A fluorescent green luxury car bathed in sunlight, speeding down the road.
The smooth lines of the body and the haloed reflections of its paint all hinted at the owner's exceptional taste and style.
The car drove into a villa district in Kingstown where land prices were sky‑high, and pulled into the underground garage of a single-family Chinese-style villa.
The door opened, and what came into view first was Eason Chalmers' head of pink hair, followed by his delicate features, tall frame, and cool, stylish way of dressing—like the handsome boy-next-door who'd just walked out of a TV drama, full of sunshine and energy.
Only, once he stepped through the door and saw the gentlemanly, refined man having tea with his old dad in the living room, Eason curled his lips into a lazy grin, and snapped in sharp Kingstown slang:
"Yo, Dad, since when did you pick up a godson? He's at home more often than your actual son."
