Time passed in Emily's house like someone crossing a bridge in the fog: days linked together in silence, small routines and daily chores became the only possible shelter. On paper, Lucas was the son of Emily and Brian, brother to little Lily. In reality, he was Sophie's most fragile legacy, a piece of hope carefully hidden from the world and especially from Daniel's gaze.
Brian, always gentle, never suspected the truth, He treated Lucas as if he were his own flesh and blood, rocking the boy through feverish nights and makeshift birthday parties, side by side with Lily, who had taken on the role of big sister from the very start.
Emily handled all the paperwork with the precision of someone who understands both science and magic: the birth certificate, the medical records, the story she told the neighbors. The secret of the adoption hung over the household like a second skin, silent and protective.
From a very young age, Lucas was always a different child. There was something restless in his eyes, but more than anything, there was a fragility in his bones, a paleness that neither time nor care could erase. Colds came and went like out-of-season storms; fevers would appear from nowhere and linger, stealing away nights of sleep and hope.
When Lucas turned four, Emily and Sam took him to the hospital for yet another round of tests. The diagnosis came like a lightning bolt in the dark: primary immunodeficiency, one of those rare diseases that makes every cold a threat, every fever, a chasm. Emily listened to the doctor's explanations, the statistics, the treatment protocols. Sam stayed silent, just holding the boy's hand and trying to smile.
Outside the consultation room, the hospital felt colder than ever and for a moment, Sam felt the weight of all their choices, all the lies, all the mourning that had never been processed.
Emily promised to try to enroll Lucas in some clinical trial at the hospital, but until then, expensive medication, constant hospitalizations, endless tests would be needed. "We'll figure it out," she said, but the exhaustion in her eyes betrayed the size of the challenge.
That night, alone, Sam crossed the city to Victor DeLuca's agency. The building smelled of expensive cologne and shadowy ambition. He sat across from the businessman, exhausted but resolved.
"I accept," he said, not beating around the bush. "But only as a companion, nothing more. You can sell me as a personal friend, son, fake fiancé. For parties, events, trips. Nothing sexual. Just the façade. Announce me however you want, Victor, I'm available for whatever you need."
Victor smiled, assessing him with a mixture of cynicism and respect—the kind of look that weighs secrets and opportunity. Sam held his gaze, letting go of the last shred of pride: now, only Lucas's health mattered, nothing else.
Over the next weeks, Sam wore a different mask for every event. Elegant clothes, rehearsed smiles, a fake name on every invitation. Each night, a new role. And at the end, a deposit in the account, a new medicine in Lucas's drawer, one more week of security at home.