BILLIONARE SECRET's SON

NIGHT CHANGE

London, 2012

Lucien possessed an undeniable magnetism. He was subjected to detention several times, but he always escaped, as if the rules only applied to others. Furthermore, with his natural leadership, he even helped his gang members escape punishment, not once or twice, but many times.

Beneath his cheeky demeanor, his intelligence blossomed at an almost frightening rate. He was only fifteen, but he had already leapt to the top. From a child who should have been stuck in Year 10, he now stood on par with the students in Year 12, the Lower Sixth Form. At Eton, this was no ordinary achievement, but an anomaly that drew much discussion.

The teachers looked at him with a mixture of admiration, irritation, and dismay. A naughty student could be controlled, and a genius could be guided. But a rebellious genius and charismatic student was a storm no one, not even Eton, could withstand.

Sir Reginald, the headmaster, who had been dealing with the petty aristocrat in all his antics for decades, was left shaking his head. He was proud, of course, for Eton's reputation was enhanced by this boy prodigy. But on the other hand, he was also irritated, even furious, every time Lucien was summoned to his office. The teenager simply sat there with his trademark cheeky smile, his blue eyes seeming to say: You can try, but you'll never truly control me.

It made anyone, even Sir Reginald himself, finally give in. "Well, at least there hasn't been a big scandal yet," he would reassure himself, even though he knew deep down that with Lucien Alexander Ashford, a scandal was only a matter of time.

His friends? Of course, the envy was always there. They might snort quietly, talk behind Lucien's back, or try to rival him. But in the end, all they could do was follow him, falling into the orbit of his popularity, like the moon unable to escape the Earth's pull.

And one thing never changed: no matter how naughty Lucien was, his father was always proud of his accomplishments. Duke Alexander saw the boy differently. To him, mischief was merely a teenage pastime, while genius was both a legacy and a weapon. As long as Lucien's achievements soared, as long as his name was known in Ashford, what did a minor infraction matter?

At least, thought Duke Alexander with a faint smile whenever the latest news came from Eton, there was no major scandal this time.

----

And this morning, Lucien's birthday morning. The morning of January 23, 2012, when he turned fifteen.

Duke Alexander sat silently in his quiet study. The walls were lined with old bookshelves and paintings of Ashford's ancestors, but his eyes were fixated on a single silver frame on the desk. It was a photo of the three of them. Himself, Eveline, and little Lucien, still innocent and obedient at the time.

Duchess Eveline Ashford, born into the ancient noble House Montclair, is no longer alive. Her beautiful face, once smiling gently in that photograph, is now only a memory. She died several years ago from an illness that slowly ate away at her body, leaving a void no one can ever fill.

From that day on, Lucien changed. The sweet, blond-haired boy who was once easy to hug had now grown into an unstoppable little storm. He rebelled, defied, and fought against the rules, not for any apparent reason, but rather as if demanding the attention of his father, who was increasingly immersed in family affairs and noble politics.

Alexander took a deep breath, staring at the photo longer than usual. And on this bright morning, he decided one thing: despite his son's continued rebellion, he was still his only child. So Alexander sent all the lavish gifts to Eton. The latest watch, a handmade suit from Savile Row, even a sports car that Lucien wasn't officially allowed to drive yet. It was all just a cold father's way of saying: I'm proud of you, son.

The wooden door creaked softly. Harrington, the family's loyal butler and secretary, quietly entered. He found his master still deep in thought, his fingers gently touching a picture frame.

“They look alike, don’t they, sir?” Harrington said cautiously, as if afraid of touching up an old wound.

Alexander glanced up briefly, then sighed. “Yes, indeed, Harrington. Lucien does resemble... both of us a bit. But his rebellion? I don't know who he resembles.”

He wiped the corners of his eyes quickly, as if refusing to acknowledge the tenderness that still remained in his heart.

----

Today was his birthday. The fifteen-year-old was beaming with joy, his eyes sparkling at the abundance of gifts flooding his Eton room. All of them confirmed his undeniable status. There were expensive suits tailored by Savile Row, luxury watches that would be the envy of everyone, even a sports car shipped directly from the Ashford family garage. And of course, of all things, the sports car was his favorite. Lucien stared at it as if already imagining the streets of London bowing to its speed.

