As soon as she stepped onto the first floor, Hazel saw them in her bridal suite, locked in a tight embrace, whispering words only lovers could share. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to activate the surveillance camera, piecing together the scattered fragments to reveal the truth.
It turned out that, while she had been blissfully unaware, Ambrose and Scarlett shared a scandalous past. Eight years ago, in a bid to shed his privileged heir status, Ambrose had ventured into entrepreneurship. His ambitions crumbled, however, and he teetered on the brink of ruin. At his lowest point, he met Scarlett in a rundown youth hostel. Within a month, Scarlett had replaced Hazel, his childhood sweetheart, carving herself into the most pivotal role in Ambrose's heart.
Because the Wright family would never accept a daughter-in-law of such humble beginnings, Ambrose settled for Hazel, secretly cherishing Scarlett. Hazel believed their bond, forged in childhood, was fate's design; in truth, she was merely a convenient substitute. Her raw, bleeding feet mirrored the shattered fragments of her heart. The imprint of his slap, a searing brand of humiliation, destroyed decades of trust and devotion.
A resolute fire ignited within her; she would let go of the man she had clung to for over a decade. But this wedding wasn't just an event; it was her dream, a vision of love and promise she had nurtured for years—her lifeline during her darkest days, the glimmer of hope that kept her moving forward. She refused to let the wedding she had meticulously crafted become a prize for those who had betrayed her. This wedding would mark the final chapter of her decade-long devotion, her last act of closure before severing ties with her biased family and the unfaithful man she had once loved.
After pouring out her emotions, she took a deep breath, pulled out her phone, and booked a flight for seven days later. The screen blinked as the purchase confirmed, then quickly switched back to the surveillance footage. Perhaps fate, or cruel irony, played a hand, as Hazel caught the tail end of Ambrose's confession from years past:
“I regret it,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “When I was young and foolish, I mistook sand for pearls. If you’re willing to return, I’d call off this wedding for you.” He sighed, his voice softening. “Even if you refuse, I’ll still treat Hazel kindly since she reminds me of you.”
Even though she had already made up her mind, even though she had witnessed the betrayal firsthand, hearing those words made Hazel's heart quiver unexpectedly. Looking down at the screen, Hazel saw the love between them overflow, as if too much to contain. Scarlett seemed tipsy, her words slow and slurred, but she didn't respond. Instead, she languidly sprawled across the sofa. Ambrose, the same man who had scolded Hazel for drinking, now willingly cooked hangover soup for Scarlett, carefully feeding her spoonful by spoonful.
Scarlett turned her head away, delivering a petulant kick. “Who wants to marry you?”
Ambrose showed no anger. Instead, he reached for her foot, gently massaging it with a tenderness that made Hazel's chest tighten. Scarlett smiled contentedly.
“I know you can’t marry me because of your status. And I know you’ve never forgotten me. This bridal suite is decorated just the way I like it. The wedding ring you chose is based on my preferences. Even the high heels she’s wearing… those were the ones I didn’t want.” As she spoke, Scarlett rested her head gently against Ambrose's chest.
“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “I don’t care about titles. As long as the person in your heart is always me, I’m satisfied. I will never leave you again. I’m willing to stay by your side in another capacity.”
Hazel's grip tightened around her phone, her fingers trembling. Her heart felt as if it were being torn apart, piece by piece. The most painful part? Even though she had already uncovered the truth, a tiny flicker of hope still lingered in Hazel's chest—a desperate hope that Ambrose would draw the line at the very last moment.