bedroom.

“Krystal, wait—just try this dish I made for you,” he tried, following her.

But she didn’t stop.

The bedroom door shut in his face with a loud thud.

He stood there for a second, lips pressed together in a hard line, disappointment written across his face. His fingers tightened around the small gift box, the pressure whitening his knuckles.

After a beat, he turned and began walking toward the exit.

Darren was leaning against the living room wall now, arms crossed, watching him quietly. He hadn't said a word during the argument—until now.

“Mr. Moretti.”

Lorenzo paused, halfway to the door. He turned slightly, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Darren still shirtless, still irritating.

“How much would it take to make you stop bothering Krystal?” Darren asked, tone flat, eyes locked onto his.

Lorenzo blinked in disbelief—then let out a short, humorless laugh. He turned to face him fully, pocketing the velvet box with an almost lazy grace.