To everyone who knew them, Ambrose’s quiet acts of devotion were proof of a love so profound it required no grand declarations.
They were the golden couple of their circle, envied and admired equally.
But that night, at what should have been the pinnacle of her happiness, Hazel’s ten-year dream came crashing down at their engagement party.
Ambrose had invited Hazel's stepsister, Scarlett Jones, the one person she wished to banish from her life forever.
The moment Scarlett appeared, memories Hazel had buried deep came rushing back like a relentless tide.
She remembered how Scarlett and her mother had tormented her endlessly, their cruel words and actions driving Hazel’s mother to the edge of despair.
She recalled the years of torment and humiliation she had suffered, the scars they left behind still aching like fresh wounds.
For once, Hazel, who was always calm and composed, let her emotions take over.
Her usually soft voice now carried a sharp edge as she demanded Scarlett leave.
But Scarlett, ever calculating, refused to back down. She invoked her mother’s name, a taunt that cut Hazel to the core.
Their heated exchange spiraled out of control, turning the engagement party into an utter spectacle of chaos.
Hazel instinctively turned to Ambrose for support, but his hand struck her cheek with a resounding slap before she could utter a word.
“Go home and sober up if you’re drunk. Stop making a scene! Look at yourself; how could you ever expect to be the future mistress of the family?”
His cold words stung far worse than the slap, but the pain didn’t end there. Her father, instead of defending her, added fuel to the fire.
“Your sister just returned, and this is how you treat her? Where’s your dignity as the elder sister? If your Aunt Althea takes offense at this, I won’t forgive you!”
The crowd stood silently, their eyes fixed on Hazel as the two men berated her mercilessly. Every word felt like a dagger, stripping away the last shred of her composure.
Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, Ambrose turned his back on her, escorting Scarlett away without a glance in her direction.
Left alone to endure the whispers and scorn of the onlookers, Hazel felt the humiliation seep into her very bones. Her face burned crimson, though whether from the alcohol or the unbearable shame, she couldn’t tell.