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"I haven’t seen her for just a few days, and she’s already forgotten that her husband exists?” He slammed the glass down on the table, voice sharp with fury. "Krystal Moretti, do you really think you can slip through my fingers that easily?"

“Wait... what did you just say?” Larry’s brows furrowed. Confusion washed over his face as the name echoed in his head. “Krystal Moretti?”

Then it hit him.

He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with disbelief. "She’s your ex-wife?!"

Lorenzo turned to him with a look so lethal it could stop a heart. One glare was all it took for Larry’s suspicion to turn into confirmation.

Larry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and let out an awkward laugh. "So, all this time I’ve been hitting on my best friend’s wife?" The realization sent a chill down his spine.

He pointed a finger at Lorenzo, shaking his head in disbelief. "No way.Youlefther? Are you serious right now? That girl’s a goddess! The rumors didn’t do her justice at all.”

Lorenzo didn’t answer. He took another drink, the burn in his chest having nothing to do with the alcohol.

But Larry wouldn’t shut up. His voice grew louder with disbelief. "Now look! Everyone’s chasing her. She even has a boyfriend! Dude, are youout of your goddamn mind? You don’t wantthatwoman? Seriously?"

Michael smacked Larry on the shoulder. "Larry. Stop. Just stop talking."

Lorenzo downed another drink. Then another. And another.

Michael leaned in, pointing toward Lorenzo. "Does it look like he doesn’t want her?"

Larry turned to glance at Lorenzo, who was now sitting there, looking like a storm ready to explode. The man was unraveling.

Larry winced. Guilt all over his face.

Lorenzo stood abruptly, pushing back his chair. He walked out of the room without a word.

And even with the alcohol dulling his senses, he couldn’t drown the burning in his chest. His chest was tight. He could barely breathe.

‘There are billions of women in this world. So why the hell is every damn man chasing mine?’

***

Krystal stepped outside, the night air brushing against her skin as she sipped her drink. Her fingers wrapped around the glass, but her mind was elsewhere. She didn’t feel drunk—just a little lightheaded, like the alcohol was teasing her but refusing to hit.

She glanced at the glass in her hand, scowling. "Why the hell aren't these strong enough?" she muttered, eyeing the glass like it had personally betrayed her.

Her words were slightly slurred, but her thoughts were crystal clear. They kept going back tohim. To the last conversation she'd had with Lorenzo.

‘She’s not like you. If you treat her harshly, the stress could harm her more.’

The memory made her stomach twist. Her grip tightened on the glass.

"Esther is fragile and innocent..." Her lip curled. "What am I? A goddamn shoebox?" she mumbled aloud, unaware that her thoughts had turned into muttering.

"He defends her like she’s pure gold. Like everything she does is a blessing and everything I do is meant to burn his world down."

Her face slowly fell, sadness creeping in. Disappointment weighing down her chest.

She tilted her head back, staring up at the night sky, eyes stinging.

“Wasn’t he just my patient? I treated him. I left. That’s all it was supposed to be… Then why the hell do I still feel like this?"

She sniffled, stumbling forward. Her feet wobbled. Her heel caught something uneven, and her ankle twisted. She yelped, falling forward—

But she never hit the ground.