From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 6

Rosalie finally noticed a new message from her aunt:

"Luke and I went to the perfume shop next door. He forgot to tell you. Come by, Rosalie, I have a little gift for you."

She stared at the message, her emotions tangled and raw.

When she arrived at the perfume shop, the scene in front of her hit like a gut punch.

Fiona was holding out her wrist for Luke to smell, her expression soft and inviting. They looked completely at ease with each other, their easy smiles and body language speaking of an intimacy Rosalie could only stand on the outside and witness. She had always been the outsider.

Fiona spotted her and waved cheerfully. But Rosalie hesitated at the threshold, eyes flicking to Luke.

She didn't even know what she was holding onto anymore.

Taking a slow breath, she steadied herself and asked in a voice that sounded calm, though it trembled beneath the surface,

"Should I come in?"

Luke's expression soured, irritation flashing across his face.

"What are you being so dramatic about? It's a perfume store, not a war zone. Come in."

Fiona jumped in gently, trying to smooth things over.

"Luke, don't talk to Rosalie like that."

His entire demeanor shifted at Fiona's words. He softened immediately, brushing her hair back affectionately, before glancing at Rosalie again, this time with a look that said he couldn't be bothered.

"Come on. What, are you going to make Fiona stand here holding your gift all day?"

Rosalie's chest tightened. Still, she stepped inside.

The sharp notes in the air were already making her dizzy. Her sensitivity to scents wasn't new, years ago, Luke had gone out of his way to protect her from it. He'd removed all scented products from the house and banned guests from wearing perfume. When she'd struggled with it in school, he arranged for her to study at home. On the rare days she attended class, he coordinated with teachers and classmates to minimize exposure. Their home used to smell only of fresh linens, soft florals, and quiet comfort, never anything overwhelming. He'd built a whole world around her needs.

But now, he didn't even blink.

Swallowing down the nausea, Rosalie approached Fiona, who pulled out a small, elegantly packaged perfume bottle.

"It's a limited edition, 'Moonlit Rose.' As soon as I saw the name, I thought of you. Here, let Auntie spray just a bit so you can try it."

Rosalie instinctively pulled back, her stomach twisting.

"Thank you, Auntie, but… I'm allergic to perfume."

Fiona's expression crumbled. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice broke with regret.

"Oh no, Rosalie. I'm so sorry. That's my fault, I didn't even think. I don't know what you like anymore."

Before she could respond, Luke suddenly grabbed her wrist and shoved the box into her hands.

"It's fine," he said to Fiona, his tone breezy. "She's just exaggerating. It's not that serious."

Then he turned to Rosalie, his eyes cold.

"This is from us. A little spritz won't kill you."

There was a long pause. Rosalie met his gaze, her chest rising and falling as she wrestled with the sting of his words.

Then, she smiled. A small, brittle, bitter smile.

Without saying a word, she uncapped the bottle, pressed the nozzle to her wrist, and sprayed.

The scent hit her like a wave, heady and overwhelming. Her head swam, her stomach flipped, but she didn't flinch.

She looked straight at Fiona and whispered, voice barely above a breath,

"Thank you, Auntie."

Then she turned to Luke. Her eyes were steady, her voice like ice.

"Thank you, Uncle."