A crumpled piece of paper tumbled out, mingling with scattered trash. Ambrose bent down slowly, his fingers trembling as he reached for it. Assistant William instinctively took a step forward, wanting to stop him. He knew Ambrose had a notorious obsession with cleanliness; even the slightest speck of dust would unsettle him. But as he watched Ambrose, something shifted. He realized that, at this moment, anything tied to Hazel could bypass even Ambrose's most rigid rules. He didn't dare say a word, silently stepping back into the shadows.
Ambrose gently smoothed out the paper, his hands careful, almost reverent. The words written in Hazel's graceful handwriting seemed to glow with the weight of a decade of dreams: “Wear the most beautiful wedding dress and marry my most beloved Ambrose.” Ambrose's heart jolted painfully. The agony surged through him, an ache deeper than anything he'd ever felt. Each breath felt like a blade carving through his chest, and for a moment, he could barely breathe.
He thought back to eighteen-year-old Hazel, shy yet full of dreams, her eyes bright with hope. He remembered the night Hazel had seen the damaged wedding dress and the fleeting pain that flashed in her eyes. What had he done? What had he done to her?
This wish calendar had seven pages, and this was the last. But what about the others? What were Hazel's other dreams? Ambrose frantically searched the room, desperate not to miss a single corner. The villa was large, large enough to hold all the memories they'd shared. But it was also painfully small, incapable of containing even a single one of Hazel's wishes.
The other six pages had long been discarded, swept away with the trash, along with the wedding items Hazel had thrown away. They were lost. "I will find them, I will definitely find them," Ambrose muttered, stumbling into the study, his mind racing. If he couldn't find them in the physical world, he would search through his memories. He and Hazel had known each other for over twenty years, living side by side, day and night. He had known her inside and out. How could he not know her wishes?
Through the familiarity of his surroundings, Ambrose delved into his memories, piecing together Hazel's presence, fragment by fragment. It took him an entire day—no food, no drink—as he painstakingly reconstructed the six discarded wishes. When he wrote the final stroke, a tearful smile broke across Ambrose's face. He fought to contain the flood of emotions rising within him. "Hazel, I'll repay everything I owe you, double," he whispered. "Wait for me."
On Hazel's twenty-ninth birthday, she received a gift she would never forget: a custom-made wedding dress, handcrafted with meticulous care, worth eight million. It was unique, magnificent, and simply dazzling. Everyone at the party was rendered speechless by its beauty. But Hazel nearly crushed her wine glass in shock.
When the party ended, Hazel saw Ambrose. He offered her a tearful smile and said, his voice full of sincerity, "Hazel, happy birthday."
"What are you doing here?"
Ambrose avoided the question, his gaze drifting upward. "Look, the starry sky tonight… it's so beautiful." The starry sky was beautiful, but it felt distant, irrelevant to Ambrose.
"I told you, stop disturbing my life," Hazel's words barely reached him, as if swallowed by the night air.
Ambrose, undeterred, pressed on. "Hazel, I know you've always wanted to ride the Ferris wheel. How about we go tomorrow? And when we get back, I'll have one built just for you." His voice softened. "I'll go with you every day, win toys, watch movies. I remember you love the starry sky the most. We could buy another house, a mountain villa. It's the best place to watch the stars, after all." He took a breath. "And I'll find the best photographer to capture new wedding photos for us. If you'd like, I could even have him document every day of our lives, every little moment."