Hazel didn’t see the point in arguing with Scarlett. With a calm resolve, she deleted the message, blocked Scarlett’s number, and opened her chat with Ambrose.

Their last conversation was over a week old.

As she scrolled through the thread, a painful pattern emerged. Message after message filled the screen, and she sent each one. She had poured her heart into every word, sharing everything from her lofty dreams to the tiniest details of her meals.

Ambrose’s responses were scarce; his replies were a rarity. And when he did bother to respond, the topic was always the same: Scarlett.

Hazel suddenly lost the desire to text him back.

If her words were destined to drift into silence, why waste the effort?

She was tucking her phone back into her pocket when Ambrose’s name lit up the screen. He was calling.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you home? It’s late already. Why haven’t you come back yet?” His voice carried a mix of urgency and subtle reproach.

Tonight, he had turned down Scarlett’s invitation, a rare occurrence, and returned home early, intending to spend time with Hazel. But when he walked through the door, the one who always waited for him was nowhere to be found.

She hadn’t answered his calls or texts, and his worry had escalated to the point where he almost called the police.

Hazel glanced at the clock, feeling a knot tighten in her chest.

It was 8 PM.

Ambrose had always been one to stay out late, sometimes not returning until the early hours or, worse, disappearing for the night.

Every time, Hazel had waited in silence, leaving a light on for him.

And if he had been drinking, she would fight off sleep, rising to make him soup, hoping it would sober him up.

But what had Ambrose ever done for her?

Hazel couldn’t recall a single thing. Her patience thinned, and her tone became sharper.

“Can’t I have a life of my own?”

It was the first time she had ever dared to speak back to him.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before his voice softened.

“Hazel, I’ve missed you these past few days.”

“Tomorrow’s our wedding day. I was just worried something might happen to you. Don’t be upset. Wait for me, alright? I’m coming to get you now.”

Within minutes, Ambrose pulled up in his car, unexpectedly holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

She didn’t take the flowers. Instead, she opened the passenger door, greeted by a faint yet unmistakable scent.

A wave of nausea hit her, and she quickly grabbed a tissue to wipe her hands, choosing to climb into the back seat instead.

Ambrose, absorbed in replying to his messages, remained unaware of her discomfort.

He spoke absently, “Why’d you go to the amusement park? Have you finished with all the wedding preparations?”

“Pretty much.”

Tomorrow, she would finally leave this place behind.

Ambrose chuckled, his tone light.

“I remember you’ve always wanted to ride the Ferris wheel. When I get a chance, I’ll take you and make sure you have a wonderful day. I didn’t mean to interrupt your fun today, but my mom wants to see you.”

“It’s fine. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

Hazel had a lifetime of wishes, and there would always be time later to fulfill them.

After she left the country, she would tick off her list of wishes, one by one, none of them involving Ambrose.

Once Ambrose finished sending his messages, he started the car and casually played one of Scarlett’s favorite songs.

Hazel turned her gaze toward the streets, the city she had grown up in.

It was a beautiful place.

Neon lights flickered, blending seamlessly with the starlit sky in a dazzling dance of colors.

But the longer she stared, the more the wind stung her eyes, leaving them red and sore.

When they arrived at the old family house, the dining table was already piled with leftovers.

The housekeeper was clearing the dishes while the parents of both families chatted merrily.

Ambrose and Scarlett shared a laugh, their easy camaraderie filling the space.

In the midst of it all, Hazel felt like an outsider.

Her figure caught Ambrose’s eye for a fleeting moment. He saw the lonely silhouette, and his heart skipped a beat.

Suddenly, a forgotten promise resurfaced in Ambrose’s mind, one he had made years ago, vowing never to let this little girl feel sorrow again.

After a brief pause, Ambrose summoned someone to bring over a few dresses.

“Hazel,” he said softly, “I know you’ve been busy lately, so I asked Scarlett to pick out a wedding dress for you. Take a look and see if any of them catch your eye.”

Scarlett’s voice rang out cheerfully as she leaned in close.

“Sis, I’m your bridesmaid, remember? We’ll be walking down the aisle together, and everyone will see just how stunning we both look!”

Her father, a picture of affection, ruffled Scarlett’s hair with a proud smile.

Ambrose, too, grinned at the father-daughter moment, clearly pleased.

But Hazel couldn’t tear her eyes away from the wedding dress in front of her.

