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.

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."

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.