Word of the lavish gifts quickly spread throughout the dormitory, and the other boys couldn't help but cheer, surrounding him with looks of admiration and envy. At Eton, status symbols were the most valuable currency, and Lucien had just declared himself the undisputed king.

-----

That night, his wild party was on. No madness without booze, no joy without thumping music at London's top clubs. Lucien planned everything with the precision only a rebellious genius could. His friends, of course, joined him, clinging to him like an inescapable orbit, as he entertained them late into the night.

At a club table gleaming with neon lights, crystal glasses filled to the brim with Veuve Clicquot and Dom Pérignon flowed like water, while bottles of premium British gins, Tanqueray No. Ten and Sipsmith London Dry, lined the other side. They struggled to stay upright, sipping with a certain grace, as if even being drunk had to be elegant.

Lucien laughed loudly, his head thrown back, the club lights glinting off his blond hair. This night was his. This night was his stage. And amidst the hustle and bustle of the party, he was completely unaware of one thing: this madness would be the turning point in his life.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of a London club, colorful lights reflecting off the glass and crystal, amidst the thumping music and laughter, Lucien spotted her. Her eyes were a clear blue, unlike the noblewomen he was used to. She seemed shy, standing slightly behind her older sister and brother, as if trying to disappear into the glamour of the club.

Lucien swallowed, his heart beating faster than usual. He was fifteen, and she was perhaps two years older, but there was something that captivated him. Her eyes were different—calm, warm, inviting, yet challenging.

With the courage that could only come from a young heart in love, he stepped closer. Each step felt heavy on the sparkling dance floor, but his gaze never left those blue eyes. He smiled, a little dramatically, his head slightly bowed but his chin held high, classic Lucien style: confident yet sweet.

“Lucien Alexander Ashford,” he said, bowing slightly, his left hand on his heart. “At your service. I hope… I’m not intruding. But I feel I should get to know you.”

The girl stared at him for a moment, her cheeks flushed, her lips pressed together. There was a sweet, awkward tension, but also a curiosity that was hard to hide. Lucien smiled again, this time more softly, his eyes shining with admiration.

The surroundings were still bustling: music thumping, club lights spinning, glasses sizzling, and the laughter of their friends echoing around them. But for a moment, the world seemed to stop. It was just him, the girl, and Lucien, who felt as if the entire club, all of London, even his entire life, were just a stage for this moment.

In the midst of the glittering London clubs, colorful lights reflecting on the glass and crystal glasses, music pounding in the chest,

Lucien couldn't take his eyes off Clara. She was smiling, and to him, that smile was like a magnet. The spaghetti-strap dress she wore added an irresistible sweet charm. Her hand slowly reached out to Lucien.

“Hi, I’m Clara Whitford. Nice to meet you, little boy…” she teased, her teasing tone making Lucien flinch and become stunned.

“Hey! I’m not a little boy!” Lucien objected, his face flushing, a mixture of embarrassment and slight anger typical of aristocratic teenagers.

But all that vanished as they closed in. Lucien's heart raced, and the world around them—the lights, the music, the laughter of others—seemed to fade. His lips touched Clara's again, this time longer, more intense, but still gentle. There was pure curiosity and attraction, a thrill of nervousness, and a first-time passion that swept them both away for what felt like an eternity.

Clara responded, slowly but surely, her hand touching Lucien's arm, holding his kiss as if she wanted to know more about the blond boy. Lucien held his breath, his eyes fixed on Clara with awe and a feeling he had never felt before.

The kiss continued, matching the rhythm of the pounding music in the club, but still innocent—immature, but enough to make both of them smile and stumble a little from the mix of nervousness and new sensations.

When they finally broke away, their breaths were ragged, their faces flushed, their eyes met again, and Lucien knew, that night, in the glitz and glamour of a London club, he had just fallen head over heels in love.