The fabric had yellowed with age, the cheap material stretched thin, and a large tear marred the chest. It stood out in stark contrast to Scarlett’s bridesmaid dress, elegantly designed with delicate lace and a fishtail cut that hugged her figure. If anyone looked like a bride, it was Scarlett.

Scarlett twirled with delight, her excitement evident in every spin.

“It’s gorgeous! If I had a crown, it would be perfect.”

Ambrose, never one to miss a beat, responded, “That’s easily arranged. Hazel has one, right? She’s the older sister; she wouldn’t mind handing it over.”

His gaze shifted to Hazel, but he paused as he caught sight of the wedding dress in her hands.

“How did this happen?”

Hazel’s eyes flicked toward Scarlett, and before she could speak, Ambrose stepped protectively in front of her.

“It must have been a mistake at the shop. It’s nothing to do with Scarlett. I’ll have someone fix it right away.”

Scarlett feigned concern, her voice sweet with a hint of mockery.

“But it’s so late now. The bridal shops must be closed... How about we borrow a second-hand dress for now? After all, didn’t you always say you wanted a simple wedding, Sis?”

All eyes turned to Hazel.

For two powerful families like theirs, finding a brand-new dress wouldn’t be an issue. But instead of going the extra mile, they seemed content to let Hazel compromise. After all, she’d always been the one to bear the brunt of their demands.

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone,” Hazel replied with a graceful smile. “You all have your own matters to attend to. I’ll handle it myself.”

Her smile swept through the room, effortlessly dissolving the tension.

The group returned to their chatter and coffee as if Hazel’s silent suffering hadn’t even been there.

Ambrose’s gaze lingered on her, his heart heavy with the knowledge of how much this wedding meant to her, yet his hands were tied. He feared the disappointment that might flicker in her eyes.

With a quiet sigh, he pulled out a bank card, handing it to her with a soft, reassuring tone.

“Don’t worry about the cost. Whatever makes you happy, that’s what matters.”

Hazel hesitated for a moment, the card feeling like an invisible barrier between them as she accepted it, her gratitude simple but final.

That soft “thank you” hung in the air, a silent line drawn between them.

Ambrose’s chest tightened, discomfort swirling inside him, but the words to bridge that gap refused to come.

Scarlett watched them closely for a moment, then, ever the opportunist, retrieved a camera from the bedroom.

“Why don’t we take a family photo now? Tomorrow will be so chaotic that the pictures might not come out right.”

Ambrose agreed without a second thought, drawing Hazel into the center, her presence a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his chest.

Just as the shutter clicked, Scarlett darted forward, stepping between them.

In the instant that Hazel lost her balance and tumbled to the floor, Ambrose’s heart lurched in panic.

“Hazel!” He cried, reaching out instinctively to catch her.

But Scarlett, ever the actress, burst into tears at that very moment.

Ambrose froze, just for a heartbeat. Three seconds of indecision. Then, with a swift motion, he turned to Scarlett.

He abandoned Hazel to crash against the sharp edge of the shelf, his hands gently pulling Scarlett into his arms, wiping away her feigned tears with a tenderness that sent a chill through Hazel’s veins.

“Don’t cry. Your sister has always been understanding. She won’t blame you,” Ambrose reassured Scarlett.

The others quickly gathered around Scarlett, their voices a chorus of comforting words as they pointed to the photos in the camera, attempting to lighten her mood with half-hearted praise.

Meanwhile, Hazel struggled to push herself off the floor, her head throbbing with pain. A warm trickle slid down her face, and when she wiped it with a tissue, the smear of crimson on her fingers left her momentarily stunned. She couldn’t tell if it was tears or blood.

But no one noticed. Their attention remained fixed on Scarlett as if she were the only one who mattered. Their laughter and soft reassurances filled the room, drowning out the silent cry of Hazel’s pain.

It wasn’t until the bleeding on Hazel’s forehead had stopped that Ambrose finally approached her, the camera dangling loosely in his hands.

“The photo didn’t catch your face clearly, and Scarlett’s pose could’ve been better,” he said casually. Then, as if noticing her for the first time, his brows furrowed. “Wait… Hazel, what happened to your face?”

Her chest tightened at his words. Her face had been bleeding, yet their sole concern had been Scarlett’s pose in the photo. The realization struck her like a sharp blade, carving out the faint hope she’d held onto.

Hazel waved off the concern with a faint smile. “It’s nothing. Don’t bother retaking it. It’s late; I’ll head back now.”

What did it matter? The idea of a family photo had been erased from her heart long ago.

