In the next breath, Ambrose, who had been silent until then, stepped forward. Without a word, he kissed Scarlett, a lingering, passionate kiss that spoke of years of suppressed emotion.

Hazel could no longer restrain herself. Tremors shook her body as tears streamed down her cheeks. They had loved each other for ten years, yet every time she had tried to kiss him, Ambrose had turned away. She had attributed it to shyness, to his reserved nature. She never imagined his yearning, his deep love, was meant for Scarlett.

They had shared countless nights, intimate and close, yet he had kept a part of himself untouched, reserved for the woman he truly loved. Hazel's nails dug into her palms, the sharp pain almost suffocating. Her gaze fell on her high heels—a gift from Ambrose for their engagement, sparkling crystal diamonds that caught the light like a thousand stars. They were as expensive as they were beautiful, a fairytale dream come to life. She had loved them instantly.

But, no matter how stunning, they were a size too small, leaving her feet bloodied and raw. Without hesitation, she slipped them off and tossed them in the trash. Shoes that didn't fit, however dazzling, weren't worth keeping. And a marriage that didn't fit, no matter how much love it contained, wasn't worth salvaging.

Just as she reached for her phone, Ambrose appeared. His voice cut through the air, calling her name. Hazel turned, meeting his gaze. The moment their eyes locked, he released Scarlett's hand, guilt flickering in his eyes as he saw the bruise on Hazel's face.

"You're sober now? I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted to snap you out of it before things went too far." Hazel glanced at Scarlett, and Ambrose quickly added, "It's not what it looks like. Let me explain… It's not what you think. Scarlett had too much to drink. It wasn't safe for her to walk home alone, so I brought her back. She's your sister, after all. It's only natural for me to look out for her. Besides, she insisted on leaving early so you wouldn't misunderstand."

Ambrose, usually a man of few words, became a torrent of excuses regarding Scarlett. Every sentence seemed a defense, a justification.

Hazel stared at him, the man she had known for over twenty years, and felt a stranger stood before her. They had grown up together, childhood sweethearts. She had been by his side, supporting him throughout his career. How had she become nothing more than a placeholder?

The question lingered, but she no longer sought an answer. In seven days, she would be gone. She no longer had to endure it for the sake of "family harmony."

Hazel's eyes locked onto Scarlett, and the words she had suppressed for over a decade tumbled from her lips, a long-held breath released.

"She's not my sister. She's the daughter of a mistress, and now she's a mistress herself!"

The words hit like a thunderclap. Scarlett didn't flinch, but Ambrose's face contorted. The word "mistress" seemed to shatter his calm. He surged toward Hazel, his voice a roar that shattered his usual composure.

"Hazel! What nonsense are you spouting? Apologize to Scarlett right now!"

"Fatherless, motherless, no wonder your parents couldn't stand you. You're a bitter, vile person, and no one will ever love you. You deserve this!"

For ten years, Ambrose had never raised his voice at Hazel. But for Scarlett, in a single day, he had shouted twice. Every word was a blade cutting deep into her soul.