BILLIONARE SECRET's SON

MY BLOOD

November, 2012

Without warning, November came with a bitter cold that penetrated the old stones of Ashford Manor. That night of November 17, the towering main doors opened, and two young figures stepped in. A youth around twenty years old and a nineteen year old girl walked slowly, their bodies shivering. In their arms, a tiny, blonde-haired baby slept restlessly, his blue eyes glistening as they opened occasionally, searching for warmth in the biting air.

The Ashford living room greeted them with an almost oppressive elegance. Marble pillars towered beneath the light of a crystal chandelier, the walls were adorned with paintings of ancestors gazing from behind gilded frames, and a thick Persian carpet stretched out, muffling the footsteps of anyone who dared enter. The splendor of it all left the two humble guests awestruck, as if they had stepped into a foreign world too grand for their feet.

Duke Alexander emerged from his study. His imposing figure paused on the threshold, his eyes hard, fixed on the scene that shook his reason. From the stairs, Lucien stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat as he recognized the two faces. Billy Whitford, Clara's older brother, stood with a composure that was more like an effort to suppress a shiver, while Alie Whitford, graceful and fragile, held the baby tightly.

The tiny baby was wrapped only in a thin shirt, a diaper, wool socks, and a simple jacket that wasn't enough to keep out the cold. His tiny cheeks were flushed. When his blue eyes opened, the crystal light of the living room reflected in them—clear, innocent, and striking the hearts of anyone who dared stare too long. His tiny fingers moved, grasping at empty air, then grasping the edge of the blanket with surprising strength.

Harrington, the elderly butler who had been standing at the side of the room, stepped forward. His movements were respectful, his voice barely a whisper. “Allow me, Miss…”

Alie looked down for a moment, then handed the baby into Harrington's arms. A worn backpack hung wearily from her shoulder, as if telling the story of the long journey they had just undertaken. As the blankets were pulled back from her tiny face, Harrington gasped.

No confession needed. No proof needed. That small face was a mirror of its young master. The line of his nose, the curve of his lips, even the wide-open blue eyes, staring at Harrington with pure curiosity. Those tiny lips curved in the first smile of the evening, and beneath his silky blonde hair, a small mole on his forehead was visible—the exact same mark as Lucien's.

The silence grew thicker, heavier than before. The Ashford living room, with all its gleaming gold and marble, was now the stage for a secret that would shake the family forever.

Alexander stepped closer, his body firm, though his eyes trembled. He stopped beside Harrington, reading the unspoken message from his old butler. As soon as his gaze fell on the small face, his breath caught. For a moment, his body wavered, nearly losing its balance, for before him was a truth he could not deny.

He turned to Lucien, his son, who was bowed, his shoulders slumped, as if carrying a burden he couldn't carry alone. Alexander's chest throbbed painfully, the pain spreading to his temples. There was no need for further explanation: the delicate lines of the baby's face were a reflection of his own flesh and blood.

Harrington, with a reverent gesture, handed the baby into the Duke's arms. Alexander accepted it—and as the tiny body settled in his arms, the dignity he had so long held seemed to crumble. The baby's blue eyes stared up at him, clear and innocent, and they shattered the last of his defenses. The tiny fingers clasping his felt like delicate chains binding his heart without permission.

Tears threatened to spill, but Alexander held them back. He was Ashford; gentleness should never be seen as weakness. But beneath his iron grip, a wave of regret rolled. How could his son, under this magnificent roof, become a father at an age when he hadn't even fully explored the world?

For Lucien, that night was a turning point. All the distance that had once existed between him and his father, all the silence that enveloped his youth at the Manor, was now combined with a new, suffocating burden. The baby is not just a blood bond, it is a responsibility, a bond, and a test that will determine: whether Lucien is able to change his guilt into love, or whether he will fall under the shadow of the great name Ashford has stood for centuries.

Before long, the baby was back in Harrington's arms. With measured, steady steps, the old butler led the way, while Alexander followed behind, his body erect, his steps heavy but dignified. Lucien walked beside Harrington, occasionally glancing at the baby lying peacefully in the butler's arms. With just a brief glance, his chest trembled; it was as if the bond had been forged simply, without ceremony, without words. In his adolescent heart, he already knew: he was the father of this tiny creature.

