From Terrorist Cell to Diamond Prison

Chapter 9

Surrounded by business associates, Luke barely looked up as Rosalie hurried over, her face flushed with urgency.

"What painting?" he asked coldly.

"My graduation project," she said, breathless. "My teacher said you picked it up."

His expression darkened, clearly annoyed.

"Do you even realize what today is? I don't have time to deal with your little painting drama."

With a dismissive wave, he added,

"If you really think I took it, go look for it yourself."

Refusing to back down, Rosalie combed through the entire exhibition. Panic built with every room she searched, no sign of her work. Just as she was about to give up, something near the entrance caught her eye.

There, by the guest sign-in table, was her painting, her graduation project, nearly unrecognizable. It was buried under layers of black ink, scribbles, and signatures. The vibrant red roses and open sky she'd spent months perfecting were defaced, desecrated like they meant nothing.

Heart pounding, she rushed forward and pulled it from the easel, hugging it tightly to her chest as if she could protect what was left.

People turned. Whispers followed. The room buzzed with confusion. And then Luke was there, striding over with his jaw clenched.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.

"This is your aunt's event. Must you cause a scene and embarrass everyone?"

Rosalie met his glare, unflinching.

"Why is my painting even here?"

Luke rolled his eyes.

"It's just a painting, Rosalie. If it means that much to you, I'll have someone replace it. Don't be so dramatic."

Her voice cracked, raw and honest.

"And what exactly would you replace it with, Luke?"

She had already given up everything, her clothes, her keepsakes, her pride. And now, the one thing that held her memories, her effort, her identity, it was treated like a throwaway decoration.

He didn't get it.

He never would.

"You're being completely unreasonable," he muttered, shaking his head.

That painting had been her gift to him. A culmination of ten years, sleepless nights, and silent devotion. Now, it was ruined, and so was any illusion she'd clung to.

Just then, Fiona rushed over, her voice overly sweet and laced with guilt.

"Oh Rosalie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I had your project brought here, thinking it'd be a nice touch. I never imagined people would... ruin it."

She leaned into Luke's side for comfort.

Luke, without hesitation, turned to console Fiona instead.

"It's not your fault, Fiona. Rosalie should've known better, her painting didn't belong here in the first place."

Every word was a slap. Rosalie stood frozen, her heart fracturing in silence.

By the end of the night, Luke banned her from leaving the house. He blocked her calls, her access, everything.

"You need to learn your place."

That was his final message.

But Rosalie wasn't learning anymore.

She was leaving.

Not long after, she got word that her request to return home had been approved, much sooner than expected. Coincidentally, the date aligned perfectly with Luke's engagement party.

She didn't plan to say goodbye.

And honestly, she didn't want to.

Only the butler knew she was going. As she stood by the car, suitcase in hand, she wrapped him in a hug, her voice soft with emotion.

"Please take care of yourself."

His eyes misted over.

"Miss Rosalie... you're going to do amazing things. Don't ever look back."

While laughter and champagne flowed freely at Luke's party, Rosalie was already on a flight, the city lights below fading into memory.

Later that night, just before stepping onstage to make the announcement that would mark his "new beginning," Luke returned to his study to grab a file.

That's when he saw it, an envelope resting on his desk. One he hadn't noticed before.