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It was Xander.

“Mrs. Moretti? What are you doing here?” he asked, blinking in surprise.

“Hush! Don’t talk, don’t say anything!” she whispered harshly, slapping her palm over his mouth.

But the man wouldn’t stop talking. “Did you come to see Mr. Moretti? I can take you to him—”

He started to walk around the corner, ready to call for Lorenzo—but before he could, Krystal darted past him and disappeared down the hall.

“Mrs. Moretti? Xander yelled.

Lorenzo’s head turned sharply at Xander’s voice. Without thinking, he rushed after her, but Krystal had already taken off, running fast.

Esther stepped out of her room just in time to hear Krystal fleeing. Her eyes narrowed and she muttered bitterly under her breath.

“Lorenzo already divorced that bitch. Why is she still clinging to him?”

Krystal didn’t stop—not even to breathe. She ran straight out of the hospital.

A car waited by the curb. She yanked the door open just as Darren jumped out, alarm written all over his face.

“Why are you out of breath like this?” he asked.

“Just drive!” she hissed, grabbing his arm and shoving him toward the driver’s seat. “Get in! Right now.”

Without asking questions, Darren got behind the wheel, and within seconds, the car peeled away from the hospital and disappeared into the street.

A moment later, Lorenzo burst through the hospital doors with Xander trailing behind him. He scanned the area, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.

No sign of her.

He let out a harsh, frustrated breath. “Didn’t she come to see me? Where the hell did she run off to?” he growled, hands resting on his hips, his jaw clenched tight.

“I saw her come from the direction of Ms. Esther’s ward, Mr. Moretti,” Xander said carefully. “Do you think Mrs. saw or heard something… that upset her?”

Lorenzo’s expression darkened. His mind raced back to what had happened in the room. The way Esther had clung to his hand. The words he’d said.

“I told Esther that I will care for her,” he muttered, more to himself.

Xander let out a slow sigh. “No wonder. What woman could stand hearing her husband say that to another woman?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Xander glanced at Lorenzo again, his voice softer.

“Sir, If you’re worried about Mrs., maybe try calling her? Talk to her. Comfort her?”

Lorenzo’s expression tightened, his broad shoulders squaring with a tension that made the air feel heavier. His jaw flexed hard, the muscle ticking as he barked, “Why would I be worried about her? Why would I comfort her?”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and began walking away, his polished shoes striking the floor with sharp, deliberate steps. But halfway through, he froze.

His back was rigid.

His jaw clenched tighter, eyes narrowing.

He dug into the inner pocket of his suit, pulling out his phone with swift irritation. His fingers moved quickly, scrolling through his contacts until he found her name and hit dial.

No answer.

The screen didn’t even blink to life with a ringtone. Just a cold, flat robotic voice: ‘The number you have dialed is not available.’