BILLIONARE SECRET's SON

NEW LIFE OF SEATTLE

Elias roared with laughter, his small body swaying in the wooden chair, his laughter breaking into crisp, short bursts, like tiny bells repeating in the cramped space. The sound filled the apartment, echoing among the simple bookshelves, the flat-screen television in the corner, and the aroma of instant coffee steaming from the tiny kitchen.

Apartment 315 was never truly quiet; every morning was filled not only with the sounds of Lucien's keyboard, but also with the sounds of plastic animals and the wild imagination of a boy who was not yet two years old, and would be two in August.

For Lucien, the world may have forced him to grow up too quickly. But here, in this small room with windows overlooking Capitol Hill, he could still laugh—perhaps for the first time, lightly, with Elias, in a city whose pulse he was still learning.

After the laughter subsided, Lucien reached for the small plate on the table and swept up the scattered biscuit crumbs. He transferred the glass of milk to a baby bottle—more practical for Elias's tiny hands. Before handing it over, he lifted the toddler high, briefly floating him in the air.

Elias screamed with joy, his laughter broke out like a small explosion that was contagious to anyone who heard it.

“Daaaaadaaa supel iyaaas!!” he shouted, his still-slurred toddler tongue making the words half-garbled but full of meaning.

Lucien chuckled, then gently lowered his son onto the sofa. The warm bottle passed into Elias's grasp, who sucked contentedly, a smile still plastered on his face.

“Super Elias! Say, super Elias!” Lucien teased him, tickling his little belly. Elias immediately laughed, his body writhing in an attempt to push his father’s hand away, but Lucien’s fingers became increasingly agile dancing across his stomach and armpits.

After playing to his heart's content, Lucien stood up and began his next routine. He carried the plates, glasses, and crumbs to the kitchen, rinsing them in the sink until the sound of water filled the room. Then he returned to the living room, folding the thin blanket they had used on the sofa the night before, and arranging the plastic toys into a small box in the corner. He gently slid a wooden broom across the floor, followed by a mop soaked in citrus-scented cleaning fluid. Soon, the tiny apartment was filled with a fresh scent that contrasted with the humid air outside the window—a typical Seattle smell in the chilly April months, punctuated by occasional drizzle.

The next ritual: bathing Elias. The toddler was carried into the bathroom, his tiny body mocking the warm water with a crisp laugh. Once clean, Lucien dressed him in blue jeans, a soft cotton T-shirt, and a warm, light gray knit jacket—just enough to combat the cool Seattle spring air, which still occasionally bit at his skin when the breeze came in off the bay. Elias looked like a little boy ready for adventure, his cheeks flushed fresh from his bath.

Lucien's watch read 7:30. He hurried to the bathroom, washing his face with facial foam that left a cool minty freshness on his skin. He smoothed his blond hair with a light gel, then dabbed his face with Acqua di Gio cologne—a half-empty bottle, a legacy from Ashford. Even though he was now just a pizza delivery man, he still looked neat, smelled good, and glowed; elegance was something inherent in him, not just his clothes.

That morning, Lucien wore a plain white T-shirt under a faded blue denim jacket, paired with well-fitting black jeans and a pair of white sneakers, slightly scuffed but still pristine. The simple style blended him into the Seattle crowd, yet still left a distinctive sheen that couldn't be concealed.

Finished tidying himself, he turned towards the sofa, where Elias was still sitting with a bottle in his hand, his cheeks puffed out with satisfaction. Lucien exclaimed in an enthusiastic tone, like a soccer coach encouraging his young player:

“Who wants to join Daddy for pizza delivery?!”

Elias immediately straightened up, his eyes sparkling, then cheered loudly while imitating the sound of a motorbike in his typical childish voice:

"Yeaaaaas!!!! Bloooom blooooom pizzzjaaaa!!!! Dadaaaaadaaaa!!"

