Scarlett seemed tipsy, her words slow and slurred, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she languidly sprawled across the sofa.
Ambrose, the same man who had scolded Hazel for drinking, now willingly cooked hangover soup for Scarlett, carefully feeding her spoonful by spoonful.
Scarlett turned her head away, a petulant kick directed at Ambrose.
"Who wants to marry you?"
Ambrose didn’t show any sign of anger. Instead, he reached for her foot, gently massaging it with a tenderness that made Hazel’s chest tighten.
Scarlett smiled contentedly.
"I know you can’t marry me because of your status. And I know you’ve never forgotten me."
"This bridal suite is decorated just the way I like it. The wedding ring you chose is based on my preferences. Even the high heels she’s wearing... those were the ones I didn’t want."
As she spoke, Scarlett rested her head gently against Ambrose’s chest.
"It doesn’t matter," she murmured, her voice low and soothing. "I don’t care about titles. As long as the person in your heart is always me, I’m satisfied. I will never leave you again. I’m willing to stay by your side in another capacity."
Hazel’s grip tightened around her phone, her fingers trembling.