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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.”