They moved along the main corridor of Ashford Manor—a long pathway that for centuries had only been reserved for the steps of nobles.

The gray stone walls were paneled with aged oak, gleaming golden in the candlelight reflected from the rows of sconces. Portraits of Ashford ancestors with stern faces and piercing eyes hung in gilded frames; their gazes seemed to watch, weighing every move of the strangers who dared to pass by. The black-and-white marble floor reflected the light like a mirror, covered with a thick, heavy crimson Persian carpet, muffling every step, making the silence even more eerie.

Billy and Alie were stunned, their tongues agape. The grandeur that enveloped them felt foreign, far beyond the simple world they knew. Even the air in the corridor was different: the scent of beeswax mixed with centuries-old wood, with the faint scent of expensive cigars lingering. The ceilings soared with intricate Gothic carvings, the large windows shrouded in heavy burgundy velvet curtains, bracing against the November chill. It all pressed against their chests, subduing their courage, making them realize they had stepped into a world they were never meant to enter.

As Harrington pushed open the carved double doors, he revealed Duke Ashford's study. It was not just a private space, but an embodiment of power. Dark wood shelves towered, laden with neatly arranged volumes of law, history, and philosophy. In the center stood a carved mahogany desk, its surface covered with documents, maps, and quills, each page seemingly holding a decision that could shake the lives of many. A large fireplace blazed, its roaring flames banishing the night chill, while its orange glow danced across the imposing black leather chair, the throne of an Ashford.

Billy swallowed, his gaze darting, afraid to stare too long at the judgmental luxury. Alie clutched her jeans, nervous, her body feeling smaller in the silent yet heavy room. They had come in desperation with a baby, but now what had enveloped them first was a sense of worthlessness, as every corner of the room whispered, as if reminding them that the Ashford name was too big, too old, too proud for their world to touch.

They finally sat face to face, the large chair in the study acting as a barrier that seemed to separate the worlds. Lucien sat with his head bowed, his shoulders slumped, refusing to look at anyone. Just looking at him made Billy feel his dignity crumble. He was just a commoner, an orphanage kid; how could he be placed alongside the noble whose aura and class so dominated the room?

“I… I actually wanted to hit you, Lucien,” Billy said, his voice trembling with emotion, his words breaking mid-sentence. “But Clara… Clara told me not to.” He took a deep breath, looking down, hiding the turmoil behind his voice.

Duke Alexander leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharp but restrained. In a deep, authoritative voice, he asked slowly, “Tell me—how did you come to know of Ashford?”

Alie swallowed, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ashford,” she stammered, her voice soft but clear. “We only came to hand over baby Clara. We… we haven’t even named her yet. We can’t afford to raise her. We’re orphans. None of us can care for her properly.” Her eyes flicked to Lucien, as if demanding an answer that never came.

Lucien looked up slightly, his voice barely audible. “I… am sorry.” His lips trembled. “But what about Clara?”

Silence fell before Alie finally lowered her head, holding back her tears. “Clara’s been gone… since the baby was born, three months ago.” Her voice broke. “The bleeding was so bad… we couldn’t save her.”

Alexander lowered his head, his gaze falling on the baby in Harrington's arms. His voice came out cold, measured, yet sharp, like a perfectly sharpened blade.

“If I were to give you money to raise this child… would you be willing to keep him far from the Ashford name?”

The question hung in the air, thick and almost suffocating. Alie froze, her eyes wide, her lips numb. A proper answer felt impossible, for the request was more like a verdict.

Lucien suddenly moved. He rose, took the baby from Harrington's arms, and knelt before his father. His body trembled, but his arms around the baby were firm, stronger than he himself. His blue eyes, young and fragile, now glinted with a courage born of desperation. The baby reached out with tiny fingers, tugging at his sweater with a gentle touch—as if giving new strength to the teenager who was now a father.

“Please, Father…”his voice cracked, full of pleading. "I will take care of him. He is mine—my blood. I cannot bear it if this little boy must be torn away from me... from his own father."

