Today was a monumental day for Avernon City. The second birthday of Lucifer Devano was celebrated with a level of grandeur that transcended even the loftiest standards of "old money." The mansion's sprawling backyard had been transformed into a "Little "Boss"-themed mini-metropolis, complete with bespoke electric luxury cars and tiny "executive suites" where the toddlers of the global elite played with miniature briefcases stuffed with gold-coin chocolates.
Alaric stood on the upper balcony, surveying the sea of guests with a sharp, predatory gaze. Beside him, Lucifer—clad in a custom navy blue three-piece suit—was occupied with a toy tablet programmed to display mock financial growth charts.
"You see that, tiger? Everyone down there has come to pay you their respects," Alaric murmured, his hand resting firmly on his son's head.
"Pa! Party! Lots of people!" Lucifer babbled, his speech becoming more refined by the day.
