From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 30

Fiona stood frozen, her face a mask of disbelief, as if she couldn't process the words coming at her.

"You're talking nonsense!" she snapped, her voice trembling slightly, but the confidence in her tone was already starting to crack.

Harold's eyes clouded with a mix of old memories and regret. Slowly, he shook his head, his voice thick with emotion.

"Your father was a hero, he was a firefighter. How did you end up like this?" He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Back then, he begged me to take you in. He knew his job was dangerous, and he worried about what might happen to you. I treated you like my own. I gave you everything, just as much care as I gave my own children. But you... you were never grateful. Not once."

He glanced at her with a mixture of pity and disappointment.

"All these years, I spoiled you. You may not have had a stake in the company, but I gave you more than enough to live comfortably. It should've been enough. But it wasn't, was it? You always wanted more."

Fiona's face twisted into a sneer, her defiance palpable as she shot back, "So what if I'm greedy? It's all your fault! You made my sister out to be some flawless saint. How could I not be jealous of her?"

Her sneer deepened, venom dripping from her words.

"And so what if you're still alive? My brother will get me out of here. He's always had my back, and I know he will again."

Harold sighed, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion.

"It's too late, Fiona," he said, his voice tired, as if he had long since given up any hope.

He had given both Fiona and Harold chance after chance to change, but they'd squandered every one. Ironically, the very evidence that would seal their fates had been hidden in his urn all this time, a place neither of them had ever thought to look.

Meanwhile, in his cell, Harold finally broke down. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched the bars, his voice frantic as he begged the old man for help.

"It wasn't me!" he cried. "It was all her idea! Fiona planned everything! I didn't want anyone to get hurt, I swear! I didn't mean for any of this to happen!"

But his words rang hollow, and everyone in the room knew it. Harold had been just as complicit in their schemes, no matter how much he tried to shift the blame.

Fiona, on the other hand, had completely lost touch with reality. In her cell, she muttered to herself, her eyes vacant, her voice disconnected from anything around her. Madness had completely taken over, and it was clear she'd never escape the chaos she'd created.

Rosalie sat quietly, reflecting on her childhood. Memories of her mother flooded back, so vivid that they felt like yesterday. She remembered how her mother had always spoken kindly about Fiona, how she had protected her younger sister from gossip, and how she never once spoke ill of her, no matter what anyone else said.

She thought about the rumors, the ones about how her mother and aunt didn't look alike. But to Rosalie, it never mattered. She had always thought they were both beautiful in their own ways.

Returning to her hometown had stirred up memories she had long buried. She remembered the day her mother left her in Fiona's care, promising her, "Wait for us to come back, and we'll take you to the amusement park."

Fiona had waved her off with a bright smile as her parents drove away. Rosalie never imagined it would be the last time she'd see them alive.

Her memories of her uncle, Harold, were hazy. She recalled how her grandfather often scolded him for always scheming, always up to no good. But her mother, her mother had always treated her siblings with love, always doing everything she could to protect them and give them the benefit of the doubt.

Her parents had done nothing to deserve the fate they met.

Now, Rosalie finally understood. Some people were just born with malice in their hearts.

When Fiona and Harold were sentenced, Rosalie visited her parents' graves. Kneeling before the headstones, her hands shook as she laid a vibrant bouquet of roses at their base. She spoke softly, her voice steady, even though emotion churned in her chest.

"Rosalie has grown up now," she whispered. "I've cleared your names, and I'm not leaving again. I'm staying here with you."

Unlike the mourners who brought white flowers, Rosalie had chosen roses for her parents. Bold, beautiful, and full of life, the way she wanted to remember them.

A quiet sense of closure settled over her. The weight of the past would always be there, but it was lighter now. This ###Chapter was finally over, and she was ready to begin the next one.

Once everything settled, Rosalie focused on the future. This year, the school admissions process had a twist, every student had to submit an art piece for a school exhibition.