Chapter 1200: I could be wrong

They said beauty was in the eye of the beholder. One person could look average to some but like a goddess to another.

It made Penny wonder—was this just about perspective? About her eyes and Enzo Pierson’s?

After all, Enzo Pierson had drawn and painted Naylani so beautifully, like she was divine. He hadn’t finished the painting, but it was clear he had put immense time and effort into capturing her eyes—those dark, mesmerizing eyes that seemed to stare back at Penny.

"What an unsettling feeling... looking at a person’s painting," Penny murmured, slowly getting lost in both the artwork and the photograph in her hand. "What is it? Why does this bother me so much?"

Silence settled around her, but even so, Butler Lee’s gentle voice made her jolt.

"Young Madam." He smiled as she flinched. "Apologies for startling you. That wasn’t my intention."

"It’s okay, Butler Lee." She chuckled awkwardly. "Are we leaving?"

"Not yet, but the Master asked me to check on you. He’s busy coordinating with the pilot who will pick you up," he explained as he stepped inside, stopping a few steps from Penny before glancing at the canvas. "That’s the Master’s painting—your late father-in-law’s work."

"Mhm. Renren told me." Penny smacked her lips and gazed at the painting. "I didn’t know until now that he was such a great painter."

"They said that if he hadn’t gone into business, he would’ve been one of the great artists of his time," Butler Lee remarked, scanning the workshop. "At one point, the Master wanted to erase all traces of that woman. Yet, for some reason, he kept this painting. When he passed, the Old Madam wanted to throw it away as well."

"Then how is it still here?" Penny asked, her curiosity piqued.

Butler Lee smiled faintly. "Because it is one of the Master’s best works."

"By ’best works,’ do you mean this painting is heavily embellished?"

"Not at all." He shook his head. "I only met that woman twice—once before her pregnancy, and then again a few years later, after the Young Master was born."

He paused, then turned to the painting. "She looked exactly like this—at least, before she gave birth."

"What about after?"

"She still looked the same," Butler Lee answered just as quickly, his gaze shifting to the photograph in Penny’s hand. "Just like that."

His response was direct, yet something about it made Penny suspect there was a deeper meaning behind his words. Slowly, she shifted her focus between the family portrait and the painting.

"Before she gave birth, she looked exactly like this painting. But afterward..." she trailed off, her eyes flickering back to the family photograph. "Say, Butler Lee... am I overthinking things?"

She lifted her head and met his gaze. "Or does it feel like the woman in this painting and the one in the photograph are..."

"Different?" Butler Lee finished her sentence, surprising her. He smiled subtly and shrugged. "I couldn’t say for sure. As I mentioned, I only met her twice. I do not think that’s enough to make an accurate judgment."

He inhaled deeply, clasping his hands behind his back as he studied the painting. "Young Madam, please don’t take my words too seriously. I could be wrong. Pregnancy and childbirth can change a woman in many ways—physically, emotionally... even the way they carry themselves."

"However," he continued, his mind drifting to the past, "if I were to dig through my old memories, the Madam Naylani I remember was... odd."

"The first time I saw her, I understood why the Master fell in love with her at first sight. She was beautiful, elegant, and intelligent—one might even say cunning."

"When the Master first brought her here, I wasn’t exactly hostile toward her. But she noticed my hesitation immediately. She was bold. And for some reason, I think she enjoyed it when people were cautious around her."

"She would occasionally say things that alarmed others, only to act as if she had no recollection of them moments later—twirling around the ballroom in the Master’s arms as if she hadn’t just sent a shiver down someone’s spine."

Butler Lee’s eyes darkened slightly before he turned to Penny with a small, almost amused smile. "I didn’t like her. And I don’t think she liked me either."

"But then they left. And when they returned, with the Young Master in tow... she felt different."

"I don’t know if it was her appearance or her demeanor, but she didn’t seem as... dangerous."

"Then why didn’t you say anything, Butler Lee?" Penny asked, frowning a little. "If you thought she was dangerous, why didn’t you warn Enzo Pierson?"

"I did." He let out a shallow breath. "But love is blind. He reassured me that she was just playful and not to take her words to heart."

"Then why didn’t you speak up when they returned?"

"I did," Butler Lee repeated. "But as I said, love is blind. And I do not speak unless I am absolutely certain. For a long time, I thought it was just in my head—that I was feeding myself a false sense of satisfaction. A justification to say, ’I told you so,’ after that tragic incident."

But satisfaction never came. Because the tragedy had hurt both Enzo and Zoren.

After a brief pause, a flicker of relief softened Butler Lee’s expression.

"I’m glad," he murmured, turning his attention back to the painting. "Glad that it’s not just in my head anymore—because someone else is noticing, too."

"Old Madam refuses to look at this painting. She won’t even hear Naylani’s name spoken aloud. The Young Master keeps any conversation about her at a distance. So, in a way, it’s a relief to see someone in the family taking an interest in her."

Penny pressed her lips together, studying Butler Lee’s side profile. "Are you saying that the Naylani in this painting and the one in the photograph are two different people?"

Butler Lee’s eyes met hers. "I’m sorry, Young Madam. But I do not speak without certainty. All I’m saying is... they feel different."

"And I could be wrong," he added.

What he just said was exactly what Penny had been thinking. But it was clear—Butler Lee didn’t want to say it outright, afraid he might be... right. And that, more than anything, was what made this all the more ironic.