“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, shaking the room. Scarlett didn’t flinch, but Ambrose’s face twisted in fury.
The word “mistress” seemed to strike a nerve, unraveling his calm facade. 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 the span of one day, he had shouted at her twice.
Every word he spat was like a blade cutting deep into the rawest parts of Hazel’s soul.
Every word felt like a dagger, cutting deep and leaving scars that would never fully fade.
For a moment, Hazel thought she had misheard, her mind struggling to grasp the weight of what Ambrose had just said.
How could such cruel, venomous words come from his mouth? The man she had loved for so long.
She lifted her gaze, only to find Ambrose standing there, his body shielding Scarlett.