Chapter 13

CH 13

POV: Julian Hartwell

The Butterfly

Julian wasn’t supposed to notice her.

Servants moved like shadows inside the Hartwell estate — present, efficient, invisible.

But that afternoon in the east garden, something interrupted the pattern.

A flicker of silver beneath the sun.

He looked up from his phone.

The new maid was arranging fresh lilies near the marble fountain. Her movements were careful, almost reverent, as if she feared disturbing the symmetry of the place.

And in her hair—

A butterfly clip.

Julian went still.

It was small. Metallic. One wing slightly chipped at the edge.

His pulse shifted.

No.

That couldn’t be—

He lowered his phone slowly and stepped closer, gravel crunching softly beneath his shoes.

“You,” he called gently.

She turned immediately and lowered her gaze.

“Yes, sir?”

Up close, she looked younger than he first assumed. Not polished like Sophia. Not rehearsed. No calculated pauses.

Just… natural.

His eyes lifted to the clip again.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

She blinked, confused by the intensity of the question.

“This?” She touched it lightly. “I’ve had it since I was little.”

Since I was little.

Julian’s throat tightened.

“May I see it?”

There was hesitation — not fear, just uncertainty. Then she unclipped it carefully and placed it in his palm.

The metal felt cool.

Familiar.

His thumb brushed the back of it.

And there—

Barely visible near the clasp—

Tiny scratched letters.

J.H.

His breath caught.

He remembered carving those initials when he was fifteen. Clumsy. Impatient. Proud.

He had stolen the clip from a boutique gift shop because he couldn’t afford the expensive jewelry beside it. His little sister had been obsessed with butterflies that summer.

She had cried the day she thought she’d lost it.

He had searched the entire garden with her until sunset.

He had promised she would never lose it again.

“How long have you had this?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t remember,” she admitted. “It’s just… always been mine.”

“Your parents gave it to you?”

Her expression shifted slightly — something guarded, but honest.

“I was adopted,” she said simply. “My mother told me I was found with a few things. This was one of them.”

Found.

The word echoed.

Seventeen years ago, his sister had disappeared from this very estate.

From the east garden.

No ransom note.

No witnesses.

Just… gone.

Julian felt the world tilt.

No.

The DNA test had confirmed Sophia.

Scientifically undeniable.

He handed the clip back slowly.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice softer now.

She reattached it carefully.

“Did I do something wrong, sir?” she asked gently.

He shook his head.

“No.”

But something inside him felt unsettled.

Not doubt.

Not yet.

Just disturbance.

From the second-floor balcony—

Sophia had watched everything.

Every second.

The way Julian stepped closer.

The way his voice shifted.

The way his posture softened.

She didn’t need to hear the conversation.

It was about the clip.

That stupid clip.

Her nails pressed into her palm.

Why had she not noticed it before?

Why hadn’t she told Elena to remove it?

Sophia turned away quickly, heart pounding.

This was dangerous.

Julian looked at that maid the way he used to look at—

No.

Impossible.

The DNA test had proven everything.

Still—

Sophia felt something she hadn’t felt since entering the mansion.

Threat.

That night, Julian sat alone in his private study.

He opened a small wooden memory box he hadn’t touched in years.

Dust clung to the edges.

Inside were photographs from childhood.

Birthday candles.

Summer picnics.

Treehouse adventures.

He flipped one over slowly.

There she was.

A tiny girl laughing under the oak trees.

A butterfly shining in her hair.

Identical.

The same slight chip in the wing.

The same metallic gleam.

Julian’s fingers tightened around the photograph.

Coincidence.

It had to be.

The DNA test had confirmed Sophia.

99.98 percent.

Facts were facts.

Evidence was evidence.

And yet—

When Elena had said, “I’ve had it since I was little,”

It hadn’t sounded rehearsed.

It hadn’t sounded borrowed.

It had sounded like truth.

Across the mansion, Sophia stood before her mirror.

Her reflection looked flawless.

Untouchable.

Her phone buzzed.

Victoria.

She typed quickly:

He noticed something.

The reply came instantly.

Then remove what he noticed.

Sophia stared at the screen.

Her mind moved fast.

The clip.

The garden.

Julian’s expression.

She placed the phone down slowly.

Tomorrow—

That butterfly would be gone.

One way.

Or another.