Chapter 1

"Rosalie, opportunities like this for further study don't come around often. Only a handful get the chance to return each year. I still hope you'll think about it."

Rosalie Mitchell tightened her grip on her phone as if locking in her decision with that small action.

Before the person on the other end could say anything more to try and convince her, she responded, "Professor, I appreciate your concern. I'm ready to accept the offer."

The voice on the other end softened, sounding genuinely pleased. "I'm glad to hear that! Take your time. Even though you've been in Florida for a bit, you'll still need some time to get everything together."

Rosalie's response was steady. "Don't worry, I'll be there in a month, on time."

As she ended the call, Rosalie looked around the room where she'd spent so many years growing up.

It was finally time to say goodbye.

Stepping outside, she saw everyone in the villa bustling around, preparing for a grand engagement party—though none of it had anything to do with her.

When Rosalie was twelve, she'd been kidnapped by terrorists and taken abroad. By sheer chance, she was rescued by Luke Williams, a renowned gem magnate in Florida, respectfully known by everyone as "Mr. Williams."

An orphan with no family, Rosalie had been viewed as a burden by her relatives, and no one wanted her back.

The Mitchell family found a convenient excuse to leave her with Luke instead.

Luke understood their motives clearly but chose not to reveal them.

Instead, he took Rosalie in, wholeheartedly accepting her as part of his world.

He extended his hand to the young girl, gently tapped her head, and said, "From now on, you'll be with me. Scared?"

Looking up at the fierce yet striking man before her, Rosalie felt no fear.

She boldly reached out and grasped his hand. "Of course not, Mr. Williams."

Luke smiled, clasping her hand warmly, keeping her close from that moment. He had cared for her for ten years.

During that time, Rosalie transformed from a neglected, quiet child into someone cherished, a light in Luke's life.

Knowing she loved peace and solitude, Luke bought her a private, century-old castle. Though she didn't know the language of Florida, no matter how busy his life got, Luke always made time to teach her personally.

Since Rosalie adored roses, he transformed the castle's garden into a breathtaking rose paradise. Seeing her love for art, he hired top-notch instructors and celebrated artists to teach her, even taking the pilot's seat himself to fly her around the world to view original masterpieces in museums.

When Rosalie was accepted into an art academy, Luke gave her a unique, priceless gem, a one-of-a-kind piece worth millions.

People often remarked that Rosalie was Luke's only weakness.

Luke would just smile down at her and say, "What can I say? I happened to meet a little troublemaker."

Over the years, Rosalie's hidden feelings slowly grew.

On Luke's 30th birthday, she poured her heart into designing a heart-shaped gem just for him, spending all her art earnings to bring it to life.

She hoped he'd recognize the sentiment behind it. When he noticed her slightly flushed face as she handed it to him, he realized what she meant.

But for the first time, Luke's reaction was harsh.

Alone with her, he coldly reprimanded her. "I didn't spend all these years raising you so you'd develop such foolish ideas." He then looked at her with stern resolve. "You shouldn't entertain any illusions about me. I will never love you that way."

With a stony expression, Luke picked up the gem she'd designed with so much care, sneering as he tossed it aside.

Chapter 2

"Stop with these little stunts," Luke said coolly. "They're embarrassing and only make things worse for both of us."

Rosalie walked downstairs, and the butler quickly brought out a plate of food. His face was filled with worry as if he were bracing for another one of her hunger strikes.

Seeing the butler's anxious expression, Rosalie suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She realized how foolish it had been to cling to someone who would never reciprocate, dragging others into her mess.

"Don't worry," she said softly. "I'm done putting my health on the line. You won't have to worry about me like that again."

She hadn't even settled in her seat when Luke returned. His eyes landed on her pale face, and a frown creased his forehead. He paused, eyeing her with that same distant expression.

"What's your game this time?" he asked, his tone cold. "Food's on the table. If you're still refusing to eat, fine! Go to the hospital for a glucose drip."

The butler looked as if he wanted to protest but stayed quiet as Luke turned and headed up the stairs, not sparing her another glance.

