Page 22

Lorenzo’s expression darkened—thunder in human form. His jaw clenched, and a curse slipped between his teeth.

He turned away like trying to hold back the explosion, only to whip back around, eyes burning.

“I offered you a hundred million in alimony," he snapped. "It’s still on the table. Take it. You’ll need it to live.”

She shook her head gently.

“It was enough that I got to be with you for two years,” she said, a sad little smile tugging at her lips. Her voice softened. “I won’ttake any more money from you. And don’t worry. I won’t come between you and Esther. Let’s just… keep our distance.”

She turned to leave, her face shifting into quiet relief the moment she faced away from him. She started walking fast, desperate to get out of there.

Lorenzo instinctively reached out, his fingers brushing the air where her hand had just been.

He stood frozen in place, jaw clenched, his broad chest rising and falling with restrained rage. He hadn’t told her to leave the house. He never once mentioned cutting her off. The idea of her walking away with nothing—no money, no safety net—made his blood boil.

But she was always like this. Stubborn, so damn reckless, and hell-bent on driving him mad.

Krystal clutched her chest as she ducked into the crowd, a grin tugging at her lips and a sigh escaping her lungs. Her eyes sparkled with relief.

‘That should be enough to keep Cactus away for good,’ she thought, chuckling under her breath. ‘No man wants a financial burden when he’s trying to make his new woman happy.’

The sharp ache in her chest still lingered, but it was nothing compared to the pain she'd already endured.

Meanwhile, Darren had stepped out of the VIP lounge, concern etched into his face. She’d been gone too long. People were starting to ask questions.

They collided near the hallway.

“Where the hell did you go?” Darren asked, grabbing her shoulders gently. “It’s been forever. Everyone thought you passed out in the bathroom or something.”

But Krystal didn’t answer right away. Her mind was still spinning with the image of Lorenzo’s face—those burning eyes, that possessive grip. It was like he haunted her, even in the places she ran to forget him.

“I swear, Darren,” she hissed, rubbing her temples, “I need an exorcist or something. Ever since the divorce, he’s everywhere. I just ran into him again. In the hallway. How does that even happen?! What kind of cursed fate is this?”

Darren wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It’s alright,” he said calmly. “We’ll deal with him later. Right now, let’s just get you back. Everyone’s waiting.”

“Yeah, alright,” she mumbled, leaning slightly into him as they started walking back.

But just as they turned the corner, Lorenzo appeared in front of them like a shadow. Krystal flinched back, startled.

His cold gaze swept over Darren first, then zeroed in on the arm resting casually around Krystal’s shoulder. His eyes darkened. His jaw ticked.

“Who is he?” Lorenzo asked, his voice low, hard, and deadly calm—danger wrapped in a tailored suit. He didn’t look at Darren. His gaze was locked on Krystal.

He didn’t even blink.

“I’m her—” Darren started, straightening up, ready to speak, but Krystal quickly grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly to stop him.

“He’s my photographer,” she answered, her voice steady, but her eyes held a flicker of unease.

Darren shot her a confused look, but she pinched his arm and silently mouthed, ‘Don’t speak.’

Lorenzo’s eyes didn’t miss a thing.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the way Darren touched her—his arm casually slung around her shoulders, the way she looked up at him. That touch alone was enough to make him want to break something.

His jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body screamed to rip her away from Darren. But instead, he stood rooted, anger simmering beneath the surface.

Looking between the two of them, his voice dropped, dark and quiet. “You are sleeping with him?”