From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 7

Luke's expression shifted instantly. Over the years, Rosalie had called him Mr. Williams like everyone else. Later, she tried using Luke, only to be sharply corrected each time.

Now, she had finally figured it out.

From now on, he would only ever be Uncle Luke.

Without another glance at either of them, she turned and walked away, her body already reacting to the lingering scent in the air. By the time she got to the car, her head was spinning, and her steps faltered.

The butler opened the door, eyes going wide when he saw her pale face and the perfume bottle still in her hand.

"Quick! Take that away from Miss Rosalie!" he barked at a maid nearby. "If Mr. Williams finds out, there'll be hell to pay."

Rosalie gave a weak smile, but her heart sank.

That man. The one who used to protect her from everything, he was now the one pushing her straight into harm's way.

The allergic reaction hit hard. She passed out and didn't stir until late that night, when she woke in a daze to find someone in her room.

It was Luke.

He hadn't set foot in her room in years. After moving his bedroom to a separate floor to keep his distance, he'd kept it that way. Now, he stood at her doorway with a charged energy, like he'd stormed in without thinking.

Then came the first thing out of his mouth,

"Why did you throw away Fiona's gift? What kind of game are you playing? Do you know how hurt she was when she saw that?"

Rosalie sat up slowly, her head still pounding, her voice flat and tired.

"I didn't throw it away."

Before she could say more, he hurled a bag onto the bed. The perfume bottle spilled out, shattered on the floor, and the scent burst into the air like a trap.

The room filled with the thick, overpowering fragrance. Rosalie's body reacted instantly, violent coughs wracked her chest, her face turned bright red, and her breathing became strained.

The butler ran in, alarmed. "Call the doctor!" he shouted at another servant, then turned to Luke, nearly losing his composure. "Sir! I threw it away. You made the rule, no perfume in this house because Miss Rosalie has a severe allergy!"

Only then did Luke seem to grasp what was happening. For a second, the years seemed to rewind, back to the first time Rosalie collapsed, back when he'd dropped everything to comfort her, back when protecting her was second nature.

That Luke, the one who had built a safe world around her, was gone.

Everyone in the house remembered who he used to be.

Only Luke had forgotten.

When Rosalie finally stabilized, the tension in the room eased.

"She's awake now," the butler said gently, standing by her door. "Sir, maybe… maybe you should check on her."

Luke took a step forward, but his phone rang.

He answered after a beat, listened briefly, then turned back toward the butler with a detached look.

"Take care of her," he said shortly. "I have something to deal with."

Rosalie watched it all from her bed. Once, she would've been crushed to see him walk out like that.

Now?

She felt nothing.

Just silence where there used to be heartbreak.

The butler lingered in the doorway. He looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, all he managed was, "Don't worry, Miss Rosalie. You're going to be okay."

She gave him a small, grateful smile. "I know. Thank you."

And she meant it. She had let go, just in time.

After he left, she lay back in bed, staring at the dark sky outside her window.

Another day was done.

In the days that followed, Rosalie focused quietly on recovering. She went through the few belongings she'd collected over the years. Ten years in that house had left behind more than just things, they were memories. Pieces of a life once intertwined with Luke's.

But it was time to let them go.

Time to start over.

For both of them.