Alexander's gaze froze the air, piercing with anger and disappointment he could no longer hide. The child he had always considered rebellious, weak, and disoriented was now daring to defy him for the sake of a baby. But in his son's eyes, Alexander saw a reflection of himself—the raw courage of an Ashford, the courage to protect his own flesh and blood, no matter the cost. He could only sigh, heavy and long, as if trying to quell the turmoil that shook his chest.

Silence fell again, the air in the room tightening until it felt oppressive. Billy and Alie could only stare at each other, watching as the Ashford teenager prostrated himself under the shadow of his own family's law.

Alie finally whispered, softly but firmly. “We didn’t come for the money, Mr. Ashford. We just want baby Clara to live a decent life. That’s all.”

Billy bowed stiffly beside her, then they both turned. Their steps were heavy, leaving the study feeling even more imposing than before. But before leaving, Allie glanced back briefly—looking at Lucien, who was still kneeling, clutching his baby tightly with a determined gaze.

Harrington soon followed them. With the sincerity of an old butler, he slipped a check into Billy's hand, one for thousands of pounds, enough to secure their future together. Billy paused, his lips trembling, then nodded gratefully, unable to say anything.

Inside the room, two other servants entered, intending to help Lucien to his feet. One tried to take the baby from his arms. Lucien turned quickly, his eyes sharp, his body protective of the baby with an uncontrollable instinct.

“Don't," he said firmly. "Let me carry him myself."

For the first time, his voice no longer sounded like that of a spoiled Ashford brat, but rather that of a young father discovering his own power.--

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As the days passed, the silence at Ashford Manor was like a thick fog that had gathered, drawing a distance between Alexander and Lucien even though they were both under the same roof. Lucien continued to approach, offering smiles, joking lightly, and sometimes looking down shyly when his father glanced at him. Alexander, on the other hand, remained distant, adhering to the discipline and dignity he had always upheld.

"Father, look… he's smiling at me…" Lucien said, his eyes sparkling as the tiny baby stared up at him with clear blue eyes. But Alexander just got up, glanced at his son, and then left Lucien with the baby.

The teenager bent down and kissed the baby's warm forehead, his chest pounding with the pressure of this new responsibility. Tears welled up in his eyes. He realized this was too much for Alexander to accept, and too much for a teenager just entering adulthood.

But something was different. Lucien, usually defiant, now seemed intent on caring for his little baby. He carried Elias, walked around the manor, showed him magnificent paintings, "talked" to the baby, soothed his cries, and even taught him to change and bathe him himself.

The blue baby's laughter, occasionally murmured while putting a finger in its mouth, sounded like a soft bell, caressing the heart of anyone who heard it.

Every now and then Alexander heard how Lucien taught the tiny baby to say one word:

"Daddy... don't call me father. Daddy... daddaaa... daddy..."

The baby stared with wide blue eyes, playing with his saliva, putting his tiny fingers in his mouth as he cooed and laughed, his little voice warm and adorable, melting the hearts of all who saw him. The tiny laugh pierced the silence of the manor, bringing a new color to the usually formal Ashford house.

Alexander, who had been quietly observing, then turned to his study. He spoke to Harrington, who stood facing him in his study. His voice was low, controlled, yet full of emotion:

"Go, Harrington... buy whatever is finest... whatever is costliest. For my little Lucien..."

Harrington bowed respectfully, holding his breath for a moment before answering, his voice calm but thoughtful:

"Pardon, Your Grace, but the boy must have a proper name. He has been with us nearly a month… it wouldn't do to call him 'Little Lucien' any longer."

Alexander took a deep breath. His fingers danced across the table, then scribbled a name on a post-it note. His handwriting was neat, aristocratic, the result of a strict upbringing and long family tradition:“Elias Celestian Ashford”

Harrington accepted the paper, his eyes fixed on the writing respectfully, then raised his head. Alexander's voice was deep, each word pronounced with pauses and gestures that emphasized the meaning of each sentence:

"Give this… to Lucien. The name… let it be a hope that Elias will not grow… rebellious like his father. Let him… be a light for Lucien… and for all of Ashford."

