Built His Empire Then Watched It Burn When He Cheated novel Chapter 686

Gianna waited a moment. All she received was an indistinct hum from Wendy.

She puffed out her lips, half-complaining, half-playful. "Mom, what's so interesting about fabric swatches? Are they really prettier than your daughter? Look, I even lined up to buy Palmier from Rise & Shine, that old bakery. Do you want one now?"

She slid into the seat beside her, leaning in close.

She placed the pastry box on the table and looked at Wendy expectantly.

Only then did Wendy lift her gaze from the fabric catalog. When her eyes met Gianna's bright, eager stare, her lips curved faintly.

Gianna smiled without thinking. She reached to open the box when Wendy spoke up calmly, "I already had breakfast. Leave it for later."

It was like a splash of cold water to Gianna. Her smile stiffened before she forced a pout. "Oh, okay. Look, I brought you flowers too. Aren't they beautiful? I picked every single stem myself."

She drew out a large bouquet from behind her back.

It was a bouquet of carnations in layered hues, the colors elegant and carefully balanced, eye-catching without being loud.

She looked at Wendy with cautious devotion, softening her voice into a coaxing whine. "Mom, can we arrange them together?"

Wendy's gaze drifted to the bouquet without conscious intent.

Carnations were flowers meant for mothers. She studied the bouquet. The carnations were fresh, dewy, and clearly prepared with care. Her eyes slowly lost focus.

In this lifetime, she had given birth to one son and one daughter.

Her son had never been the romantic type; his gifts were always practical luxuries like jewelry, shoes, and purses.

Once, on her birthday, he had even given her a full medical checkup package.

Carnations had never come from him.

Gianna, on the other hand, brought them every year.

Wendy lifted her eyes to Gianna's face, which was filled with cautious admiration. A thought slipped through her defenses. If my daughter were still alive, would she be like Gianna now, as lovely as a flower, gazing at me with the same longing affection, holding out a bouquet of carnations meant for her mother?

Yet, she knew the truth with brutal clarity—her daughter was gone. No matter how convincing Gianna tried to be, no matter how skillfully she blurred the lines, she was not her daughter.

Gianna was nothing more than the sugar-coated bullet Timothy White had delivered straight to her doorstep.

Does he really think Gianna can become a substitute for my lost daughter, or a cure to help me forget?

Well, dream on!

The pain of losing a child was carved into bone, gouged into the heart. It could not be replaced, softened, or healed away.

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