Rosalie's eyes followed him, noticing he was still in yesterday's clothes. His shirt was wrinkled, and his collar was open just enough to reveal a faint mark that made her heart clench.

She had resolved to let him go, to stop hoping—but seeing that, she felt an ache she couldn't shake.

Rosalie sat down and forced herself to eat, but every bite tasted like cardboard. She glanced around the empty dining room, and a wave of loneliness washed over her. She'd always been terrified of solitude, and Luke had known that. No matter how busy he was, he'd made a point to join her for meals.

In her memories, he was always there. Now, it wasn't just that he skipped meals with her. He probably didn't want to come home at all.

Rosalie continued eating quietly, her silent tears mixing with her food. She didn't know when Luke had come back down, but he was freshly changed across from her.

Quickly, she lowered her head and wiped her tears.

Luke sighed, catching her in the act. "I only said those things out of anger. If you can behave yourself, I won't ignore you." He paused, then softened. "Is the food not to your taste? You're as picky as ever. Let me make you some pasta."

With that, he rolled up his sleeves and headed toward the kitchen like it was second nature.

Rosalie watched him go, memories flooding her mind. She remembered how she sweet-talks him into cooking for her, convincing him to make her favorite dishes despite his usual reservations.

The distinguished Luke Williams was hands-on in the kitchen—for her.

It had been so long since he'd cooked for her that she couldn't recall the last time.

Even if he could never return her feelings, she thought, his kindness over the years was something she could never repay. A part of her longed to reach out and have a real conversation with him.

After all the chaos, it felt like ages since they'd just talked.

She remembered her early days in Florida when she was shy and closed off. Back then, Luke picked her up from school every day, asking about her day, what she'd learned, and whether anyone had given her a hard time.

He had coaxed her out of her shell with patience, making her feel safe enough to share her thoughts, her dreams—everything.

Luke had been there for every important moment in her life—except her college graduation.

She'd come up with excuse after excuse, anything to avoid facing the painful truth that he might simply not care about her anymore.

Steeling herself, she took a step toward him. But before she could speak, his phone rang.

He answered immediately, his voice urgent. "Alright, I'll be there soon. It's no problem."

Chapter 3

After ending the call, Luke didn't even glance back at Rosalie as he strode toward the door. He paused momentarily, as if he'd forgotten something, but then glanced down at his phone, chuckled to himself, and walked out without a second thought.

Rosalie watched his figure disappear, her gaze drifting to the pot of boiling water on the stove, foam and bits of noodles spilling over the edge. Somehow, it felt like an apt metaphor for her feelings—overflowing and chaotic, a complete mess.

Her phone buzzed on the table, pulling her from her thoughts.

She picked it up to see a text notification: '

Rosalie, it's your Auntie.'

That night, Rosalie stood frozen in place in her dimly lit room. Tears streaked down her face, dripping onto her hands, which were rough and nicked from countless hours of gem-cutting.

Despite everything, she hadn't been able to let go. As long as Luke was in her life, even on its edges, she couldn't bring herself to abandon hope. Lately, however, he only grew colder and more dismissive whenever she tried to reach out.

Eventually, his patience wore thin.

He even dropped her off at school himself, and as he looked at her hurt expression, he said casually, "Spend some time with people your age. Take a moment to figure yourself out, and return when you've sorted things out."

Yet Rosalie, stubborn as ever, convinced herself there was still a chance. When she returned home, buoyed with fragile confidence, she was blindsided by the sight of another woman—a sophisticated, elegant figure wrapped comfortably in Luke's arms.

Luke didn't hesitate to introduce her immediately. "Rosalie, this is your Aunt Fiona from back home."

He pulled the woman closer, a warm smile crossing his face. "And she's also my fiancée."

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

She clung to his hand as she struggled to sit up, her voice a broken 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."

With that, he turned and left, instructing a housekeeper to look after her as he strode out of the room.

Not fully conscious, Rosalie managed to stagger to the door, catching sight of Luke at the top of the stairs. She watched as he wrapped his arm around Fiona's waist, guiding her out.

"How's Rosalie doing?" she heard Fiona's voice, soft and concerned.

