He sat alone on the balcony, a cigarette flickering between his fingers, casting weak light into the dim night. A layer of ash had gathered on the ground; the girl who used to smile, steal his cigarettes, and offer him candy had never returned. To this day, Ambrose still couldn't accept that Hazel had fled their wedding. The torn wedding dress lay discarded at the door, as if years of their relationship had been reduced to nothing but trash.

His mother's call came again. Irritated, he almost hung up, but his hand shook violently, betraying him. He unintentionally pressed the answer button.

“Where did Hazel go? Do you know? She’s completely ruined the Wright family’s reputation!”

“I’ve always said we shouldn’t marry a woman like that. Her own mother doesn’t want her. What could she possibly be worth? She’s been twisted at the core since she was a child, a monster!”

“She’s not!” Ambrose snapped, unable to bear another word. For the first time, as the eldest son, he defied an elder, bringing disgrace upon the entire family. Headlines like “Wright Group heir cheats on his wife’s sister before the wedding” and “Mrs. Wright boldly runs away from the wedding” flooded the trending topics. The Wright Group's stock price plummeted, years of work crumbling in a single day. Everyone urged him to find Hazel, to make her take the blame, but Ambrose couldn't do it. He had known Hazel since he was seven; no one understood her like he did.

“Ambrose, what on earth are you thinking? Your father and I are frantic; paparazzi and reporters are everywhere.”

“Do you really want to sacrifice the whole family for a woman like that? For people like us, affairs are nothing out of the ordinary. She knew what the Wright family’s wealth and power meant, so she should’ve been patient. How could she let her emotions destroy everything like this?”

These words echoed in his mind, a thousand times repeated that day. Rubbing his temples, Ambrose sighed wearily. “Mom, don’t worry. Just give me a little more time; I’ll handle it.”

How to handle it? He had no idea. The situation had spiraled out of control, and everyone in the family despised Hazel. But no matter how they slandered her, he couldn't bring himself to listen. He knew why Hazel had stayed with him, and why she had left. She loved him—more than he could comprehend—and yet hated him with a passion he couldn't escape.

Finishing his cigarette, Ambrose rose slowly. He moved toward the living room, his mind swirling, reaching for a glass of water. His foot caught on the sofa, sending him stumbling into a cabinet. A sharp pain shot through him. Clutching his forehead, he fumbled to switch on the light. The room was in disarray, broken items scattered across the floor, his ankle stinging from fresh cuts. Frustration clawed at him as he searched for the medicine cabinet, his hands shaking. He searched for what felt like an eternity, but couldn't find it.

Before all of this, Hazel had always taken care of everything. No matter how late, she'd leave a soft light on for him. With a smile, she'd produce his favorite food as if by magic. The house was always spotless, perfectly arranged. And when he got hurt—as he always seemed to—she'd tenderly treat his wounds, her hands gentle and steady.

In a daze, Ambrose’s mind echoed with Hazel’s soothing voice, “Just blow on it, and it won’t hurt!”