Lucien chuckled, covered his face with one hand, and shook his head—as if resigned to the fact that on every mission, he would always be accompanied by the world's most boisterous little navigator. He then lifted Elias into his arms. The toddler wriggled slightly, laughing hysterically, as the tiny helmet was placed on his head. The helmet was always slightly too big, making Elias's head sway from side to side, as if he were ready to become the most cheerful biker in Seattle.

In the apartment courtyard, Lucien's motorcycle was waiting. It was a small, cream-colored scooter with a classic, rounded body, a round headlight like a watchful eye, and a brown seat slightly faded with time. He had bought it secondhand for $850 from a college student returning home. It wasn't new, but for Lucien, this tiny vehicle was a companion, capable of exploring every corner of Capitol Hill with Elias.

On the back is a red box with a faded pizza logo—its primary function is to hold customer orders, but it also sometimes serves as a place to store daily groceries. Meanwhile, on the front, Lucien has added a small, sturdy stand with a metal handle so Elias can sit securely in front of it.

Elias was already sitting there, his tiny helmet bouncing as he laughed. His hands were on the steering wheel, pretending to be controlling the bike. His head bobbed slowly, singing a children's song with his distinctive lisp, his voice broken but full of enthusiasm.

“Twinkoo twinkoo… liiittle staaa…” he mumbled, before suddenly jumping into another melody, a snippet of a song that came out of nowhere. Finally, out loud, he imitated the familiar verse: “Summellr of… sixtyyyy-niiiiine!”

Lucien chuckled, starting the scooter's engine, which hummed softly. The song he had secretly played with his little band while escaping from Ashford manor was now playing again—not from the limited edition leather-bound CDs or the rare, hundreds-dollar vinyl his father always bought him, but from his own son's lisp. The combination of a toddler's innocent singing and a classic rock anthem sounded both ridiculous and touching, emphasizing the contrast between his luxurious world and Elias's innocence.

The Seattle morning was flowing with soft spring light. And on their little scooters, Lucien and Elias glided, the most unique duo on the streets of Capitol Hill—one with a firm hand on the handlebars, the other with his head swaying to the music.

The streets of Capitol Hill that morning were still wet from the remnants of last night's rain. The cool air penetrates gently into the skin, carrying the aroma of earth mixed with coffee from small shops that have just opened their doors. Rows of old brick houses stand close together with rusty iron fences, decorated with newly blooming spring flowers in hanging pots. Occasionally, the sound of tram bells could be heard faintly from a distance, mixed with the sound of low-flying seagulls.

Lucien slowly drove his scooter between the distinctive ups and downs of Capitol Hill. Every turn felt familiar, as if the city was beginning to memorize his steps. Behind him, a red box swayed lightly, the aroma of warm pizza slowly seeping out, making Elias jump in his seat.

“Pizzzjaaaa yeeeeey!! I like pizzjaaaaaaa… yum yum!!” he shouted while patting his big helmet that almost covered his eyes.

Lucien laughed, letting the boy drift off into a simple euphoria. As soon as he reached the first house—a townhouse with a green door and a small yard filled with daffodils—Lucien parked the scooter. Elias immediately grabbed his father's hand, getting off with a limp, his oversized helmet sliding to the side.

“Come on, little navigator,” Lucien whispered, taking the tiny hand.

Elias nodded enthusiastically, then joined his father, pulling his arm. As the door opened, the aroma of pizza wafted onto the terrace.

Lucien handed him the warm box, but before the customer could say anything, Elias bowed deeply, bowing politely in a stiff manner that only made him look even more adorable.

“Dankkk yuuu, maaaam…” he said in a lisp voice full of agility.

Customers couldn't help but smile. Some chuckled, others spontaneously pulled out a few extra dollar bills as a tip. Almost every house was the same—broad smiles, bursts of laughter, and always an extra bill in Lucien's hand.

Lucien couldn't help but smile proudly, his eyes occasionally glancing at Elias with a twinkle that was hard to hide. With every door that opened, he knew: it wasn't him who truly brought good luck, but the little boy in the oversized helmet—who could make a simple task feel like a small, heartwarming performance.

