Chapter 11
Day after day, Simon kept muttering to himself, swearing that one day, he d defeat Daniel and win me back.
But it was all in vain.
Without the resources or backing of the Hughes family, Simon simply didn’t have the strength to make it on his own. Despite his endless attempts, failure was his constant companion. As the months passed, even the Hughes family began to treat him like he no longer existed. His pride and desperation couldn’t change.
that.
Meanwhile, after our marriage, Daniel focused his attention on the domestic market. With all the connections he had established internationally, it didn’t take long for him to gain a strong foothold in San Francisco.
In no time, he had surpassed even the
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wealthiest, most established families. Under his leadership, the Hughes family reached new heights, cementing their position at the top.
One evening, as we sat together after dinner, the mood was relaxed, but a question lingered in my mind, so I asked him.
“Daniel,” I began, my voice soft with curiosity. “If you never married me, what would you have done?”
His expression shifted slightly, a shadow of sorrow crossing his face. It was a look I hadn’t seen before, and for a moment, I worried that I had asked something too painful.
“My dear wife,” he began, his words soft yet deliberate, “let me share with you a story.”
He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, the flicker of nostalgia lingering in his expression.
Then, with a subtle sigh, he continued,
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“Ten years ago, I found myself back in San Francisco for a brief visit. It was for a young lady’s coming–of–age ceremony.”
His voice had a certain warmth as he spoke, the kind that only comes with the time when memories are cherished rather than merely recalled.
“At the event, a quarrel broke out between a few girls, and in the middle of it, one of them spilled red wine all over a little girl- her delicate white dress ruined. The girl cried, her sobs echoing through the room, inconsolable.” He paused, his eyes. darkening slightly with the memory. “It should’ve been her special day, but, strangely, the lady whose party it was–her hostess–didn’t get upset in the slightest. Instead, she simply rushed off to her study, eager to grab her paints and brushes.”
He smiled softly at the memory, his eyes. distant yet warm, as though reliving the moment in vivid detail.
“She gently comforted the little girl,” he
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continued, his voice rich with fondness, “and as she did, she used her paintbrush to transform the stain into a beautiful rose on the girl’s dress. It was the most remarkable thing. The little girl, utterly delighted, stopped crying, and me? I was captivated. She was graceful, intelligent, and kind- like a rose in full bloom.”
