He Was Her Everything Until He Betrayed Her

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."