They delivered the final pizza of the afternoon to a colonial-style house with a white wooden porch filled with flowerpots. The Capitol Hill air still held the coolness of last night's rain, mixed with the sweet aroma of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.

Lucien got off the bike, pizza box in hand. Elias followed, his oversized helmet shifted to the side, making his small steps a little unsteady but still full of energy.

The door opened, revealing a middle-aged woman with silver hair neatly tied back. Her smile widened as her eyes caught Elias.

“Your boy is so cute,”he said warmly. Then he bowed slightly, speaking directly to Elias. “What's your name, boy?”

Elias took a step forward, his tiny chest puffed out, as if he were introducing himself on a large stage.

“Eiyaaaassss… Celestiiiiiiil!”he exclaimed loudly.

Lucien almost laughed. He crouched beside his son, one hand stroking the disheveled blond hair beneath his helmet.

“Celestian,” he said, looking at the woman. “He means Celestian. Elias Celestian.”

“Oh…” the woman nodded, her smile growing wider. “That’s a beautiful name.” She slipped a larger tip into Lucien’s hand.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Lucien replied somewhat awkwardly, bowing politely.

The woman still stared at Elias, then chuckled softly.

"You know... this is already your third delivery here. But we haven't been properly introduced, sweetheart."

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. "You're right. We've been knocking on your door for weeks now."

The woman smiled, then patted her chest. “Emma. My name's Emma.”

Elias stared intently, then grinned widely. “Nanaaa!” he exclaimed spontaneously, as if deciding on a new nickname on the spot.

Emma laughed, her face lighting up. “Nana, huh? I’ll take that.” She went inside the house for a moment, then returned with a small paper bag. From it, she pulled out a picture book of animals and a set of colored crayons. She handed it to Elias.

"For you. To draw all the dinosaurs and pizzas you dream of."

Elias's eyes lit up, and he grabbed the gift like it was treasure. "f**k, let's go, Nanaaaa!!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down.

Emma then handed Lucien a box of warm chocolate chip cookies. “And these, fresh from the oven. Just baked.”

Lucien glanced at the box, then at Emma, ​​then back at Elias, who was already busy leafing through his new sketchbook. A faint smile appeared on his face, a mixture of gratitude and warmth that was hard to hide.

“You really don't have to…”he said softly.

Emma just shrugged. "Well, it's not every day I get to see a polite little gentleman deliver my pizza. He deserves it."

Elias quickly lowered his head, bowing stiffly but cutely, imitating the manners his father had taught him. “And bye, Nanaaa…”

Laughter erupted on the terrace, light and genuine. Lucien then lifted Elias into his arms, easing the boy back onto the small seat of the motorcycle. With his new gift in his lap, Elias waved as hard as he could. “Byeeeee pizza!! Bye Nanaaa!!”

Emma stood on the porch, still smiling as they drove away. And Lucien, glancing in the rearview mirror, knew that afternoon he had not only delivered the last pizza—but had also found someone who saw Elias as precious as he did.

The clock struck five o'clock when Lucien finally arrived at his apartment. His steps felt light, despite his fatigue from a day of wandering around Capitol Hill. Elias, still clutching his gift of a sketchbook and crayons, was already yawning slightly, his eyes half-closed.

Lucien quickly led him to the bathroom. A thin layer of steam filled the mirror, the gurgling of warm water blending with the gentle scent of soap. Elias's blond hair clung to his forehead, his tiny body shuddering slightly every time the washcloth brushed his back. Elias burst out laughing as Lucien formed a foam beard on his face, then raised his voice, "Look, I'm Santa." The boy laughed, imitating with his lisp, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"—so loud that Lucien bowed his head, too.

After his shower, Elias wrapped himself in a large towel. Lucien patiently dried his hair, then put on a tiny light blue checked shirt.

His tiny jeans made him look like a “mini gentleman,” along with a bright light blue jacket, and a tiny backpack slung over his back. As Lucien squatted down to tuck his white, striped socks onto his feet, Elias tried to button his own shirt. But every time he tried, his fingers would slip. Lucien just shook his head with a smile. His little sneakers were neatly on. Elias looked in the mirror, smiled contentedly, then posed with a serious expression, as if he were ready for school, not just for ice cream.

