"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.

"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."

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."