Page 21

She collided with something solid. Hard.

She stumbled back, blinking in stunned confusion, and then froze.

Lorenzo was standing right in front of her. Tall and strong. His eyes were dark and full of anger. The way his jaw was tight and the fire in his eyes made her heart skip.

She gasped, turning to run, but his hand shot out and blocked her path. She tried to slip under the arm he raised against the wall, but he was too quick.

He grabbed her shoulders and spun her back, pressing her against the wall, caging her between the cold surface and his tall frame.

“Are you really just going to ignore me now?” he said sharply. “Look away every time we cross paths?”

Krystal sighed in defeat, her buzz dimming as the irritation crept in.

‘Shit. What’s this Cactus doing here?’

She forced a grin. “Hi,” she said as if this was the most casual run-in of her life. “How are you? Your arm alright? How’s your health, by the way?”

Wrong move.

The flicker of rage behind his eyes erupted into full-on fury.

He stepped back just enough to glare around the hallway, voice dropping into a growl.

“Do you even know how long I’ve been looking for you? Where the hell were you?” Then he narrowed his eyes, his voice laced with venom. “And what are you doing here in a damn bar?”

Krystal hesitated, her mind spinning as excuses raced through her head. Her body tensed, heart pounding.

Then she nodded, murmuring under her breath, barely audible even to herself, "After leaving you… now that I’m living without you. I’m just here—"

She faltered, thinking fast, her eyes darting to the side. “I’m working here,” she said quickly.

Lorenzo’s eyes scanned her from head to toe, sharp like a blade. The short, sleeveless dress clung to her body, showing off curves she had always hidden during their marriage. A lot of makeup framed her face, every detail polished and perfect. Her lipstick too red. Her hair styled in soft waves.

Full makeup. Hair done. Skin glowing. Eyes alive—but not for him.

The sight alone made his jaw tighten.

“Working?” he asked, voice low and restrained, like it was taking everything in him not to explode. “Dressed like this?”

Suddenly, he stepped in, closing the distance between them. His hand gripped her arm, and his face dipped into the curve of her neck. She froze. Every nerve in her body lit up, burning from the heat of his breath against her skin.

Krystal froze, her breath caught mid-thought. His nose brushed her skin, and it burned, like fire licking through her veins. The alcohol in her system only magnified the feeling, heightened everything. Her senses spun out of control.

Just as quickly, he pulled back. But he didn’t move away. He stayed planted—so close she could see every fleck of gold in his eyes, every twitch in his jaw.

"You’ve been drinking?" he asked, his voice colder now. "Your job makes you drink? What kind of damn job makes a woman dress like this and get drunk in a bar?"

Her eyes flew up to meet his, wide with disbelief and hurt. “So what if I was drinking? So what if I dressed like this? You think I’m some kind of escort?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing into something unreadable. That cold, calculating stare—it paralyzed her. Made her feel small.

She quickly looked away, muttering under her breath.

"I mean... yeah," she muttered, instantly shrinking back. "I have to drink sometimes for work. I'm not some rich wife anymore."

She yanked her arm free, stepping back like a wounded animal gathering strength, and added with a soft, worn-out voice—the same tone she used with him during their last years together.

“I’m working as a model for a photographer. I have to do whatever I can to survive now. I can’t say no when they ask me to have drinks.”