The suit was a cage, hot and stiff, and it smelled of a tailor's starch and the faint, expensive cologne her mother had dabbed on the collar. Emily Sam—no, Robert Williams Lucas—sat ramrod straight in the leather chair, her hands clenched tight in the pockets of the too-large trousers.
She was twelve years old, and her future was about to be decided by a cotton swab and a terrified lie.
The office was Theodore Lucas's personal sanctuary—dark mahogany, shelves lined with heavy law books, and a grand window overlooking the bustling financial district. Across the massive desk sat Charlotte, her stepmother. Charlotte's smile was a terrifying thing: wide, glossy, and entirely devoid of warmth. She was dressed in emerald silk that seemed to mock the threadbare state of Emily's life before this magnificent deception began.
"Still so quiet, Robert," Charlotte purred, leaning forward. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, raked over Emily's small frame. "You truly are an odd little boy. Too slight. Too… polite."
A drop of cold sweat tracked down Emily's temple beneath the thick, boyish wig. She kept her gaze fixed on the antique pen holder, terrified of meeting Charlotte's eyes. Say nothing. Act like the boy Mother taught you.
The door opened, and a stern-faced lawyer entered, holding a sealed, official envelope. He was followed by a nervous-looking man in a lab coat, carrying a medical kit. This was it. The moment they would take the samples for the DNA test.
"My client simply requires due diligence, Theodore," Charlotte said, her voice dripping with false concern as she addressed the patriarch. Theodore Lucas, a man whose face was a roadmap of worry lines, stood by the window, his back to the room. He had already accepted Robert, but Charlotte's demands held legal power.
"Nonsense, Charlotte," Theodore growled, though his tone lacked conviction. "The child is William's son. Olivia brought him to me. It is enough."
"No, Grandfather," a harsh voice chimed in. Ethan, Charlotte's actual son—and a genuine Lucas heir—slumped in a chair nearby, his chin resting aggressively on his fist. He was fourteen, bulky, and radiated resentment. "He's a fraud. Look at him. He's weak."
The lab technician knelt in front of Emily. "All right, Robert. Open wide."
Fear tightened Emily's throat, making her muscles seize. The cotton swab felt enormous as it scraped the inside of her cheek. That sample, combined with the stored sperm of her deceased father, William Lucas, would prove she was his daughter, not his son. It would destroy her mother and send them back to ruin.
She swallowed hard, trying not to think of the secret sample hidden in her jacket pocket: a single, silver-grey hair, pulled hours earlier from Theodore's sleeping head. Her only weapon.
As the technician stepped back, sealing the swab into a plastic tube, Charlotte's cruel smile widened. "Now we wait, little one. The truth is always… inconvenient."
Suddenly, Theodore turned from the window. He walked slowly to the desk, his movements heavy with age and authority. He picked up the antique pen holder—the very item Emily had been staring at.
"No need to wait, Charlotte," Theodore said, his voice cold and final. He glanced at the nervous lab technician. "The Lucas family DNA is the most valuable property in this building. I refuse to subject my grandson to further scrutiny for your baseless concerns."
He took the lab kit from the technician's hands. Before anyone could react, the patriarch smashed the glass-sealed tubes against the edge of the mahogany desk.
The crash was shockingly loud in the silent room. Fragments of glass scattered across the Persian rug. The DNA samples—both the real one and Emily's planned switch—were ruined.
Theodore turned to the stunned room. His eyes, fixed on Charlotte, were pure granite.
"This boy is Robert Williams Lucas," Theodore declared, his voice ringing with absolute finality. "He is my grandson. The matter is closed. And if you ever question his legitimacy again, Charlotte, you will find yourself questioning mine."
He looked at Emily, his expression softening just a fraction. "Go outside, Robert. Tell your mother. You are home."
Emily rose, her legs shaking, the unused hair sample still clutched in her hand. The crisis was averted by a miracle, but the cold hatred radiating from Charlotte and Ethan told her one thing:
The deception had just begun.