Harrington bowed deeply, curtsied, and then slowly stepped back. He quickly prepared the baby's necessities: soft, warm, luxurious clothing, mini shoes covered in genuine leather, a royal-made stroller covered in velvet and mahogany, a baby walker designed for the sons and daughters of royalty, educational toys, a silk-covered doll, the finest formula, and expensive crystal pacifiers and bottles. Every detail was meticulously chosen, ensuring that the Ashford baby would not simply be cared for, but cared for with all the dignity befitting the Ashford blood.

That afternoon, all the surprises were in Lucien's room. Expensive clothes had been prepared: a small coat lined with fine wool, cashmere socks, a mini embroidered hat, soft leather shoes wrapped in velvet. All the shabby accessories from the black backpack were thrown away. Furthermore, Harrington had prepared an exclusive stroller from the British royal family, upholstered in mahogany and velvet, a baby walker with smooth wheels safe for marble floors, luxurious educational toys, a premium silk and wool doll, imported formula, a crystal pacifier, and the finest baby bottles as recommended by the pediatrician. Everything was carefully selected, expensive, and elegant, befitting the Ashford blood.

Harrington stood in the doorway, holding a post-it note from Alexander. He handed it to Lucien respectfully.

“What is this, Harrington?” asked Lucien doubtfully.

“Open it, Master Luc…” Harrington replied softly.

Lucien unfolded the paper and read the name: Elias Celestian Ashford. He pulled the tiny baby closer, his blue eyes staring at Lucien with curiosity and innocent joy.

“Hey little me, your name is now… Elias Celestian Ashford,” he whispered, a smile spreading across the teenager’s face. The baby chuckled, his tiny fingers gripping Lucien’s arm.

Lucien looked down at the paper again, his fingers gently patting the baby's head. "You like that, my little me... Elias, you will always be my little Elias..." Lucien's voice cracked, but it was firm, no longer a spoiled child, but a young father bearing responsibility, hope, and love.

That day was a turning point, where a teenager's courage, love, and responsibility were tested, and Lucien proved he was ready to face the world as a father to his own flesh and blood.

Year 2013

January came like any other month, cold but calm, enveloping Ashford Manor in a thin blanket of mist. The baby refused to rest for even a moment; his tiny energy seemed to spread throughout the house. Lucien carried him around the Manor, occasionally letting him go for a moment to let Elias crawl around on his own.

One morning, the baby crawled uncontrollably into Alexander's study. Lucien shrank back, ducking his head, almost trying to hide, afraid to face his father's gaze as his birthday approached. But Alexander, usually stern and authoritative, smiled gently, bent down, and lifted the baby into his arms. His cheek touched Elias's tiny cheek with a warm kiss, making the child laugh and look up at him trustingly. Alexander even played with the pen in the baby's hand, and Elias's joyful laughter echoed, pure and innocent.

“Grandpa… Elias… Grandpa…” the tiny lips trembled, but then corrected themselves, emphasizing the syllables that came out clearly: “Pa… pa… pa…”

“Yes… papa, if you are willing to call this old man your papa, my darling…” Alexander’s voice was deep but gentle, full of warm, thin humor.

Elias then turned to Lucien who was starting to move forward, his tiny lips saying softly: “There…aaaaa…there…”

Lucien hesitated, stepping forward to take the baby from his father's arms. But before he could touch him, Alexander's hand gently, firmly yet gently, removed his son's arm.

"No, Lucien! Wash your hands first… then you may carry Elias!"Alexander's voice was loud, authoritative but full of hidden concern and affection.

“Y-yes, Father… I will…”Lucien replied, looking down, swallowing the anxiety and regret that continued to haunt him. He followed his father's steps to the elevator in the corner of the first floor, the elevator that would take them to the third floor, where Lucien and Alexander's rooms were adjacent.

There, the distance between father and son remained palpable, but the day gradually warmed. Elias, in Alexander's arms, gazed at Lucien with innocent blue eyes, as if understanding the tension, and lit a small light in the teenager's heart—a slowly growing light of courage, love, and responsibility.

