From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 13

"Can you honestly say your heart is pure? You don't care about her that much..."

The words echoed in Luke's mind as he walked out of the room, holding the latest photo of Rosalie on his phone. Behind him, Fiona sat on the floor, alone.

He stared at the blurry image, feeling a strange weight in his chest. No matter how many times he'd upgraded his phone, he'd always made sure to keep every memory of Rosalie from the past ten years. Hundreds of clear, radiant photos of her lined his phone, yet now, all he could do was stare at this indistinct one.

Deep down, he knew the truth, he'd never really been unaffected by his feelings for her. But Luke Williams wasn't the type of man to fall for someone like her. He'd seen hundreds of women over the years. He had everything he wanted, and she... she was just Rosalie.

His thoughts drifted to the gifts she'd left behind in her room. Which one of them had marked the moment he'd realized his feelings? Maybe it had been when she turned eighteen, at her most beautiful, vibrant time.

Luke recalled his own eighteenth year. A time when he had nothing. He'd endured unspeakable hardship, and from that moment, he promised himself that Rosalie would never know that kind of pain.

Now, he had everything he could ever want, and he wanted to give her the world. He wanted her to experience life without limits, with every opportunity at her feet.

By then, Rosalie had earned her place at Florida's most prestigious art academy through sheer talent and hard work. What more could he possibly give her?

He spent hours trying to figure out what would make her truly happy, asking friends for advice, but none of their suggestions felt right. As a prominent gem magnate, he finally decided to find her the perfect gemstone.

He didn't hesitate. He flew halfway across the world to select the most stunning stone he could find.

While making arrangements, a colleague had commented, "Sir, you seem to treat Miss Rosalie differently than anyone else."

Luke had shrugged it off.

"She's the only one I've ever raised. There's nothing strange about it."

But back then, many had seen what Luke hadn't admitted to himself.

He spent two weeks carefully selecting the stone, sparing no expense to ensure its perfection. On Rosalie's eighteenth birthday, he gave her the priceless gemstone.

Back then, he was the center of Rosalie's world, and she was, quietly, the center of his.

On that day, he had asked her if she had a wish. Blushing, Rosalie had looked at him and softly said,

"I hope you'll always be happy, Mr. Williams."

He'd tapped her forehead, smiling, and said seriously,

"A birthday wish should be about you, Rosalie."

But she'd insisted,

"If it's about you, then of course it's about me too."

At the time, he hadn't understood the depth in her eyes. By the time he did, it was too late.

He remembered that moment on his birthday when her gift to him had been so bold, so unmistakably clear. Rosalie's love had always been open, fearless, and without restraint.

Her love was sincere, intense, and unwavering.

But that intensity had terrified him. It was like fire, blazing so fiercely that he'd wanted to run from it. He was afraid of a love so raw, so uncontainable. It felt chaotic, something beyond his control.

He repeatedly warned himself to keep his heart in check, to bury those dangerous feelings. And each time his emotions stirred, he pushed her further away with the harshest methods he knew.