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Lorenzo’s gaze flicked to Xander who was standing behind him. He stepped forward quickly. “Mr. Moretti, I really saw her run into this house.”

Lorenzo turned back to Damion, voice cold. “I’m looking for someone important. I need to check inside. Do you mind?”

Damion didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly, his jaw ticking. His tone came out dry, with a touch of warning. “Yeah, I do.”

But Xander brushed past him with a firm shoulder bump and walked right in, his eyes scanning the space.

“Hey—!” Damion snapped, shoving off the frame and spinning around to follow. “Get the hell out of my house!”

Footsteps thudded against the wooden floor as Lorenzo stormed in behind Xander.

Xander and Lorenzo moved quickly, checking every room like they owned the place. Lorenzo marched down the hallway, opening doors, looking under beds, pulling back curtains—his eyes sharp, scanning every corner.

Lorenzo opened a hallway closet, his eyes cold and calculating. “Are you hiding someone?” he asked without looking back, his voice quiet but dangerous.

“This is my damn house!” Damion growled, his fists clenched. His patience was burning thin. “Get out of here before I call the security to drag you out.”

Just then, soft footsteps echoed from the stairs.

Krystal appeared at the top, her bare legs peeking out from beneath an oversized T-shirt that hung just above her knees. Her hair was tousled like she’d just rolled out of bed, and she blinked down at them like the noise had pulled her from sleep.

“Damion?” she called down, rubbing her eyes. Her voice was laced with feigned sleepiness. “Who’s at the door?”

Lorenzo froze mid-step. His entire body stiffened. His gaze shot up to her, and for a long second, he didn’t move.

Then his jaw locked. His hands balled into fists at his sides. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Krystal tilted her head slightly, her expression cool and collected. She crossed her arms casually, not caring about her bare legs or his reaction as she started coming down. “That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same.”

Lorenzo’s stare sliced between her and Damion. Something dark flickered in his eyes.

“How many fucking men do you have circling around you?” he snapped sharply, each word laced with jealousy.

Krystal folded her arms, completely unfazed. “The more, the merrier. He’s not the only one. Want me to introduce you one by one?”

The words sliced right through him. His nostrils flared as anger surged through his chest. In three quick strides, he was in front of her, gripping her arms tightly. “Is this really the life you want—parading around like this after leaving me?”

Krystal yanked herself free with a sudden pull, her body tense with fury. “Don’t kid yourself. We’re divorced, Mr. Moretti. Whatever I do now is none of your damn business.”

His eyes burned. “We’re still married! You’re still my wife! My family. My responsibility!”

Her laugh was cold. “How many women are you planning to take care of under the banner of responsibility, Mr. Moretti?”

Then, without even looking at him, she turned toward Damion. Her hand brushed his arm gently—too gently. Lorenzo’s eyes zeroed in on that touch like it burned his skin.

“Damion, please show him out.”

Lorenzo didn’t move for a second. His chest was heaving now. His hands trembled at his sides, and his knuckles had gone white. He looked at her with something broken in his eyes. Like she’d ripped open a wound he never really let heal.

He stepped forward slowly and pulled her close—one last time. His fingers wrapped around her wrist like he was holding onto the only thing keeping him from drowning.

His voice dropped to a whisper, rough and shaky. “Come back with me.”

Krystal’s face didn’t waver. Her eyes remained distant, her expression cold.

“There are plenty of men after me,” she said flatly. “Get in line.”

The words shattered him. He looked at her for one more long moment, as if hoping to find a trace of the woman he once knew. But she didn’t look back.