From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 22

Rosalie let out a bitter laugh, her voice sharp with emotion.

"I guess I should just start calling you 'Uncle Luke' now, huh?"

Luke froze, his jaw tightening, a flicker of shadow crossing his face.

"Who do you actually love?" he asked, his voice low and strained.

Rosalie stepped back, slipping out of his arms as if she couldn't bear to be near him for another second. The cold, biting ocean breeze whipped around her, but she didn't flinch. Without saying another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, the gusts drying her tears almost as quickly as they fell. Each step took her farther from him, and with every stride, the weight of her decision grew heavier. She knew it now: their lives would never cross again.

Ahead, a car waited at the edge of the beach. This wasn't some unfamiliar place where she felt isolated or vulnerable, this was home. Here, she had people who cared about her, who were there for her. She didn't need to look back to know that Luke was still standing there, watching her walk away. Ignoring the ache in her chest, she climbed into the car, her face set.

As the car pulled away, she rolled down the window just enough to speak her parting words, her voice low but sharp.

"Congratulations on your wedding."

To Luke, those words hit like a slap. There was no joy in them, no warmth, just bitter finality, like a door slamming shut that would never reopen. He had broken something priceless, her trust, her love, and now he was left standing in the wreckage.

Rosalie tried to convince herself she was strong enough to move on, to let go. But as the car sped down the road, she couldn't help glancing in the rearview mirror. He was still there, his figure growing smaller in the distance. The tears she thought she'd finally conquered came rushing back, hot and relentless.

Sitting beside her, Mr. Fitzgerald didn't press her with questions. He didn't need to, he understood.

"It's done now," he said quietly.

"Look ahead."

He reached into his pocket and handed her a small box.

"This is for you."

Rosalie opened it to find the white ruby necklace from the auction nestled in velvet. A folded note sat beside it: "Please extend my regards to the old master."

Her heart clenched. So, Luke knew her grandfather was still alive. She had expected this revelation sooner or later, but there were bigger battles ahead. Right now, what mattered most was uncovering the truth about her parents' deaths.

Mr. Fitzgerald handed her another item: a folder.

"This is from the investigator," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.

"But that's for tomorrow. Tonight, try to rest. And if you need to cry, just let it out."

Rosalie wiped her face and straightened her posture.

"I don't feel like crying anymore," she said, her tone resolute.

"Dwelling on the past won't change anything."

She took a steady breath.

"There's something I need your help with. I need to look into someone."

"Who?" Mr. Fitzgerald asked.

"Fiona."

That night, Luke drowned himself in whiskey, bottle after bottle, until the room seemed to spin around him. Stumbling back to his hotel suite, he barely registered Fiona's presence until her voice cut through his haze.

"Finally," she said, draped across the sofa like she owned the place.

Luke's mind drifted back to Rosalie, her words still echoing in his ears. He looked at Fiona, his fiancée in name only, and felt disgust rise in his chest. This woman, she was greedy, manipulative, and would exploit any situation to get what she wanted.

When they'd first entered this arrangement, it had been strategic, a way to keep Rosalie close under the guise of family ties. But it had backfired terribly. Instead of holding on to Rosalie, he had pushed her farther away.

Fiona twirled in front of him, showing off yet another wedding dress.

"What do you think?" she purred, her smile coy.

"I picked this one just for you."

Luke's patience snapped. He grabbed her arm and shoved her aside.

"Get these stupid dresses out of my room," he growled.

Fiona's smile faltered, then hardened.

"What's your problem? I'm your fiancée. I'm not going anywhere."

Luke glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was well past midnight.

"The contract's over," he said coldly.

"You're nothing to me now. My only mistake was ever agreeing to this farce in the first place."

Fiona's eyes blazed with fury as he pulled out his phone.

"Security," he barked into the receiver.

"There's a crazy woman in my room. Get her out."

"You can't do this to me!" Fiona shrieked, her voice rising with anger.

"You have no right! I'm the one who loves you, Luke! I always have!"