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

Rosalie stood frozen, watching them disappear. She reached out, almost reflexively, and her foot slipped, sending her tumbling down the stairs.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was alone. There was no one hovering over her, no gentle hand checking her injuries, no soothing 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.

She felt hollow, an aching emptiness filling the space 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 leave.

Like her mother before her, Rosalie carried her mother's surname. At the same time, their grandfather carefully selected Fiona’s name—a name uniquely distinct, as if to highlight just how different her life had always been.

Later, Rosalie received a friend request from Fiona and reluctantly accepted. Almost immediately, photos of wedding dresses began appearing in her messages.

"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. She was ready to ignore the message when a call interrupted her thoughts.

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

Chapter 4

Just as Rosalie was about to decline politely, Fiona mentioned her late parents. "Your mother passed away so early, and I haven't been around for you these past years. As your aunt, I'd really like to get closer to you."

Hearing that, Rosalie agreed. Regardless of whom Luke loved, her aunt was still her aunt, and she wanted to honor that family bond.

In her childhood, Fiona had been nothing but kind to her, and after losing her parents, Rosalie cherished the few family members she still had.

When she arrived at the boutique, she saw Fiona sitting gracefully, flipping through a magazine with an air of quiet elegance. Her poised, gentle demeanor made it easy to see why Luke might be drawn to someone like her. If he was happy, that's all that really mattered.

Fiona greeted Rosalie warmly, and Rosalie, a bit uneasy, responded, "Auntie."

With a soft smile, Fiona patted her head and said, "You really do look so much like your mom. She'd be so proud of you."

A pang of sadness hit Rosalie at the mention of her mother, and Fiona noticed.

Quickly, Fiona shifted the subject. "Oh, let's not dwell on the past. I picked out a dress for you too. Try it on and see if it fits."

She handed the dress to Rosalie, who went to the fitting room. Then, Fiona realized it was quite loose and far more revealing than she was comfortable with. She brushed it off, assuming her aunt didn't know her exact size.

Just as she left the fitting room, a familiar voice sounded outside. "Are you ready yet?"

It was Luke. Rosalie froze, her mind racing.

What was he doing here?

Still, instinctively, she responded to him like she always did. "Yes, I'm ready."

The door opened unexpectedly, and before she could react, she stumbled forward, landing directly in his arms.

Rosalie looked up, watching his expression shift from surprise to something darker. Luke's brows knitted together as he took in her outfit, his voice laced with disapproval.

"What are you doing here?"

Flustered, Rosalie took a step back, but in her haste, she accidentally stepped on the hem of the dress, causing it to slip further down her body, revealing even more skin.

Before she could move, Luke's jacket was suddenly draped over her, shielding her from view.

Then came his cold voice. "Rosalie, have you sunk this low? Are you willing to do anything to get my attention?"

Rosalie bit her lip, desperate to explain. "I didn't…"

But when she looked up, she only saw the same disdainful look he'd given her. The man who once treated her like she was precious now looked at her as if she were a stranger.

That look pierced through her, leaving her heart aching and hollow.

Luke didn't give her a chance to speak. "If you didn't mean anything by it, why would you be parading around in Fiona's dress like this right before me?"

Rosalie looked down at the dress, feeling disoriented and humiliated, his words cutting through her fog.

"What exactly will it take for you to understand your place?" he demanded.

Rosalie opened her mouth, but the words were lodged in her throat.

Even if she explained, would he even believe her?

"Oh, Luke! You're here!" Fiona approached just then, taking in the scene with a look of surprise. Without missing a beat, she said, "This is my fault. Rosalie's dress is still with me."

Chapter 5

When Fiona approached, Luke immediately softened, stepping forward to adjust a stray strand of her hair, ignoring Rosalie entirely.

"What's there to explain?" he asked, his tone light but dismissive. "Even if you are her aunt, you shouldn't indulge her like this."

Fiona pouted playfully. "Oh, come on, Luke. How can you say that?"

Luke cast a fleeting glance at Rosalie. "If you like the dress, Rosalie, it's yours now," he said indifferently. Then, turning back to Fiona, he added, "I'll have a new one custom-made for you. Since this one's been ruined, let's forget about it."

