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."

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 revealing 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."

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.