Chapter 1 My Last Life
I'm Julian Ashford.
I'm the only son of the Ashford family in Kingwood City, and everyone in our circle calls me the Ashford family's heir.
Whenever those five words leave their mouths, they always end with a mocking upward lilt, dripping with sarcasm and contempt.
Because I'm already five years old, and I still can't speak.
Everyone in the Ashford family knows their so-called crown prince is nothing but an i***t.
My mom, Sophia, comes from a scholarly family. After she married into the Ashfords, she poured all her energy into me.
She would hold me in her arms and repeat the same thing again and again.
"Julian, look at Mommy's mouth. M-U-M."
I would stare back at her and keep my lips sealed.
The light in her eyes would fade little by little.
Then she would turn away and quietly wipe the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.
She thought I didn't see it.
But I saw everything.
It's not that I can't speak. I just don't want to.
I carried all my memories from my previous life with me.
In my last life, I was the youngest partner on Wall Street. By twenty-three, I was running the world's third-largest hedge fund.
I survived on three hours of sleep and seventeen cups of coffee a day, tearing into top elites from every corner of the globe in meetings until they started doubting their own existence.
Then, at thirty-three, I died of a heart attack on a flight to Los Angeles.
This time, I just wanted to be a slacker.
I wanted a quiet, peaceful life filled with cartoons, Lego sets, and all the sleep I missed in my previous life.
But I forgot one important thing. The title of "heir of the Ashford family" isn't a comfortable couch. It's a giant target on my back.
My dad, Marcus Ashford, is the founder and CEO of the Ashford Group.
Twenty years ago, he started by reselling electronic components and fought his way up to become one of the biggest business tycoons in Kingwood City's elite circles.
He never hovered over me twenty-four seven like my mom did.
Every time he came to see me, he always had an agenda.
"Julian, look at this. Does anything catch your eye?"
He held out the tablet, its screen showing a complex stock chart covered in technical indicators.
These were the stocks he had been watching closely lately. He never shared his investment logic with anyone else.
But around me, he never put up any guard.
I glanced at it once, then lightly tapped one spot on the screen with my little finger.
His eyes lit up.
"Right here? You're sure?"
I nodded.
Three days later, that stock hit its daily limit, exactly as I had pointed out.
After that, every time he visited, he brought new charts, new data, and new business proposals.
He would slide the tablet over, I would point out the key spots, and his eyes would sparkle again.
Then he would finally ask the question he had been holding back the whole time.
"Julian, can you call me Dad? Just once. That's all I need."
His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid someone might overhear, like he was doing something shameful.
I simply stared at him in silence.
The light in his eyes died instantly, like a candle that had been snuffed out.
One moment it burned brightly, the next only thin smoke remained.
He closed the door softly behind him when he left.
But that heavy sigh of his lingered in the hallway for what felt like forever.
I knew perfectly well that if my grandpa Theodore Ashford wasn't still around, holding thirty percent of the Ashford Group's founding shares, I would have been kicked off the "Ashford heir" title long ago.
