He Was Her Everything Until He Betrayed Her

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.