The months that followed were a blur of cold hunger and biting humiliation. Olivia moved her four daughters from one cheap, cramped room to another. Landlords saw the five female faces and the burden of the swelling belly and quickly found excuses to evict them.
Olivia, a woman who had once commanded a mansion, found herself scrubbing floors and taking in mending just to buy enough bread. The contrast between her elegant past and her brutal present was a constant, sharp agony. The only thing that kept her moving was the unshakeable certainty that she would make Charlotte pay.
The fifth child, a girl, was born on a dreary morning in a back-alley clinic, with only a tired nurse and her eldest daughter by her side. They named her Emily.
Looking down at the tiny, fragile face of her fifth daughter, the last piece of Olivia's sorrow evaporated, replaced by a fierce, cold resolve. She didn't see a child born to poverty; she saw a weapon.
"She is not Emily," Olivia whispered, stroking the baby's cheek. "She is our final chance. She will be the son William never gave us."
The idea, born of desperation and the cruelest injustice, was audacious, insane, and perfect. The Lucas family was obsessed with a male heir. They had accepted Ethan, a boy with no Lucas blood, simply because he was male. Olivia would play their game.
She spent the next year planning, hoarding resources, and fabricating the story. She trained her four older daughters to become the first line of defense, teaching them the importance of the secret.
When Emily was a year old, Olivia cut her thick, dark hair short. She bought small, sturdy, boys' clothes at the thrift store. She began calling her youngest daughter by a different name: Robert.
"Robert is strong," Olivia would tell the child, pulling the tiny trousers over her legs. "Robert belongs to the Lucas name. Emily stays here, safe inside."
As Emily grew, her training became relentless. Olivia taught her to sit wide, to never cry out, and to speak with a low, rough tone. She taught her how to play with toy soldiers and hide her natural grace.
The return had to be timed perfectly.
When Robert Williams Lucas turned twelve, he was ready. He was small for his age, which made his feminine features less noticeable, and his intellect, honed by Olivia's frantic, focused teaching, was sharp.
Olivia presented him to Theodore with a meticulously crafted story: After the trauma of her husband's death, she had fled the city and given birth to William's son in secret, keeping him hidden to protect him from the initial violence of Charlotte's takeover. Now, seeing the Lucas company suffer under Ethan's weak oversight, she had returned the rightful heir.
Theodore, aging, guilt-ridden, and desperate for a true connection to William, accepted the story with a pathetic eagerness. The very idea that his true grandson had been kept from him only fueled his disdain for Charlotte.
The transition to the mansion was swift, the deceit established. Robert's first terrifying challenge—the demanded DNA test—was averted by Theodore's intervention, solidifying the lie.
Now, as Robert sat in the grand, intimidating company library, he was no longer a twelve-year-old girl. He was the general Olivia had created: poised, brilliant, and ready for the next battle.