The world of The Bold and the Beautiful has seen betrayal, love triangles, and even murder—but nothing could prepare fans for the emotionally devastating episode where Dr. Finn’s attempt to be a hero ended in the unthinkable: killing his own daughter, Luna.

It began with Luna’s descent into darkness. Torn by secrets, crushed by rejection, she stormed the Forrester Cliff House, determined to make them all feel her pain. Gun in hand, she cornered Steffy, whispering threats with shaking hands and teary eyes. But before she could pull the trigger, Finn arrived—only to make the ultimate mistake.

With no time to think, he lunged at Luna, wrestling for control. The gun fired. The echo was deafening. And when the dust settled, Luna lay bleeding, a crimson pool staining the marble beneath her. Finn’s relief at saving Steffy twisted into horror as he realized the truth: the bullet had struck Luna in the head. It was fatal.

Stephie’s cries. Finn’s trembling hands. Ridge’s horrified arrival. It all played out like a nightmare no one could wake from. Luna died not as a villain, but as a broken child reaching out. Her story ended with no justice—only sorrow.

The press painted Finn as a hero. Social media called it self-defense. But in his heart, he knew otherwise. He wasn’t just a man who saved his wife. He was the man who killed his daughter. The guilt gnawed at him with every passing moment.

The funeral was heart-wrenching. Pale lavender lilies adorned Luna’s casket as Finn delivered a tear-soaked eulogy. “I came to save love… and lost it all.” His words echoed through the cliffs, through the hearts of the mourners, and into the homes of millions watching.

Steffy tried to hold him together. Ridge tried to absolve him. Brooke, surprisingly, stood by him. But Finn could not be consoled. His daughter’s ghost would haunt every glance, every breath, every stitch sewn in Forrester Creations’ next collection.

In the fashion world’s glossy perfection, Luna’s death remains a bloodstain that won’t fade. And for Finn, heroism now feels like a hollow crown—heavy, cold, and soaked in grief.