In a corner of the club, behind the colorful lights and the crowd swaying to the music, Lucien's gang lurked. Some were envious, some were in awe, but all knew one thing: this moment was too important to miss.

Edmund Fairfax, his brown hair always immaculate, quickly picked up his phone, hid it behind him, and snapped a picture of Lucien and Clara kissing. Peregrine Holt, with a sly smile, peered over her friend's shoulder, while Sebastian Carroway, cold and superior, merely raised an eyebrow, suppressing a faint hint of envy.

Lorenzo Di Luca, Theo Kingsley, Alistair Vance, and Miles Abernathy also secretly took pictures and videos, ensuring every romantic moment was captured. They didn't do this out of genuine concern for Lucien's love, but because the moment, though Lucien didn't realize it, would become a social currency among the Eton students.

Edmund Fairfax stared at his phone screen, a thin but sharp smile on his face. He looked down briefly, covering the phone with his body, then looked at Peregrine. “Look at that, Peregrine. Lucien again… as usual, the center of attention.”

Peregrine Holt leaned forward slightly, a sly smile appearing on his face. “Too arrogant. I can’t believe someone could be so confident. And of course, everyone’s watching.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes sweeping around the club as if assessing Lucien’s every move.

Sebastian Carroway raised an eyebrow, his voice flat, but his gaze sharp. “Confident or not, he has influence. We have to be careful, or this will be a social advantage for him, not for us.”

Lorenzo Di Luca leaned against the wall, his hand stroking his chin, his tone deceptively casual. “We can wait… one small mistake, and everyone will reassess him. Everyone loves gossip. We just have to prepare for that moment.”

Theo Kingsley nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Edmund's phone screen.

“Yes, and make sure everything we record gets out. There’s nothing sweeter than seeing this arrogant kid take a little hit.” He patted Sebastian’s shoulder lightly, a satisfied expression on his face.

Miles Abernathy smiled faintly, his eyes sparkling, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the table.

“Once it's out there, its reputation can be… controlled. And Boom!!” He raised both hands dramatically, pointing at the phone screen as if to emphasize his words,

“Lucien will be known as a problem student. He might even… yes, he might even be expelled from Eton immediately!”

Alistair Vance leaned forward, staring at Edmund's phone screen. "Get everything ready. Let Lucien enjoy his evening. But trust me, it will all be ours—to use as we see fit." He wiped a faint smile from his face, a hint of undisguised satisfaction.

They laughed softly, their voices barely audible over the din of the club. Every movement, every glance, every kiss was recorded as a tool for them. Lucien was completely unaware that behind the smiles and laughter of his group, there was a cunning strategy, a subtle political game that would soon form a story that could destroy, or at least test, his reputation at Eton.

Lucien and Clara remained lost in their own world, unaware that every smile, every movement, even their subsequent kiss was being secretly recorded by their friends. That night, Lucien's first kiss became a silent witness for his gang, a combination of admiration, envy, and destiny that would later become the subject of gossip, even among the nobility. It could even become an Eton scandal that would have fatal consequences for Lucien Ashford.

Soon, with characteristic confidence, Lucien took Clara's hand and led her out of the club. The London night sky was filled with sparkling city lights, the club music still faintly playing behind them. Lucien's sports car was waiting, its engine roaring softly as he pressed the pedal, taking them through the glitzy streets of Mayfair and Soho.

His friends followed quietly behind, in the car of their senior, Frederick Montague, a Year 12 student who always kept Lucien's gang looking spectacular. Edmund Fairfax, Peregrine Holt, and the others watched from afar, their phones in hand, recording every moment without Lucien and Clara's knowledge.

Inside the car, the warm atmosphere mixed with adrenaline and a hint of alcohol made them feel more free. Their passion and attraction ebbed and flowed, then resurfaced, unstoppable, as if the music and city lights were guiding them.

Finally, they arrived at The Savoy, a five-star hotel on the banks of the River Thames, elegant and luxurious, where London showed its best. Lucien handed the receptionist his family's Black Card and a brief note, assuring them that they wouldn't be disturbed or that too much detail would be recorded. The note read:

"Please respect our privacy. Thank you."

