Chapter 51

Chapter 51
Chapter 51
SOPHIA
The penthouse had become something different over the past week. Where before it had felt like a beautiful stage set—perfect but impersonal—it now felt almost like a home. Adam's things were scattered throughout: coloring books on the coffee table, his favorite stuffed elephant on the couch, the special organic snacks Dr. Gray had recommended stocked in the kitchen.
Martha and the rest of the household staff had been overjoyed when Lucas announced that Adam would be joining us once he was discharged from the hospital.
"A child in this house!" Martha had exclaimed, her eyes actually tearing up. "Mr. Davenport, this is wonderful. We'll make sure everything is ready for him. What does he like? What are his favorite foods?"
I'd given them the list—simple things that a five-year-old would eat, nothing fancy—and watched them bustling around with renewed purpose. It was sweet, really, how excited they were. Like Adam's presence was breathing life into a space that had been too pristine, too perfect, too empty.
I'd fallen into a routine over the past week. Mornings at the hospital with Adam, helping him through physical therapy sessions and occupational therapy exercises. Afternoons at home, preparing meals for Lucas and making sure the household ran smoothly. Evenings back at the hospital until Adam fell asleep, then home to wait for Lucas to return from work.
It was exhausting. But it was also purposeful in a way my life hadn't been in years.
Today was Wednesday, and Lucas had an important board meeting that would keep him at the office late. I'd spent the morning with Adam—who was improving rapidly, already able to sit up on his own and take a few wobbly steps with support—and then come home to cook.
I'd gotten better at it over the past weeks. Found that I actually enjoyed the process of preparing food, of taking care of Lucas in this small, domestic way. It reminded me of cooking with my mother before she died, of the way she'd hum while chopping vegetables and let me taste-test everything.
Martha found me in the kitchen around eleven, sleeves rolled up and flour on my face from the pasta I was making from scratch.
"Mrs. Davenport, you don't have to do this yourself," she said gently. "That's what we're here for."
"I know. But I like doing it." I smiled at her. "It helps me think. And Lucas... he seems to really enjoy when I cook for him."
Martha's expression went soft. "He does. I've worked for Mr. Davenport for eight years, and I've never seen him this happy. You're good for him, Mrs. Davenport."
The compliment made my chest ache. If only she knew the truth—that this was all an arrangement, that Lucas's happiness probably had more to do with fulfilling his mother's wishes than with me specifically.
But I didn't correct her. Just smiled and went back to rolling out pasta dough.
"How is young Adam doing?" Martha asked, leaning against the counter. "We're all so excited to meet him."
"He's doing wonderfully. Dr. Gray says he might be discharged by the end of next week if he continues improving at this rate." I couldn't keep the joy out of my voice. "He's walking with assistance now. His memory seems intact. It's... it's a miracle, honestly."
"Thanks to you and Mr. Davenport," Martha said firmly. "That boy is lucky to have you both."
I thought about Adam calling Lucas "Papa" without hesitation. About the way Lucas had responded—no awkwardness, no hesitation, just immediate acceptance. Like becoming a father to a five-year-old he'd just met was the most natural thing in the world.
My contract husband was going to be an incredible father.
The thought made my heart squeeze painfully.
"Martha," I said slowly, still focused on the pasta. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, dear."
"Has Lucas... has he ever brought women here? Before me, I mean. Girlfriends or..." I trailed off, not sure how to phrase what I was really asking.
Martha's expression shifted—something protective and slightly guarded. "Mr. Davenport has always been very private about his personal life. There were women occasionally, for charity events or business functions. But no one serious. No one who stayed."
"But there was someone," I pressed, not sure why I was torturing myself. "Someone he cared about?"
Martha was quiet for a long moment. "If there was, I never met her. And Mrs. Davenport—Elizabeth—never mentioned anyone. I think... I think Mr. Davenport was married to his work before you. You're the first person who's made him want something different."
The words should have comforted me. Instead, they just reminded me of Sofia Lang. The woman Lucas had been so desperate to find. The woman now working in his building, seeing him daily, probably having lunch meetings and private conversations and all the casual intimacy that came with working closely together.
I pushed the thoughts away and focused on finishing the pasta. By noon, I had containers packed with homemade fettuccine alfredo, Caesar salad, and the tiramisu I knew Lucas loved. Enough for him and probably half his executive team.
"I'm taking this to Lucas's office," I told Martha. "He has that board meeting this afternoon and probably won't have time to eat otherwise."
"That's very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Davenport." Martha smiled. "He's a lucky man."
Was he? I wondered as I gathered everything and headed down to the car. Lucky to have a wife who was slowly dying inside from jealousy and insecurity while trying to play the perfect spouse?
Luke drove me to Davenport Industries, and I made my way through the lobby with my containers of food, trying to ignore the looks from employees who recognized me from the tabloid coverage of our wedding. Mrs. Lucas Davenport, bringing her husband lunch like a good little wife.
If only they knew.
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, pressing the button for the executive floor. The doors were just starting to close when a hand shot out, stopping them.
Sofia Lang stepped into the elevator.