The days that month wore on with increasing joy. Even though Lucien didn't have a birthday celebration, his face always beamed. Every now and then, he'd take Elias for a spin in the baby walker, his tiny feet tapping and bouncing the wheels enthusiastically, making Lucien chuckle to himself.

After a few laps, Lucien carefully set Elias down. He guided his son as he learned to stand and walk, his hands ready to catch him if he lost his balance. The baby was growing rapidly. Although only eight months old, he could already stand for a few seconds and walk toward his father, cheering,

“Dadaaaa… daaddddd… huuufff… dadaaaaa!”

Sometimes Elias would hobble along with Harrington's help, calling out to the old butler in a cheerful voice,

“Hayiiiintooonnnnn… my toooon!”

His innocent voice made all the servants laugh, spreading joy throughout the Manor. Lucien looked at his son proudly, his heart bursting with endless love.

Exhaustion sometimes made Elias crawl everywhere, holding onto walls or furniture, until he entered Alexander's study.

“Pa…pa…pa!!” her tiny mouth screamed.

Alexander, usually stern, immediately approached him. He gently picked Elias up and sat him down on the work table. Lucien watched from afar, not daring to touch his son while he was in his grandfather's arms. But he saw Alexander smiling and laughing more cheerfully than usual, folding paper into toy boats or origami birds for Elias.

Those simple things—Alexander's laughter, the way he played with Elias—were moments Lucien had never noticed before. Deep in his heart, he treasured every second as a precious memory that slowly forged a new family bond.

Behind all that, tears started to fall. Lucien remembered the warmth of his father when his mother was still around. His longing felt real, creeping in slowly, reminding the teenager of the times he had lost since the scandalous incident that caused him to be expelled from Eton. Now, seeing Alexander so warm with Elias, his heart trembled with emotion, regret and hope that began to grow in the teenager's heart.

2013 passed imperceptibly, as if the minutes passed in the cool breeze of Ashford Manor. Elias was growing rapidly, each day bringing new surprises to all who looked at him. His vocabulary grew relentlessly, as if each word from his tiny lips ignited a spark of life in the usually silent and dignified halls. He could now walk, though still unsteadily, but each step brought him pure, unbridled joy.

Lucien always accompanied him. Sometimes he carried Elias around the Manor with careful steps, sometimes he placed him in a small basket on the front of his bicycle, pushing him slowly through the sprawling gardens surrounding the centuries-old manor. When he was dropped off at the first floor, Elias's little eyes always searched for Alexander; if his grandfather was out of sight, he would crawl or walk alone to the spacious study, where sunlight streamed through the tall windows and danced on the mahogany desk.

Elias's tiny voice, innocent and raw, drifted down the corridor, naming objects curiously, making the maid standing at the side of the room smile and laugh lightly:

“Waaaaaallll!”

“Daaaa daaaa!” when he was looking for Lucien.

Sometimes, her calls to Alexander sound cute and gentle: “Papapa… danpaaa!”

Every word, every small gesture, melted the chill of the majestic Manor. The atmosphere, usually filled with formality and pomp, suddenly filled with warmth, as if the first rays of sunlight had broken through the morning mist and lit the entire house from within.

Elias's first birthday was celebrated with serenity and simplicity. Without any extravagant celebrations, he wore a neat and adorable little suit, sitting in front of a meticulously decorated birthday cake. As he tasted the cream, his little face was covered in sweet traces of cream that clung to his nose and cheeks, eliciting a giggle from Alexander, Lucien, Harrington, and the servants. It was a moment captured on camera and preserved in an album, a small snapshot that would forever remind them of Elias's first days—days that slowly lit a new light within Ashford Manor, bringing warmth to the hearts of all who witnessed them.

Soon, Harrington approached, gently embracing Elias. The baby returned the hug with a cheerful laugh, his tiny hands clutching Harrington's jacket.

“Toon… my toon!!” Elias shouted excitedly.

“Yes, little sir, let’s get you cleaned up first, then drink some formula and sleep tonight with sweet dreams…” Harrington said in a calm, yet warm tone, as he led Elias towards Lucien’s bedroom.

It was so simple, but for Ashford Manor, small moments like these were a new light, bringing a warmth that cut through the formality and prestige, reminding everyone that love and attention, no matter how small, can transform a house into a truly living home.

