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Without missing a beat, Esther grabbed the hot coffee on the table and dumped it all over herself. ‘Thank God I already told Jim to erase the footage if I needed to do something dramatic,’ she thought, grinning to herself.

Krystal blinked in surprise but didn’t move, watching the whole act with a blank stare.

Esther bolted toward Lorenzo, turning her head to the side like she couldn’t see where she was going. She bumped straight into him, gasping.

“Aah!” she cried out.

Lorenzo instinctively caught her before she fell. His brow furrowed as he looked down. “Esther?”

She looked up, eyes wide and teary. “Lorenzo? It’s you?” she breathed, her voice trembling.

“What happened?” he asked, concern in his voice. “Are you alright?”

She instantly burst into loud sobs. “Lorenzo, please—help me. It hurts. I don’t feel well,” she cried.

He steadied her and gently said, “Talk to me. What happened?”

Esther threw a fearful glance back at the table where Krystal still stood. “It’s nothing,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Really, it’s nothing. I was just being emotional.”

Lorenzo followed her gaze. His eyes landed on Krystal.

Esther saw his eyes shift and immediately leaned in, voice soft and broken. “I couldn’t stay there any longer. I’m sorry—I just couldn’t take it. It burns,” she whispered, pointing to the coffee dripping down her clothes. “It hurts.”

Krystal rolled her eyes, clearly done with the drama. She started to walk past them. But Lorenzo reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to explain this?”

Esther’s eyes widened with outrage. The man she thought would defend her—was questioning her instead.

“I didn’t lie to you!” she shouted. “I get it—yourex-wifehates me. But does that give her the right to throw scalding drinks at me just because she can’t stand seeing me with you?”

She shot Krystal a venomous glare and jerked Lorenzo’s hand off her arm. “You sure know how to comfort your mistress, don’t you? She shows up crying, and the first thing you do is interrogate me?”

“She’s not my mistress,” Lorenzo said, his tone dropping deeper, his brows pulled together in frustration.

“Sure, whatever,” Krystal scoffed. “I don’t care about your personal mess. Just keep your crazy women away from me.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. His grip on Krystal’s arm tightened for a moment before he pulled her in closer, anger flashing in his eyes.

“What’s with this attitude?” he said sharply. “Why are you talking to me like this?”

Krystal yanked her arm free, breathing hard. “You’re grabbing me because some other woman played victim. What kind of reaction did you expect?”

Lorenzo took a deep breath, then pulled her gently by the shoulder. “Krystal, she’s not like you,” he said, his voice low, “You’re understanding. Kind. You know how to handle things without turning everything into a war. But she’s dealing with a serious medical condition. If you treat her harshly, the stress could harm her more.”

Krystal’s eyes went cold.

“I’ve been your wife for two years, Lorenzo Moretti!” she snapped, her voice cracking with anger and disbelief. “I gave you everything—everything you asked for, everything I had. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you humiliate me now.” Her voice trembled with restrained fury. “I get it. She’s the one you love. In your eyes, she’s the most fragile woman to ever exist. But she’s not as innocent as you think.”

She paused, breathing hard. “Even two years ago at the hotel, she dr—”

She suddenly stopped, realizing she was about to spill too much.

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. “What happened two years ago? What were you about to say?”

Krystal clenched her jaw, lips pressed tight. She didn’t answer, taking a deep breath as if holding something back.

She looked straight into his eyes, her voice cold and clipped. “Since you don’t believe me, I’ll send you the footage from the café. See it for yourself.”