Lucien himself had changed his clothes: a dark blue denim shirt with a thin cream t-shirt underneath, light blue jeans, and the same white sneakers he'd been wearing since morning. The glow on his face never completely disappeared; the fatigue of the day only added to Ashford's maturity.

The clock ticked toward seven in the evening. The small ice cream shop on the corner greeted them with the chime of the doorbell and the sweet aroma of sugar. Pastel neon lights reflected off the windows, while a few customers glanced over, smiling at Elias, who sat in a high chair with his face smeared with vanilla ice cream. White streaks streaked across his cheeks and chin, almost touching his tiny nose. Lucien, beside him, slowly scooped a scoop of chocolate ice cream, his gaze more on his son than on his own bowl.

“Vaniyaa corddddsss Daaadaaa,” Elias said slurredly, his tongue smeared with ice cream.

Lucien chuckled, wiping his cheeks with a tissue. “Ah, Elias meant cold, huh? It is. But you like it though, my boy…”

Lucien wiped the last of the dirt off Elias's face, then said calmly, almost rhetorically:

"All the pizzas are gone. Now let's work to the bar... you like it, Elias?"

Elias's eyes lit up. He slapped the small table so hard that his spoon nearly fell.

"Yessssss!! Bar brooooom baaaaar!! Midnight barr with burger!!"

Lucien looked down, chuckling as he shook his head. “You just like the fries and burgers, huh?”

Elias clapped his hands loudly, his ice cream-stained face growing even more ridiculous. “Fwaaais!! Baagaaar!! Yummm!!”

Lucien stood up, lifted the small body from the high chair, and slung the tiny backpack back onto his back. They exited the cafe, greeted by the fresh Capitol Hill night breeze, the aroma of coffee from nearby cafes dancing in the air. The asphalt glistened, streetlights reflecting in the puddles of rain.

A few steps away, the neon sign “Midnight Bar” was already lit up brightly beneath their apartment. From inside came soft jazz music mixed with the laughter of students, a stark contrast to the warm pastel hues of the ice cream shop. Lucien took a deep breath, feeling his world shift—from pizza delivery man, to father, to bartender—all in one day.

Elias leaned on his shoulder, his tiny body swaying, humming a lisp with innocent enthusiasm: “Baaaar, baaaar, baaaar…”

But this time, Lucien smiled enthusiastically, his eyes radiating a simple optimism that grew from taking small steps with his son. With Elias in his arms, he descended the stairs toward the bar door, as if the Seattle night awaited them with all its new stories.

As soon as the heavy wooden door opened, the aroma of burgers, warm coffee, and a hint of beer greeted them. The bar lights reflected off the neatly lined glasses, while soft music combined with the clink of coins from the Pac-Man jukebox in the corner, adding to the cheerful rhythm of a typical student bar. Students from various Seattle universities, including the University of Washington, Seattle University, and Seattle Pacific University, laughed, occasionally tapping the table and taking notes, adding to the lively, slightly chaotic rhythm.

Ronnald, wearing a neat black apron tucked into the front of his trousers, raised his hand with a warm smile. His smile was soft but genuine, reassuring, giving off a friendly and welcoming vibe—as if conveying that everyone in this bar was welcome.

“Kid, table number six,” he greeted warmly, his gaze brief but full of understanding.

Lucien nodded, placing Elias on a small chair in the corner of the room—a chair rarely used by anyone. There, Elias immediately positioned himself as if the world belonged to him, took out a sketchbook and crayons from his backpack, and began to scribble intently, his tongue sticking out slightly at the corner of his mouth.

Lucien stared at her for a moment, his heart warming. The night had just begun, but before them, he knew—this wasn't just a work shift, but life slowly finding a new rhythm: boisterous but warm, amidst the laughter of students and the warm glow of Capitol Hill bars.

