Noticing her mother’s name on the screen, Hazel excused herself and stepped onto the balcony to answer.
When she returned, Ambrose was already lost in his world, his eyes glued to his phone as he typed away, undoubtedly chatting with Scarlett.
“Who called? I thought I heard something about a visa,” he asked casually, barely looking up.
“Nothing important—just work,” Hazel replied, her tone light and dismissive.
Ambrose exhaled in relief. “Good. Don’t go planning any honeymoon trips. I won’t have the time.”
“I know,” she said softly.
Since Scarlett’s return, Ambrose couldn’t bear to be away from her, not even for a moment. It was clear he had no time or space for anyone else.
They sat in strained silence, the tension in the room growing heavier with every passing second. Ambrose shifted uncomfortably, an inexplicable unease curling in the pit of his stomach.
Hazel had always carried herself with a quiet grace, a sensibility born not of choice but necessity. Unlike other girls, she never indulged in tantrums or petty whims.
But Ambrose knew the truth; her calm demeanor was a mask, a defense she had perfected over the years.