From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 3

After ending the call, Luke didn't even glance at Rosalie as he walked toward the door. He paused for a moment, as if he had forgotten something, but then looked down at his phone, chuckled quietly to himself, and walked out without another word.

Rosalie watched him go, her eyes slowly drifting to the pot of boiling water on the stove. Foam and bits of noodles spilled over the edge, an overwhelming mess. It seemed like a perfect metaphor for her feelings, overflowing, chaotic, and completely out of control.

Her phone buzzed on the table, breaking her from her thoughts. She picked it up to see a text notification: "Rosalie, it's your Auntie."

That night, Rosalie stood frozen in her dimly lit room, tears streaming down her face and dripping onto her rough, scarred hands from hours of gem-cutting. Despite everything, she still couldn't let go. As long as Luke was part of her life, even from a distance, she couldn't give up hope. But lately, he had only grown colder and more distant, each attempt to reach out leaving her more desperate.

Eventually, his patience wore thin. He even dropped her off at school one morning, looking at her hurt expression with cold indifference.

"Spend some time with people your age," he said, his voice flat. "Take a moment to figure yourself out, and come back when you've sorted things out."

But Rosalie, as stubborn as ever, refused to give up. She convinced herself there was still a chance. When she came home later, full of fragile confidence, she was blindsided by the sight of another woman, sophisticated, elegant, and wrapped comfortably in Luke's arms.

Without hesitation, Luke introduced her.

"Rosalie, this is your Aunt Fiona from back home." He pulled the woman closer, a smile spreading across his face. "And she's also my fiancée."

For once, Rosalie didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, she retreated to her room, grabbed a bottle, and drank herself into a stupor, trying to drown the hurt she couldn't speak. By the time Luke found her, she was lying on the carpet, barely conscious and mumbling incoherently.

She clung to his hand as she struggled to sit up, her voice barely a whisper. "Are you going to marry my aunt?"

But even then, Luke was unmoved. Gently but firmly, he pushed her away. "Even if I don't marry her, I would never love you, Rosalie. It's time to let go of these hopeless fantasies."

He turned, leaving without a second glance, instructing a housekeeper to look after her as he walked out of the room.

Barely conscious, Rosalie managed to stumble to the door, her eyes catching Luke at the top of the stairs. She watched as he wrapped his arm around Fiona's waist, guiding her toward the door.

"How's Rosalie doing?" Fiona asked softly, her voice full of concern.

Luke sighed, his impatience clear. "She's just being dramatic. She'll calm down. Tonight, it's only you I'm worried about."

Rosalie stood frozen, watching them disappear down the hallway. She reached out instinctively, but her foot slipped, sending her tumbling down the stairs.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was alone. No one was hovering over her, no gentle hand checking her injuries, no comforting words to ease the pain. Luke would've been there in the past, fussing over even the smallest scratch. Now, there was nothing but silence and the intricate patterns of the ceiling above her.

An overwhelming emptiness filled her chest, where hope had once lived. For the first time, Rosalie knew she was truly done. This time, she would let go. This time, she would walk away.

Like her mother before her, Rosalie carried her mother's surname. And just like her mother, her grandfather had chosen Fiona's name carefully, a name that felt intentionally different, highlighting how much her life had always been apart from Rosalie's.

Later, Rosalie received a friend request from Fiona and reluctantly accepted. Almost immediately, pictures of wedding dresses started flooding her inbox.

"Take a look and let me know which one Luke might like."

"You've been with him all these years; you must know his tastes well. Help me pick something out."

Rosalie's hand tightened around her phone, anger bubbling up. She was about to ignore the message when her phone rang.

"Rosalie, I'm at a boutique looking at dresses. Why don't you come by? Luke will be here soon."