Lucien had just brought out burgers and beers for customers when his eyes swept over a table in the corner near the jukebox where three young souls were immersed in a sea of ​​books. Daniel and Marcus, both 18, looked like explorers in a jungle of law and statistics, while Sophie, Lucien's age, stared at the text with the intensity of an archaeologist unearthing hidden layers of meaning. From small towns a breath away from the roar of Seattle, they now stood at the top of their respective academic towers: Daniel in the realm of law, Marcus in the realm of numbers, Sophie in the expanse of modern English literature.

Daniel sighed, like a machine stuttering in the middle of endless legal documents. “I don't get this part at all… case law is a nightmare,” he said, his voice thin but trembling.

Marcus, looking down at his stats sheet, raised his eyebrows.

"Tell me about it. My brain's melting just looking at chi-square."

Sophie wrote in her thick book, her fingers dancing across the page as if fending off the ensnaring shadows of metaphor.

"At least yours has numbers. I'm stuck dissecting metaphors that don't even make sense."

Lucien stopped, his steps light as a whisper of wind in the library hallway. His eyes swept over the three of them, then turned to Elias, who stood beside him. His tiny hand clutched his father's, his eyes sparkling like tiny lanterns in the midnight sky, as he stared at the stack of books as if it were a mysterious castle waiting to be explored.

With a faint smile, more like a secret ready to be shared than pride, Lucien stepped forward.

“I can solve this,”he said. Those words weren't just promises—they were a thin bridge between chaos and understanding, between frustration and the light that might come from a young man the same age as the three of them.

The bar lights reflected off the neatly lined glasses, as if each ray of light danced lightly across the glass. The clink of coins from the Pac-Man jukebox in the corner added a faint, cheerful pulse, like the heartbeat of a late night. The bar was nearly empty; most of the students had already gone home, leaving only Daniel, Marcus, and Sophie, engrossed in their books and laptops—as if the outside world never existed.

Jazz music flowed softly, enveloping the room in warmth and silence, like an invisible embrace. Lucien placed burgers and fries on their table. Elias sat beside him, his eyes wide, a smile forming a perfect arc on his lips, his tiny hands slapping the table, and then exclaimed in slurred euphoria: “Yessss! Fwaaaas!! Baagaaar!!”

Lucien laughed softly, patting Elias on the shoulder. His gaze swept the room, taking in the light reflecting off the tables, the empty chairs, and the lingering aroma of coffee and burgers—warm, familiar, homey in the silence.

“Enjoy it, my boy,” he muttered, looking down at Elias who was starting to pick at the burgers one by one with serious concentration, the top bun, the patty, the cheese, and finally the sauce.

After making sure Elias was comfortable, Lucien returned to the counter. Ronald, the bar owner, tossed him a black key with a genuine smile; his eyebrows raised, his eyes expressing trust.

“Kid, don't forget to lock up when you're done.”

“Yes sir!”Lucien replied, catching the keys and returning to the table. Elias was still joking with Marcus, Daniel, and Sophie, adding a warm, small buzz to the night air.

Lucien calmly but firmly helped Daniel and Marcus. Marcus stared at him, half confused, half amazed. Daniel frowned, frustrated but curious.

“Chi-square's just a comparison,”Lucien said, marking Marcus's stats sheet.

"For this case, focus on precedents, not every single detail,"he continued, leaning over, pointing to Daniel's notes.

Sophie, Lucien's age, an English literature major, stared at him with a mixture of doubt and admiration. There was something about Lucien that made her breath race—a strong jawline, eyes that sparkled with intelligence, and a faint smile that seemed designed to seduce her mind. Her cheeks flushed, and she couldn't hide a faint smile.

To mask her creeping nervousness, Sophie reached for the hair tie from her wrist. Her fingers, trembling slightly, lifted the wavy light brown strands and tied them into a ponytail. The simple gesture was a welcome escape, though her eyes couldn't help but steal another glance at Lucien. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, before she quickly shifted to Elias, who was wiggling his little feet in Lucien's lap.

