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His fists clenched. “You better not regret this,” he growled, barely able to keep the break in his voice from showing.

Then he turned and stormed out. Xander followed him without saying a word, sparing Krystal a quiet glance before disappearing behind him.

“Don’t forget to close the door behind you!” Damion called after them with a lazy smirk.

The door slammed shut with a loud, echoing bang. The sound rattled the walls and sent a shiver down Krystal’s spine.

She let out a shaky breath. Her shoulders slumped as the tension slowly drained from her body. “I thought I was done for,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “I really thought he was going to find out today that I’m Astra.”

Soft footsteps approached from behind.

Kara was coming down the stairs, her arms crossed over her chest. “Why’d you do that to him?”

Krystal’s fake calm started to crumble. Her face dropped. The ache she tried to hide crept back in.

Krystal’s expression had already fallen. He’d hurt her more than anyone else ever had. She wanted him to feel the same pain, to see her happy with someone else. But the way he’d looked at her—hurt, confused, lost, shattered and desperate—it didn’t bring her any joy.

Her voice broke slightly. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t love him anymore.”

Kara tilted her head slightly. “You’re just lying to yourself.”

Krystal didn’t answer. She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and turned to both Damion and Kara.

“Thanks for the help today. I’ll just change back into my clothes and leave.”

“Why not stay a bit longer?” Kara asked softly, her voice almost hopeful.

Krystal shook her head, the fake smile still plastered on her face. “Let’s plan something properly. I’ll come another day—when my head isn’t spinning.”

***

“I’m so happy you came to see me, Lorenzo,” Esther said sweetly from the hospital bed, her voice as soft as silk. Her eyes sparkled with a fragile kind of innocence, the kind that begged to be believed. Her long lashes fluttered. She looked picture-perfect despite the pale hospital gown, her hair carefully brushed, a trace of gloss on her lips. Like she’d prepared for his visit.

But Lorenzo didn’t even glance her way.

He stood beside the bed, stiff and silent, his shoulders squared. His jaw tightened as he stared blankly at the wall, lost in thought. The shadows under his eyes were darker today—tired, tormented.

“Lorenzo?” Esther reached out, her delicate fingers brushing his arm gently, trying to pull him back into the moment. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, the haze in his eyes slowly fading. He turned to look at her, but his expression was distant.

“The doctor…” he began quietly, voice low and unreadable. “You said doctor Astra had tried to kill you. Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Esther nodded quickly. “Why are you asking again? Do you think I’d lie about something like that?”

Her voice wobbled slightly at the end, laced with just enough hurt to sound convincing. But in his mind, Astra’s voice echoed like a warning—that Esther was faking her illness, manipulating him.

He studied her face carefully, but forced a small nod.

“You look better today,” he said, keeping his tone even. “Maybe… you’re already getting better.”

Esther’s smile faltered for a split second. A flicker of panic passed through her eyes.

“No! I mean… not really,” she rushed out. “I just… freshened up a little before you came. I didn’t want you to see me looking sick.” She gave a small, nervous laugh and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Then she leaned in and gripped his arm tightly, her voice lowering into something more vulnerable, more intimate. “When will we get married?”

He replied calmly, “You should focus on getting better first.”