From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 27

Fiona's eyes locked onto Luke, cold and piercing. Her voice was sharp, bitter, like a knife scraping against bone.

"What I want is his love. Can you give me that?"

She tilted her head, a taunting smirk curling her lips before she turned to Rosalie. Her words dripped with venom.

"And if what I want is her life, what are you going to do about it?"

The tension in the room thickened, like a storm waiting to break. Harold, pale and desperate, stepped forward, trying to reason with her.

"Fiona, stop! He's just a man! Don't throw your life away over this."

But Fiona wasn't listening. Her grip on Rosalie tightened, and the knife at her neck pressed harder, drawing thin streaks of blood. Small droplets stained Rosalie's pale skin. Fiona's voice cracked with raw emotion as she cried out.

"Brother, I can't take it anymore! Why does she get everything? Why does she get to live a perfect, charmed life, just like her dead mother?!"

Her rage boiled over as she glared at Rosalie, eyes wild.

"We got rid of her mother back then. Why not her? Why not now?"

The room froze. The words hung in the air, heavier than any blade. Everyone stood in stunned silence, the weight of her confession sinking in.

Harold exploded, his voice filled with shock and fury.

"You've completely lost it! Do you even hear yourself? You're insane!"

Fiona's tone shifted, icy and calculating, her lips curling into a dark sneer.

"Oh, what's the matter? Scared now? It's simple math, Harold. If Rosalie dies, Mitchell Enterprises is ours."

She yanked Rosalie closer, the knife flashing in the dim light. Her voice cut through the room like a razor.

"If I can't have what I want, I'll make sure you get what you want."

And with that, in one swift, crazed motion, Fiona raised the knife high, ready to strike. Her eyes gleamed with twisted determination.

But before the blade could fall, the windows and doors exploded open. Police officers stormed in, guns drawn, shouting commands. The knife never reached Rosalie.

Luke lunged forward, grabbing the blade with his bare hand. The knife pierced through his palm, blood pouring from the wound, staining his shirt and the floor beneath him. He gritted his teeth in pain but never took his eyes off Rosalie.

"Run!" he roared, his voice echoing through the chaos.

Rosalie stumbled back, gasping as officers swarmed Fiona. She thrashed violently, shrieking in rage as they wrestled her to the ground. Her screams echoed in Rosalie's ears long after they had subdued her.

The immediate danger was over, but the room was a wreck, blood, tears, and raw emotions hung heavy in the air.

Luke's hand was a mess of torn flesh and dripping blood. Rosalie couldn't tear her eyes away as they rushed him to the hospital. She stayed by his side, tears streaming down her face as the doctors worked to repair the damage.

Hours later, the surgeon emerged, his expression somber.

"The injury's serious. He'll need time to recover, but... there's a chance his hand might never function the same again."

Rosalie's breath caught in her throat, and her voice came out a shaky whisper.

"But... his hands. He uses them to appraise jewels and carve. It's everything to him."

Mr. Fitzgerald placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"He'll get through this," he said softly, though the worry in his eyes betrayed his words.

After surgery, Luke woke up, his hand heavily bandaged. The first thing he did was grab the doctor's arm, weak but firm, his gaze intense.

"Don't tell them the real condition of my hand."

The doctor hesitated but nodded.

"Alright. But you need to know, this hand won't ever be the same."

Luke looked down at his wounded hand, his expression calm but resolute.

"Trading one hand for her life..."

He let out a quiet sigh.

"That's a fair trade."

When he saw Rosalie waiting for him outside the room, he forced a smile, hiding the pain.

"See? I told you I'm fine."

But Rosalie's guilt overwhelmed her. Tears welled up, and she whispered.

"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

Luke's injury was more than she'd ever anticipated. She couldn't shake the weight of what had happened.

The truth was, Rosalie had orchestrated the confrontation. She'd studied the files Mr. Fitzgerald had given her, piecing together Fiona's erratic history. She knew, under the right pressure, Fiona would snap, and hopefully reveal the truth about her mother's death. Mr. Fitzgerald had tipped off the police beforehand, coordinating everything carefully. But no one had anticipated how far Fiona's madness would go.

Thankfully, the police arrived just in time, and no one else was seriously hurt.