Chapter 502: Your Gene Is So Powerful

Little Prince Augustine, Elvis's son, was born three years ago, creating a media sensation. Speculation about the boy's mother ran rampant, fueled by Elvis's unmarried status and his notoriously transient relationships. Regardless, the child was born into the Augustine family's opulence, becoming their eldest grandson. This year, three-year-old Prince Augustine is recognized as a prodigy, a child of exceptional intelligence.

Elvis, speaking of his son, his handsome eyebrows softened with tenderness, said, "You don't need to give a gift. He won't like it."

Clara, expressing both disappointment and determination, replied lovingly, "I know, but I must try. My gift is ready; I'll have your secretary, Andrew, collect it. Mr. Augustine, you can't refuse. Please say something nice to Little Prince Augustine, tell him Sister Clara prepared it especially for him." Her sweet voice was undeniably pleasant.

Peterson, overhearing the conversation, sneered inwardly. Princess Clara's tactics were subtle yet effective. Only she, in the past three years, had earned such preferential treatment from the young master. Everyone understood she was emulating Olive. However, Peterson secretly welcomed it. He deeply resented Olive for her cruelty three years prior. Olive's return to her home country three years ago had brought no news, and it seemed unlikely she would ever return. Clara's presence beside the young master was preferable.

Elvis replied simply, "I understand," and hung up. Peterson stepped forward, presenting the latest schedule, "Young master, are there any issues?" Before Elvis could respond, his phone rang again—this time, it was Mrs. Samantha.

"Hi, Grandma," Elvis answered.

Mrs. Samantha's reproachful voice immediately filled the line. "Elvis, where are you? Lil' Nathan just chased another psychiatrist away! This is the nth one! Get home!" She hung up, furious.

Peterson explained, "Young master, the little master is... intimidating psychologists. They're simply no match for him. One tried a written questionnaire; Nathan deceived him. Another tried a Rubik's Cube competition—the little master started cubing at two! A third tried hypnosis with a sand table; the psychologist fell asleep first!"

Elvis frowned. His son had been exceptional since birth, possessing an IQ exceeding two hundred. He was a genius, but also a handful. Lil' Nathan, despite his three years of age, had a significant developmental issue: he couldn't speak. Doctors suspected an intellectual disability that could lead to lifelong mutism. The Augustine family's attempts to engage him with therapists had consistently failed; the professionals retreated, bewildered and defeated.

"They're the best in the world," Elvis muttered, his lips pursed.

Peterson could only offer, "Young master, it's simply your powerful genes at work."

Elvis merely said, "Let's go to the Red Villa."

At the Red Villa, Mrs. Samantha and Betty had been waiting for three years. Lil' Nathan remained locked in his room. They pleaded with him through the door. Betty offered a cake, knowing his fondness for sweets, but to no avail.

Elvis arrived. His gaze fixed on the closed door before turning to his grandmother. "Grandma, let me handle this."

"Elvis, come to the office with me!" Mrs. Samantha snapped, leading him away.

"Grandina, what is it?" Elvis asked.

Mrs. Samantha slammed an entertainment newspaper on the desk. "You have a new mistress, the daughter of an oil tycoon!"

Elvis, ignoring the paper, calmly unbuttoned his coat. "I'll handle the press."

"Elvis," Mrs. Samantha exclaimed, "if you want to marry, I won't stop you. But this constant changing of women...it's been three years. Are you even happy?"

"Grandma, don't worry about it," Elvis replied flatly.

"But I'm your grandmother! I know you were seriously injured three years ago, nearly killed by Olive's knife…" Before she could finish, Elvis hurled an ashtray through a French window, the sound deafening.