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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 fromthe 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.