Chapter 3: The Gilded Cage
The Hartwell estate in Greenwich was exactly as I remembered it—grand, breathtaking, and completely devoid of warmth. But the moment we arrived, Julian threw his entire corporate machine into making it a home for an infant.
Within three hours, an army of delivery trucks arrived. Expensive cribs, organic cotton clothes, and every toy imaginable filled the east wing. Julian had hired the top pediatrician in New York to do a home visit for the DNA swab and a health checkup.
As Dr. Evans examined Rose, Julian stood in the doorway, watching intently.
"She's perfectly healthy, Mr. Hartwell," the doctor smiled, packing his bag. "A bit small, but resilient. Mrs. Hartwell has taken excellent care of her under the circumstances."
Julian nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Rose, who was now awake and cooing at a plush bear. "Thank you, Doctor. Expedite the results."
When the doctor left, I began rocking Rose to sleep. Julian walked into the nursery quietly, discarding his suit jacket. He sat on the edge of a velvet armchair, looking completely defeated.
"I fired my entire secretarial staff today," he said softly, breaking the silence. "And three members of my legal team."
I paused my rocking. "Why?"
"Because I searched the server," Julian whispered, his voice cracking. "You were right. You did call. You sent certified letters. My mother had instructed them to intercept anything from you. She told them you were trying to extort me after the separation."
I froze. Eleanor Hartwell. Julian’s aristocratic, cold-hearted mother who had always despised my middle-class background. She had engineered the silence that kept us apart.
"Julian..."
"I cut her off today, Clara. I removed her from the board of the family foundation," Julian said, looking up at me with raw sincerity. "I am so deeply sorry. For the rest of my life, I will try to make up for the pain I caused you."
May you like
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was an unknown number. I answered it, placing it to my ear.
"Clara, darling," a sharp, venomous voice purred through the speaker. It was Eleanor Hartwell. "I see you’ve brought your little bastard to my son’s tower. Enjoy the luxury while it lasts. Because by tomorrow morning, the world will know exactly what kind of opportunistic fraud you really are. That child won't inherit a single cent of the Hartwell fortune."