Rosalie felt each word like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting, piercing whatever was left of her heart.

But she held herself together this time, no longer the girl who would cause a scene. Quickly wiping away her tears, she turned and left before Luke could deliver any more cutting remarks.

As she glanced down at the ill-fitting dress she was wearing, a bitter thought crossed her mind:

'Things that don't fit will always feel awkward, no matter how hard you try to keep them. Rosalie.'

She couldn't understand why her aunt would agree to this. Fiona was Luke's fiancée now, the same aunt who used to dote on her as a child. What had changed?

She changed back into her clothes, and as she exited the mall, she saw Luke and Fiona heading toward her favorite cake shop. The irony struck her.

Luke had bought that shop for her.

Its name?

La Rosa.

That shop was or had once been, hers—something Luke had gifted to her with pride. She remembered when she first came to Florida.

Rosalie felt out of place, barely eating at school, as if she didn't belong.

Luke even teased her, saying she looked like a "little bean sprout."

The only food she enjoyed then was the cake from that little shop. Luke had once caught her sneaking away to buy a box and laughed, seeing frosting smudged on her lips.

He'd patted her head and asked, "Why do you like this shop so much?"

She answered, "Because it tastes like home."

That one answer had led Luke to buy the shop outright. "If you like it, I'll even pluck the stars from the sky for you," he had said.

Back then, he'd told her everything in that shop was hers and wanted it to be her place.

But now, she watched as he strolled through that precious memory with another woman as if she'd never mattered.

The cold, damp wind hit her, and Rosalie pulled her coat tighter around herself, tearing her eyes away from the scene.

She turned and walked in the opposite direction, leaving them behind in that warm glow of shared memories that no longer included her.

The relevant offices were still open, so she went there to start her paperwork to return to her home country.

"Miss Mitchell," the clerk said, "your application will need a ten-day review. You'll receive an email once it's finalized."

After all these years, it would only take ten more days was all it would take to end it.

She resolved quietly to herself, 'Luke, after this, I won't ever get entangled in your life again.'

With numb fingers and a distant gaze, she wandered the foreign streets she'd called home for ten years. Once, Luke had made this place feel warm and safe—a kind of home.

But now, it was just a distant, unwelcoming city filled with memories she wanted to leave behind.

As snow began to fall, her phone buzzed, jolting her back to reality. She answered, and Luke's voice came through, sharp with irritation.

"Where did you go? Fiona didn't invite you out so that you could throw a tantrum. Come back. Now."

Snowflakes drifted down, landing on Rosalie's frozen hands, but she barely felt the cold.

She tucked her documents away, returned to the mall, and searched everywhere. But Luke and Fiona were nowhere to be found.

Chapter 6

Rosalie finally noticed a new message from her aunt:

'Luke and I went to the perfume shop next door in the mall. He forgot to tell you. Come over, Rosalie, so that I can give you a gift.'

She listened to the message, her emotions churning. When she reached the perfume shop, the sight before her was like a punch to the gut.

Fiona held out her wrist for Luke to smell, and their warm smiles and easy gestures conveyed an intimacy she could only observe from the outside. She had always been the outsider.

Fiona noticed and waved her over, but Rosalie lingered at the store's entrance, glancing toward Luke. She didn't even know what she was clinging to.

Taking a steadying breath, she summoned the strength to ask, in a calm but strained voice, "Should I come in?"

Luke's expression darkened as he looked at her, his irritation flashing across his face. "What are you being so sensitive about? It's a perfume store; it won't kill you to step inside."

Fiona quickly stepped in, her tone gentle. "Luke, don't talk to Rosalie like that." Luke's demeanor softened immediately as he affectionately stroked her hair, then turned back to Rosalie with a dismissive look.

"Come in, Rosalie. Or would you rather have Fiona stand here with the gift waiting for you?"

Rosalie felt her resolve waver but took a step inside. Her sensitivity to strong scents had first shown up years ago. Back then, Luke had immediately removed all scented products from the house, even banning anyone from wearing perfume.

When she'd struggled with it at school, he had arranged for her to study at home, and on the rare occasions she attended classes in person, he ensured every precaution was taken.

