Running Away from Marriage, Leaving Deception Behind

“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.