Unwilling to prolong the show, she turned and left quietly, her figure retreating into the evening. The path to Belmont Villa felt longer than usual, each step heavy with unspoken resignation.

The once-vibrant wedding room, filled with traces of celebration, had been stripped of its warmth over the past few days. Hazel had meticulously worked to transform it into something cold and impersonal, a space that could have belonged to anyone.

She tossed the wedding dress near the door with little regard, its fabric pooling in a heap. Dragging out her suitcase, she began packing, her hands moving with mechanical precision.

Everywhere she looked, remnants of her time with Ambrose lingered. They had known each other for so long that nearly every item held a fragment of their shared memories.

But memories were a double-edged sword. Apart from the essentials, she decided to leave everything else behind. She wanted a clean break, a fresh start.

By the time the first rays of dawn brushed the horizon, a knock echoed through the quiet villa. The makeup artist had arrived.

Since she was about to leave, Hazel decided to dress elegantly, ready to greet the dawn of her new life. As she settled in front of the vanity mirror, a knock at the door shattered the quiet. Ambrose rushed in; his expression tinged with urgency.

"The makeup artist for Scarlett canceled at the last minute. She’s been crying nonstop. Could your makeup artist help her first?"

A request as absurd as sending the bride’s makeup artist to the bridesmaid was almost laughable. The makeup artist hesitated, caught in the awkwardness of the moment.

But Hazel remained composed, her voice calm. "Go ahead. I’m not in a hurry."

Her quick agreement startled Ambrose. On a day like this, shouldn’t she have protested? Shouldn’t she have shed tears or demanded attention, just like Scarlett would have?

Instead, Hazel’s indifference stung more than anger. It was as though the wedding and Ambrose had ceased to matter to her altogether.

The unsettling thought gnawed at him. What if she left today and he never saw her again? The idea, fleeting as it was, unsettled him deeply.

But his father-in-law’s insistent voice broke his train of thought, pulling him back to the present.

"Hazel, I’ll be back soon. I promise this is the last time."

The last time? Hazel’s lips curled into a faint, ironic smile.

Yes, it was the last time.

In a few short hours, Hazel would board a plane to a faraway land, never to look back.

Once Ambrose walked out, she rose from her seat and swept her gaze around the room. Over the years, Ambrose had lavished her with gifts, luxury handbags, designer gowns, sparkling jewelry, and even dolls, coffee, and gaming consoles.

Yet, every single item had been chosen with Scarlett in mind.

The once-naive Hazel had adored those gifts, treating them as tokens of love and devotion. But now, they were nothing more than hollow reminders of her misplaced trust.

Determined, she set to work. The scissors glided through the expensive fabric of the dresses, turning them into shreds. The hammer came crashing down on glittering jewels, splintering them beyond repair. Dolls and toys were tossed into the trash without a second glance, their cheery faces mocking her no longer.

When the last of it was destroyed, Hazel turned to her calendar. She tore off the final page with steady hands.

On it, her handwriting glowed with bittersweet irony. "To wear the most beautiful wedding dress and marry the man I love most, Ambrose."

She let the paper drift to the floor, her lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

The wedding dress now lay in tatters, beyond recognition, just like the man Hazel once thought she’d love forever.

With a surge of anger, she crumpled the torn page into a tight ball and hurled it across the room.

It sailed through the air like a final severance, cutting away the remnants of her past and paving the way for an uncharted future.

The eastern horizon began to glow faintly, the first light of dawn creeping into the room.

Hazel wiped the last of her tears, her fingers trembling momentarily before steadying herself.

She pulled back the heavy curtains, letting the warm, golden sunlight flood the space. It illuminated the chaos she’d left behind, a scene she no longer cared to remember.

The past, like yesterday’s death, no longer had a claim on her.

Sliding on her sunglasses with newfound resolve, she stepped out into the morning chill, hailed a cab, and set off to meet the media mogul her friend had introduced.

The moment they met, she wasted no time with pleasantries. “I have an exclusive story guaranteed to go viral. How much are you willing to pay?”

The man’s brow arched as he studied her. Slowly, he raised his hand, spreading out five fingers.

“If this has anything to do with Ambrose, I’m willing to pay this.”

“I’ll pay five million, but on one condition: the story must go live across the entire internet the moment the wedding begins.”

“Deal.”

Hazel placed the bank card Ambrose had once given her on the table beside the USB drive, which now felt heavier than its size suggested.

No hesitation, no farewell, just a quiet severance from the man she once thought she’d love forever.

Boarding the plane with nothing but her resolve, she left everything else behind.