Their home became a sanctuary of fresh flowers and subtle, natural scents where she felt safe. Even living in a country where perfume was everywhere, Luke protected her.

But now, just standing at the shop's entrance made her dizzy, yet he continued urging her to step further inside.

Fighting the nausea, Rosalie approached Fiona, who immediately produced a perfume bottle from her bag.

"This one is a limited edition called 'Moonlit Rose.' As soon as I heard the name, I thought it would suit you perfectly. Come, let Auntie spray a little on you to try it."

Rosalie pulled her hand back, feeling her stomach twist. "Thank you, Auntie, but it's not necessary. I'm allergic to perfume."

Fiona's face fell, her eyes instantly welling with tears as she looked genuinely remorseful. "I'm so sorry, Rosalie. It's my fault. I don't even know what you like."

But before Rosalie could respond, Luke roughly pulled her closer, pushing the gift into her hands.

He looked at Fiona reassuringly. "It's fine. It's not that serious."

Turning to Rosalie, his tone grew cold. "This is a gift from us. A little spritz won't kill you."

Rosalie met his gaze and forced a bitter smile after a moment of hesitation. She brought the bottle to her wrist and sprayed a small amount.

Immediately, the overpowering scent assaulted her senses, leaving her lightheaded and nauseous, but she steeled herself, fighting the urge to recoil.

Forcing a strained smile, she looked at Fiona and said, "Thank you, Auntie."

Then, with a steady gaze, she turned to Luke, her voice carrying a note of finality. "Thank you, Uncle."

Chapter 7

Luke's expression shifted instantly. Over the years, Rosalie first addressed him as "Mr. Williams," like everyone else, but later tried calling him "Luke"—and he sharply corrected her each time.

Now, she'd finally found the right way to address him.

From now on, he'd only ever be "Uncle Luke."

Without another glance at either of them, Rosalie turned and walked away, her body feeling unwell from the heavy perfume scent lingering around her. When she exited the car, dizziness swept over her, and her steps felt unsteady.

The butler, noticing her pale face and the perfume bottle in her hand, immediately looked alarmed. "Quick, take that perfume away from Miss Rosalie! If Mr. Williams finds out, there'll be trouble."

Hearing this, Rosalie felt only a deep sadness. With a single decision, the same man who had once doted on her without reserve could plunge her into despair.

The allergic reaction drained her, and she passed out, sleeping heavily until late that night. She awoke groggily to find Luke in her room, his presence unmistakable.

He had moved his bedroom to another floor long ago to keep his distance from her, and he rarely entered her room. Tonight, he burst in with a sharp energy that made her wonder if she was dreaming.

His next words jolted her to full consciousness. "Why did you throw away the gift Fiona gave you? What are you trying to pull? Do you know how hurt she was when she saw it?"

Rosalie forced herself to sit up, her voice steady despite her weariness. "I didn't throw it away."

Without warning, Luke tossed a bag onto her bed, and the perfume bottle tumbled out, shattering on the floor.

The scent spread quickly, filling the room and choking her with intensity. Rosalie began to cough violently, her face flushing as her body reacted.

Alarmed, the butler rushed to call the doctor. "Sir, I threw out the perfume! Isn't it your rule that no perfume is allowed in the house? Miss Rosalie has a severe allergy!"

Only then did Luke seem to realize the severity of the situation, remembering the first time Rosalie had experienced an allergic reaction years ago.

He was completely unprepared for her distress at the time. However, he showed her careful attention, which made her feel truly cherished.

The Luke of the past had nurtured Rosalie, raising her with care and kindness.

But the Luke of today was only hurting the person he'd once protected.

The butler remembered. Everyone in the house remembered.

Only Luke seemed to have forgotten.

Once Rosalie's condition stabilized, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"Miss Rosalie is awake now," the butler said softly. "Sir, maybe you should check on her."

Just as Luke took a step toward her door, his phone rang. He paused, then answered the call, listening for a moment before glancing back toward Rosalie.

"Take good care of her," he said shortly to the butler. "I have something else I need to handle."

