From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 12

Rosalie's fingers tightened slightly around her cup.

"I didn't tell him I was coming back."

Mr. Fitzgerald's eyebrows lifted, surprise flickering across his face, but he didn't press. Instead, he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat.

"It's okay. I trust you. Get some rest. You've got bigger things ahead."

Rosalie stayed at Mr. Fitzgerald's for the time being, unaware of the worry that lingered in his eyes as she quietly left the room.

Back in Florida, Luke hadn't slept in two days. His calls to Rosalie went unanswered, and his usually organized office was in chaos. His team stood frozen along the edges of the room, no one daring to speak. Outside, the rain beat down relentlessly, casting a cold, gray haze over the city.

Rosalie hated rainy days.

Over the years, her aversion to them had rubbed off on Luke. She used to say the weather affected her mood.

"If you're doing well, every day feels like sunshine."

But now, the storm mirrored the turmoil in his chest.

Finally, someone rushed in with photos, new shots of Rosalie from her home country. Luke stared at them, his jaw tight, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

"She really left… without a word…"

His voice was low, bitter.

No one had ever seen him like this.

Then came a voice from the side:

"Sir, Miss Fiona has been waiting outside for a while."

Luke let out a dry, hollow laugh, still staring at the screen.

"Let her in."

Fiona entered, her usual polished grace nowhere to be found. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed red, as if she'd been crying for hours. Some of the staff watching from a distance hoped her vulnerability might soften Luke's heart.

They quietly slipped away, leaving the two alone.

Luke tossed his phone onto the table in front of her, his tone ice-cold.

"Rosalie's gone. Is that what you wanted? You and your family, this is what you were aiming for?"

Fiona stepped forward, arms wrapping around his waist tightly.

"Luke, no matter what's happened… I really do love you," she whispered. "Please believe that. I care about you."

But Luke didn't move.

With a calmness that was more chilling than rage, he gently pulled away, stepping back to lean against the rain-streaked window, his gaze unreadable.

"You're still my fiancée. On paper," he said flatly.

"Whatever your family expects from this arrangement, they'll get it. But don't ask me for anything else."

Fiona's face twisted in frustration. She moved toward him, her voice sharp with emotion.

"Do you really care about her that much?"

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

"She's just a girl, Luke. What's so special about her?"

Her voice rose with each word, each sentence like a dagger.

"You've kept her close all these years, and now you're going to pretend she doesn't mean anything to you?"

Everyone knows how she feels about you," she added, her tone bitter.

"But what about you, Luke? Can you seriously stand there and act like you feel nothing?"

She reached out and grabbed his wrist, her grip tight and trembling.

"You're just scared. Even if you did feel something for her, I wouldn't care. You chose to be with me, for the alliance, for what my family could offer. So don't start acting like she ever mattered."

Her voice dropped, more pleading than angry now.

"Can't you see? You and I, we're the same. We make sense."

Luke didn't answer.

He didn't even look at her.

The silence between them stretched long and heavy. Fiona's words hung in the air, unanswered, but his silence said everything. Rosalie's absence filled the room, louder than any accusation.