From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 26

Rosalie had just returned from abroad and didn't even have a place to call home yet. Where on earth could she have gone?

Harold, frantic, had already scoured every possible location Fiona might be, cafes, hotels, even reaching out to some of her sketchier contacts. Nothing. No sign of Fiona. No sign of Rosalie.

The tension in the air was thick until Mr. Fitzgerald suddenly straightened, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

"There's one place you haven't checked," he said quietly.

All eyes turned to him.

"Rosalie's old house. The villa," he added. "It's under Fiona's name now, isn't it?"

Without wasting another second, they rushed to the villa. As soon as they arrived, the sight before them sent a chill down their spines. The gates were wide open, swaying slightly in the breeze. Inside, the courtyard had been transformed into a wedding venue, white flowers, rows of chairs, everything set up perfectly. But it was eerily empty. Not a soul in sight.

Their calls rang out, breaking the silence.

"Rosalie!"

"Fiona!"

"Where are you?!"

Pushing through the front doors, they stumbled into something even stranger. The entire first floor was covered in red carpet, two long strips running parallel to a pair of chairs at the far end. Each chair held a woman in a wedding dress, completely still, eerily silent.

Harold charged forward, his face pale and confused.

"What the hell is this? Which one's Fiona?"

He stepped closer, but before he could get any nearer, the room erupted with loud, piercing alarms. The noise sent him stumbling back, his frustration boiling over.

"Fiona! Enough with this nonsense!" he yelled. "Come home with me!"

Meanwhile, Luke crouched down, picking up a piece of paper lying at the base of the chairs. The message scrawled on it was chilling.

"Rosalie is in my hands. Luke, you care about her, don't you? Look at the two brides before you. Choose correctly, and I'll give Rosalie back to you."

Mr. Fitzgerald's face went ashen. "This… this is insane. Pure madness!"

They turned to the door only to find it locked tight behind them. Fiona's twisted game had begun.

Harold spun on Luke, shoving him roughly.

"This is your fault! Fiona's spiraling because of you! She did all this for you! So pick! Which one's the damn girl?"

"She's just acting out," Harold continued, his voice shaking now. "Just play along, Luke. Once she sees you're cooperating, she'll stop. She won't hurt Rosalie."

But Luke and Mr. Fitzgerald exchanged a glance. They both knew Fiona wasn't the type to back down once she was in control. Playing along wouldn't guarantee anyone's safety, especially not Rosalie's.

Luke focused on the two women in front of him, both dressed identically, their veils covering their faces. They sat rigidly, their shoulders tight, their bodies trembling slightly.

"Fine!" Luke's voice rang out, cutting through the alarms and Harold's panicked ramblings. "Fiona, I know you're watching this."

His tone was sharp and commanding. "Isn't this what you wanted? You want me to choose?"

Instead of moving down either carpet, he walked straight between the two women, standing in front of each one. He studied them closely, trying to find some sign, some hint, but the dresses were perfect copies. There was no way to tell who was who.

Luke's gaze flicked up to the blinking red light mounted in the corner of the room, undoubtedly a camera. Fiona was watching him.

"Pay attention, Fiona," he said firmly, his voice booming through the space. "Neither of these girls is Rosalie."

The veils were pulled back, revealing two terrified faces, completely unfamiliar women, their eyes wide with fear.

A mocking, shrill laugh echoed through the room, sending a chill down their spines.

"Hah, Luke!" Fiona's voice rang out, dripping with cruel amusement. "You really do love her, don't you?"

Everyone snapped their eyes upward to the second-floor balcony. There stood Fiona, a manic grin plastered across her face. She had Rosalie in front of her, one arm tightly gripping her while the other held a sharp knife against Rosalie's neck.

Luke's heart seized in his chest as he stepped forward, his voice thundering.

"Fiona, let her go! Now!"

Mr. Fitzgerald was just as desperate, his words stumbling over each other.

"Please! Fiona, tell us what you want. We'll give you anything, anything you ask. Just don't hurt her!"

Fiona tilted her head, regarding them like a queen overseeing her court. Her grin never wavered for a second.

"Anything?" she repeated, her tone mocking. "Are you sure you can give me what I really want?"

The knife in her hand glinted as she pressed it a fraction closer to Rosalie's neck.