From her bed, Rosalie watched it all. Once, seeing him leave like that would have devastated her.

Now, all she felt was numbness. It was a good thing she had decided to move on.

The butler came in, looking to say something, but he hesitated.

In the end, he simply managed, "Please don't worry. You'll be fine."

Rosalie offered him a reassuring smile. "I know. Thank you.”

She was grateful she'd chosen to let go before it was too late. The butler lingered with a few quiet reminders before finally stepping out.

Rosalie lay back and looked out at the dark sky. Another day had passed.

In the following days, she quietly focused on her recovery, going through the few things she'd accumulated in the house.

Ten years had left countless reminders of her life there, each item tied to a memory she'd once shared with Luke.

But now it was time to let those memories go.

It was time for them both to begin new lives.

Chapter 8

Rosalie gathered all her clothes and stuffed animals over the years, carefully packing each item to donate.

Luke had once dedicated an entire floor as her wardrobe, saying that the memories of growing up should be cherished and preserved.

Now, as she sorted through each piece of clothing and the gifts he'd given her year after year, she realized the past hadn't been a lie—only that people change.

By the time she finished, she had filled an entire truck with her old belongings.

The volunteer collecting the donations handed her a small souvenir, saying, "Thanks for contributing to charity."

Rosalie offered a small smile. She didn't feel like she'd done anything remarkable. From her first year in Florida, Luke had set up a charity foundation in her name, and she often visited orphanages, feeling a special kinship with the children there.

Luke's generosity had once made her feel safe and cared for. But now, she understood that the only person she could truly rely on was herself.

Just as the truck was pulling away, Luke pulled up and noticed the full load of boxes.

"What's all this?" he asked.

Rosalie looked at him from the doorway, her voice casual. "Just things I don't need anymore. Doing a little clearing out."

He looked mildly suspicious but didn't press further. "Well, with the engagement party coming up, it's time to replace old things with new."

His eyes stayed on his phone, barely glancing her way.

Just before he drove off, he lowered his window and reminded her, "Tomorrow's Fiona's art exhibition. The perfume incident was partly your fault, so you should use the opportunity to apologize to your aunt."

Rosalie nodded indifferently, and her calmness seemed to surprise him. He'd expected her to argue or defend herself, but her quiet agreement caught him off guard.

"You're growing up, Rosalie. It's time to be sensible. You'll live with Fiona soon, so learn to get along."

Watching him drive away, Rosalie thought he wouldn't have to deal with her much longer.

Old things were being replaced, and old faces were also moving on.

The next day, Rosalie returned to her school to organize her graduation materials. All that was left was to retrieve the original of her graduation project.

But when she arrived at her teacher's office, she was told her project had already been picked up.

"It was someone claiming to be Luke Williams. Didn't you know?"

This puzzled her.

Luke had rarely been involved in her school life. He hadn't even attended her graduation ceremony.

Why would he take her graduation project?

She remembered his comment about the art exhibition and felt a surge of unease.

When Rosalie arrived at the exhibition, it was already in full swing. The venue was buzzing with people and surrounded by luxury cars.

Backed by Luke's connections, Fiona's event was turning out to be a grand success. Ignoring the glitz, Rosalie went inside, determined to find answers.

She spotted Luke standing near Fiona, introducing her to an influential group of guests.

With a wry smile, one of the guests commented, "Mr. Williams, you're quite lucky. We thought you’d keep that Rosalie girl by your side forever."

Luke responded with a polite but distant smile. “You're joking. Rosalie's just a child I raised."

Rosalie had expected to hear something along these lines, but seeing him and Fiona together, looking like a perfectly matched couple stirred a raw, lingering pain that cut through her attempts to remain numb.

Taking a breath, she stepped forward and asked, "Where is my painting?"

Chapter 9

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

"What painting?" he asked curtly.

"My graduation project," she replied, her voice strained. "My teacher said you picked it up."

Luke's expression hardened, clearly unimpressed by what he saw as her childishness. "Do you even realize what today is? I don't have time to deal with your trivial painting."

He dismissed her with a wave. "If you think I took it, go find it yourself."

