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When she opened the door, Lorenzo stood there, leaning casually against the frame. His tall frame was dressed down in a plain T-shirt and trousers instead of his usual suit. His hair was slightly tousled like he’d just run his hands through it, and a shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, making him look rugged and sleep-starved in a way that made her stomach do something annoying.

Krystal blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“Room for one more at the breakfast table?” he asked casually, lips curved into an easy grin—like this was normal.

She folded her arms, arching a brow. “It’s not even 8 a.m.”

“I know,” he said, glancing at her plate inside like he’d timed it perfectly. “You always eat around this time.”

She frowned. “Are you stalking my breakfast habits now?”

He didn’t answer—just smiled that maddeningly boyish smile that made him look ten years younger and more dangerous than ever.

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to slam the door in his face and go back to cold eggs and silence.

But another part—the part that remembered his bloodied head, his pained expression, the way he’d stood between her and death without hesitation—kept her still.

She sighed, stepping back. “Fine. One meal. For the sake of you saving my life. That’s it.”

Lorenzo stepped in quietly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he whispered to himself, “This article stuff actually works.”

She didn’t catch the words, but she did notice the glint in his eyes as he walked in.

Krystal moved to the counter and fixed him a plate—scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a cup of her strongest black coffee. She placed it in front of him with a quick, wordless gesture, then sat back down across the table.

He picked up his fork and said warmly, “Thank you, baby.”

Krystal froze, her hand jerking mid-motion as she reached for her glass. Her head snapped up.

“What… did you just call me?”

Chapter 27 A Special Day

Without even glancing up from his plate, he spoke casually.

“Baby,” he said, the word rolling off his tongue like it belonged there. “Since you won’t call me that anymore, I figured it’s my turn now.”

Krystal stilled, fork suspended mid-air.

“You used to call me ‘baby’ for two years,” he went on, his tone softer now, a hint of wistfulness sneaking through. “I got used to it. It felt... nice. Comforting. Like home. And now that you’ve stopped—” he gave a small shrug, “—I miss it. So let’s fix that.”

Krystal let out a sharp breath, her expression turning flat. She glared at him from across the table. “There’s no need for that. Just call me Krystal.”

Lorenzo lifted his spoon and made a lazy swirling motion in the air, waving off her command like it didn’t hold weight. “I’m not familiar with that name anymore. It doesn’t feel right. Too… distant.”

Then came the smirk. That familiar, maddening smirk.

“Baby sounds more… intimate, don’t you think?”

Her fork hit the plate with a little more force than necessary. “We’renotintimate. So drop it.”

“Exactly my point,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat. “But what if we start spending more time together? What if we become intimate again?” He leaned forward and, without asking, reached for the fruit bowl, casually plucking a few slices and placing them gently on her plate like they were a cozy married couple.

Krystal narrowed her eyes at him, sharp enough to slice steel. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled like she hadn’t just stabbed him with her stare and helped himself to some more fruit, as if nothing in the world could ruin his cheerful, delusional mood.

She went silent, lips pressed tightly as she picked at her food again, trying to ignore the persistent warmth of his gaze. But it was impossible. She could feel him watching her. Every time her hand moved. Every bite she took.

She slammed her fork down.