Her mother, however, scolded her lovingly. “You, going out alone when you have a driver? What if something happened? What would I do?”

Hazel chuckled softly. “Next time, either take the driver or bring a bodyguard.”

“Okay, I’ll do whatever you say!” Hazel replied, already compliant.

For the next few days, Hazel’s mother remained vigilant, constantly fearing Ambrose or Scarlett’s return. Fortunately, neither reappeared.

As time passed, Hazel stopped thinking about the encounter. News from home reported the Wright family teetering on the brink of collapse. Several shareholders secretly acquired shares to oust Ambrose, and other powerful families circled like vultures. Ambrose had apparently returned to the country, though Hazel no longer cared.

She sighed, realizing she hadn't intended things to escalate so dramatically. Some things were like dominoes; she'd knocked down the first piece, but couldn't control the chain reaction.

“Hazel, what are you thinking?”

Her colleague’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Nothing. How’s the project going?”

“There’s so much to do, it feels like we’ll never finish. Overtime seems inevitable.”

Hazel offered a wry smile. She had her own problems; she lacked the energy for other people's messes. The Wright family's troubles were Ambrose's fault. People faced the consequences of their actions; sometimes, retribution was simply a matter of timing.

With that, Hazel pushed aside those thoughts and immersed herself in her work. Time was short, the workload heavy. Sometimes, she wondered if she was destined to live in the office.

Her ever-worried mother, unwilling to overindulge her, subtly used her connections to ease Hazel’s path. Hazel became engrossed in her work, often staying late. When busy, everything else faded.

More than once, she was the last person left in the nearly empty office. This time, when she glanced at the clock, it was almost two in the morning.

It was too late for a taxi, so she decided to walk. The streets were deserted, the streetlights flickering like fading memories.

Hazel noticed a tall figure beside her and instinctively tensed. As she passed under some trees, the figure lunged, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Hazel’s heart pounded; panic flooded her as she struggled fiercely. Unable to break free, she choked out a plea. “Please, don’t hurt me. I have money. I can give you everything.”

Her body trembled violently, her breath shallow. Tears fell onto his hand. She felt his hand twitch, but instead of releasing her, he tightened his grip, as if fearing her escape. Hazel was paralyzed, her mind frantically searching for a way out.

Then, the streetlight flickered, casting eerie shadows. In her panic, Hazel saw a familiar birthmark on the man’s chest.

“Ambrose?” she whispered, disbelief lacing her voice.

Ambrose froze, stiffening at the sound of her voice. Hazel’s mind cleared. She pushed him away with all her strength and, recognizing him, slapped him.

“Ambrose, are you insane? What the hell are you doing? You’re worse than an animal!”

Half of Ambrose’s face flushed crimson, but surprisingly, he didn’t react angrily. Instead, he smiled softly, almost playfully, gently taking her hand and blowing on it, his breath warm against her skin.