January 2014

January 2014 arrived like any other month, cold and still, shrouding Ashford Manor in a thin, slowly drifting mist. Elias had grown rapidly; he was now one year and five months old. His steps were beginning to take shape, though still often faltering, each day bringing laughter and small wonders to the magnificent manor.

That day, Lucien carried Elias to the first floor, ready to set him down, but the door to his father's study was firmly closed. Harrington stood inside, waiting respectfully. Elias's footsteps paused for a moment, his eyes staring at the door, uncertain but curious. Lucien held Elias tighter, trying to catch a glimpse of the conversation coming from inside the study.

Inside, Alexander spoke in a firm, controlled tone, but every word was laced with emotion. Pressure was coming from the Ashford cousins, even from the Montclair family—nobles who descended from Lucien's late mother. Furthermore, the Earl of Montague, who had married Alexander's younger sister and had a son Lucien's age, was constantly competing with him. They demanded that the baby be officially recognized as Alexander's second son from an unregistered marriage on Lucien's birthday. Elias's presence alone had already damaged the Ashford family's honor.

Alexander took a deep breath, his voice sharp, bitter, almost breaking as he finally said the words he had been holding back for so long:

"That child... Harrington... Elias shall be my son out of wedlock. He shall bear the Ashford name... even if he inherits nothing directly from this house."

A bitter, thick British tone filled the study, vibrating among the old bookshelves and mahogany desk. Harrington bowed his head deeply, understanding the weight of this decision. Alexander's eyes stared at the closed door, waiting for the outside world to understand, but realizing that this decision was only the beginning of a long series of challenges for the Ashford family—especially for the young man and his son, who had overheard his father's conversation from outside.

Lucien ran, carrying Elias in his arms, to his room. He packed all of Elias's clothes and belongings into a light blue baby carrier. He dressed him in a warm, luxurious brown winter coat, covering the expensive shirts and sweaters clinging to his tiny body. Then Lucien placed Elias in his arms and carried them out of the grand room. A light blue soother gently pressed against Elias's tiny lips.

The teenager walked down the stairs slowly, towards his father's study. Standing in front of the towering Alexander with Harrington, he held his breath and said in a trembling but determined voice:

"Father... Elias is my son. He is not a bastard. He is my son."

After a pause, gathering all the courage he had, Lucien added in a firm voice:

"I will take Elias. I will leave this manor with him..."

Alexander held his gaze on his son, who stood trembling. The slight tremors of the teenager's body were clearly visible through his always-immaculate beige pants and expensive sneakers, his warm beige coat, his soft sweater, and his shirt matching the one Elias was carrying. Elias's tiny face, with the soother on his lips, began to shake Alexander's resolve.

He took a deep breath, assessing the courage radiating from Lucien's eyes. His voice remained cool and controlled, yet with a hint of affection. Alexander wanted to restrain his son, accustomed to luxury, and to make Lucien understand that leaving the manor was not the best course of action. Recognizing Elias as a child from a different mother was a difficult decision, but it was essential to uphold Ashford's reputation.

"Alright, Lucien... if you are determined to leave this manor, then leave everything behind. Even your wealth. Go forth, and take not the Ashford name with your son!"

The British tone was filled with tension and authority, but beneath it was a sense of testing, a desire to see if his son's courage was real. Every word also vibrated with Alexander's desire to protect his two flesh and blood: his son and grandson, who were now before him.

To Alexander's surprise, Lucien had shown unwavering courage. The teenager lifted his chin, staring straight into his father's eyes, tears welling in his eyes, and a childish sob in his voice. Seventeen years hadn't erased the childhood he'd always carried within him. Alexander's son would forever remain a child to him, even as his body grew with time. But now, beneath those sobs, lurked the words of a young father, affirming his determination to defend his own flesh and blood.

“Yes, Father… I would leave all of this behind this manor!”

The room was instantly filled with uncontrollable emotions. Alexander's dignity met his son's courage, while that courage was born of the love of a young father who refused to abandon his own child. Lucien, who now chose to be a true father to Elias.