Sophie spontaneously reached out and tickled the toddler's belly. Elias chuckled, his tiny body shaking with laughter.

“Copy,” he slurred, laughing merrily.

Sophie paused for a moment, her gaze returning to Lucien. The way he balanced Elias on one arm, while his right hand remained lithely on the table explaining literary theory, made him seem too mature for his age—as if he combined mature composure with captivating intelligence.

"And my poetry? I just... can't parse these metaphors,"Sophie said softly at last, as if the sentence was just a vague excuse to cover up her own pounding heart.

For a moment, his eyes lingered on Sophie—longer than they should have. Her wavy brown hair, now tied back in a ponytail, her pink lips still holding a faint smile, her hazel eyes sparkling shyly… all of it formed a charm that lingered silently in his mind. Even Sophie's soft voice, teasing Elias until the toddler burst out laughing, still lingered in his mind, evoking a strange sensation he couldn't easily admit.

But just as quickly as the gaze appeared, Lucien withdrew it. He carefully concealed his amazement behind a calm demeanor. Lucien then returned the colored gel pen to Sophie, his fingers extended calmly.

"Sometimes, they're just words. Don't let them trick you,"he said. His voice was low, soft, clear—with a calmness that soothed and concealed the warm throbbing in his chest.

Elias clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling, his lisp cracking: “Daddaaa smaaaart! Dadda win!”

Their small laughter erupted, filling the empty space with warmth. Elias climbed onto Sophie's lap, clinging to her affectionately, imitating the scribbles in her notebook. Sophie laughed softly, looking at Lucien half-blushingly: "Hey, little boy... looks like you like my poetry, huh?"

“Copy!” Elias replied, hugging Sophie enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling.

Lucien smiled, his hand occasionally stroking Elias's head. His gaze swept the room again—the gleaming glasses, the empty chairs, the dimly lit Pac-Man jukebox.

“He's my boy,”she muttered, looking at Elias who turned to her. “Daddddaaaa loooove.”

Daniel and Marcus exchanged glances, their eyes sparkling with awe, surprise, and sympathy for Lucien's daily life. Daniel slapped the table, laughing freely:

“Wait, how old are you?”

“Seventeen…” Lucien replied casually, gesturing for Elias to return to his lap. Elias ran to hug his father. Lucien wiped the burger residue off Elias’s lips with a handkerchief that matched his blue shirt, his eyes still warm and playful.

Marcus leaned in, a mischievous smile on his face: “Dude!! You could definitely be my best bro!!”

Daniel slapped the table again, laughing heartily: “We need a professor!”

Sophie looked down, smiling faintly, her cheeks flushed faintly.

"Yes, teenage professor with a cute toddler,"he muttered, half embarrassed, half joking.

Lucien's blue eyes met Sophie's hazel ones—and in that brief moment, there was a subtle vibration in Sophie's heartbeat that she couldn't ignore. It was louder than the silence of the bar. Louder than the laughter of Daniel and Marcus playing with Elias. A noise that only she could hear, within herself.

Lucien felt the same way. There was something in Sophie's eyes, a faint smile that to him was like an old, unfinished melody, or perhaps a new throbbing he didn't want to name yet. The tumult occasionally pounded openly in his chest. But he masked it with a thin, controlled smile. He waited—when would he be able to put a clear name to this feeling? Maybe later. For now, he wanted to enjoy Seattle: Elias in his arms, the laughter of new friends, and the unexpected youthful passion.

And in that unspoken clamor, time ticked by, spinning imperceptibly, as if holding its breath for a moment—making everything suddenly feel more meaningful.

Lucien smiled, playing with Elias's hand in his lap. "I can do that," he murmured softly in a British accent, turning to the three of them. A light humor laced his words, holding back laughter that threatened to explode.

The bar lights were dimming. Only a few burgers and fries remained, and books were scattered across the table. Elias occasionally chattered with a lisp, his soft laughter filling the room. Lucien glanced around the bar, feeling the warmth of a simple daily routine: delivering burgers, teaching a little lesson, laughing with his son, watching his friends smile.