Determined, Rosalie scoured the entire exhibition, her anxiety mounting as she failed to find her work. Just as she was about to give up, something caught her eye at the entrance.

Near the guest sign-in area was her painting—her graduation project, almost unrecognizable, covered in signatures and scribbles.

In shock, she approached the canvas, her heart sinking as she took in the mess of black ink obscuring the vibrant red roses and blue sky she'd painstakingly painted. That piece had meant everything to her, and now it was defaced beyond recognition.

Almost desperate, Rosalie pushed through the crowd, clutching the painting to shield it from further harm.

Chaos erupted, and Luke quickly strode over, his face tight with frustration. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "This is your aunt's art exhibition. Must you cause a scene and embarrass everyone?"

Rosalie's gaze was fierce as she held his stare.

"Why is my painting here?" she demanded.

Luke brushed her off. "It's just a painting. If it's that important to you, I can replace it. Stop being so dramatic."

Staring at him, tears pricked at her eyes. "And what exactly will you replace it with, Luke?"

She had let go of nearly everything—her belongings, her dignity.

Did she really have to stand by and watch as her most treasured creation, the only thing born from her heart and soul, was reduced to a mere object?

But Luke simply shook his head, exasperated. "You're being completely unreasonable, Rosalie."

This painting was her graduation project, the result of sleepless nights, ten years of effort, and the gift she intended for Luke himself.

Her sincerity lay desecrated, the last bit of pride she'd tried so hard to hold on to.

Fiona hurried over, her expression contrite as she explained, "I'm so sorry, Rosalie. It was a mistake. I arranged for your project to be brought here, thinking everyone would appreciate it. I never expected people to be so careless and ruin it."

Fiona clung to Luke's arm, her face soft with remorse. Luke turned his attention to comforting her. "This isn't your fault, Fiona. Rosalie doesn't know her place—her painting didn't belong here in the first place."

Each word stabbed at Rosalie's heart like a knife.

Without hesitation, Luke instructed Rosalie to remain confined to the house, forbidding her to step outside and further embarrass him.

This time, he blocked every means of contact, determined to teach her a lesson.

But Rosalie was beyond lessons. She was done.

Shortly after, she received news that her application to return home had been approved sooner than expected—coincidentally, on the day of Luke's engagement party.

She knew she wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye in person, but the truth was, she no longer wanted to.

The butler was the only person aware of her departure.

When the time came, Rosalie gave him a warm embrace, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Please, take care of yourself," she whispered.

The butler's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Miss Rosalie, you're destined for a bright future."

As Luke's engagement party reached its peak, filled with laughter and clinking glasses, Rosalie was already on a plane, flying home.

Back at the party, as the energy reached a crescendo, Luke took the microphone, ready to make the announcement that would seal his future.

In the quiet of his study, Luke found an envelope he hadn't noticed before.

"Wishing Mr. Williams and my aunt happiness. The Rosalie has grown and must now leave. I appreciate your care over the years. My gratitude is endless."

It was brief and simple but powerful enough to send his world reeling.

Reading those words, Luke felt something cold and terrifying settle within him. He went to Rosalie's room, only to find it untouched, as if she had just stepped out.

The extravagant gifts he'd given her over the years were all left behind, arranged meticulously. The wardrobe he'd dedicated to her was nearly empty, and a faint, lingering scent of perfume hung in the air.

On the floor, she had placed the gifts he'd given her over the past ten years—each one kept carefully but not taken with her. Next to them lay a row of items she'd once given him.

Handmade trinkets from childhood, small tokens of affection, and the heart-shaped gemstone she'd poured her savings and hopes into creating for him.

Once, these had all been his. He had thrown them out when he realized her true feelings, overwhelmed by fear and denial, terrified that if Luke acknowledged even a hint of affection, he'd lose control over himself.

He'd hurt her out of a need to protect his own heart, and now, as he looked at the wrinkled bags and the faintly yellowed, weather-worn items, a deep fear settled within him.

For the first time, he truly felt the emptiness of her absence.

'Who gave her the nerve to do this?' he thought, gritting his teeth. 'No matter what, I'll bring her back.'