Meanwhile, his friends remain lurking outside from their cars, their phones recording every movement, every glance, and every awkward smile that passes between Lucien and Clara. The moment, while private for both of them, is secretly a witness for the gang. But beneath their laughter and cunning lies a potential danger—the recording could be the beginning of the biggest scandal in Lucien's history, a reputational coup that will shake his name and tarnish Eton's reputation for this night.

----

In a luxurious hotel suite, soft lights reflected off the gold and marble furnishings, creating a warm and intimate atmosphere. Lucien and Clara stood very close, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating faster than usual.

Lucien looked into Clara's blue eyes, his voice trembling slightly, “This is my first time.”

Clara leaned in, smiling, her voice almost a whisper, “Yes… I feel the same.”

The seconds seemed to pass slowly. Their lips met in a soft, sweet, and curious first kiss. Lucien closed his eyes, feeling his heartbeat racing, while Clara responded gently, her hand lightly touching his arm.

The kiss lasted for a while, they kept their faces pressed against each other, their bodies feeling hot, hugging for a while, enjoying the intimacy and nervousness that they were feeling for the first time.

-----

The next morning, Lucien woke up in bed. Clara was gone. His upper body was naked, his lower body covered only by beige trousers. On the table, a neatly written letter lay tucked away.

"Thank you for the night, Lucien. This is my first time. But I really hope we can meet each other once again."

Lucien stared at the letter, his heart pounding. He felt a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and a little awkwardness. This was his first experience, the teenage version of a one-night stand. He decided to spend some time in the hotel room before returning to Eton. The first lesson of the day was sure to make him late.

After showering and getting dressed, Lucien opened the suite door. His heart was pounding erratically, his emotions were mixed. It was uncomfortable, it was unpleasant to be in this situation. Sir Reginald stood there, along with his father, Duke Alexander, and his friends who always followed him.

Edmund Fairfax, Peregrine Holt, Sebastian Carroway, Alistair Vance, Lorenzo Di Luca, Theo Kingsley, and Miles Abernathy burst out laughing. Their phones flashed with photos of the previous night's kiss and the sports car parked in front of Eton. They handed the photos to Sir Reginald, who then passed them on to his father's phone.

Lucien held back his anger, but one look at his father's disappointed face stopped him. A hard slap landed on his cheek, and his lip bled slightly. Alexander made no sound, no tears, only a sharp look in his eyes filled with anger and a hurt, unspoken disappointment. Perhaps in his heart, Alexander would never try to speak more gently to Lucien again.

"Father!" Lucien snapped fiercely.

His anger didn't stop there. "BASTARD!" Lucien shouted furiously. Without waiting any longer, he punched Edmund Fairfax and Peregrine Holt, who were laughing the loudest, almost making Sir Reginald lose his temper.

“Young man!”Sir Reginald called out in a thick British tone, his voice echoing through the hotel suite.

"Such behavior is utterly unacceptable! You are representing Eton, and this is disgraceful. You will be sent home immediately!"

Finally, that morning, Sir Reginald made a fatal decision. Lucien was returned to his parents without honors. All his struggles to earn a degree at Eton, his anomalous grades, his academic achievements, his influence, and even his position as president of the student body, were simply wiped away.

Lucien lowered his head. His father remained looking away, cold as a statue. Harrington, loyal as ever, gently put an arm around his shoulder.

"Calm down, Master Luc. This storm will blow over soon at home," she whispered soothingly. Lucien swallowed a sharp pang of disappointment, knowing one thing: the rules and power at Eton could destroy everything, in an instant.

Lucien glanced briefly at his friends whom he had trusted. All the kindness he had shown, all the help he had done, had been taken advantage of. Their laughter with him now felt hollow, as if part of a meaningless play. One night of partying, one night of his constant help, one night the news broke, and his entire life had changed so quickly, like a jet speeding off with no way to return to its starting point. He knew his father would never look at him the same way again.

“Just one night… and everything changes,”he murmured softly, his voice almost choked with emotion. That one night, how quickly it had passed, had wiped away all the reputation and dreams he had so carefully built.