Markâs heart twinged.
Ceciliaâs departure was forestalled by Markâs grasp, his hand producing a cigarette.
Only half of it was smoked before it was snuffed out.
His Lips descended upon hers in a deep, intense ki*s, laden with a yearning that lingered in the air.
Initially resistant, Ceciliaâs resistance gradually softened.
But her eyes glistened with tears.
Mark desisted, his forehead meeting hers, his touch tender as he smoothed her dress.
He had failed her, burdening her with enough pain.
The yearâs end loomed with a looming project deadline, yet Mark shied away from making promises he feared he couldnât keep.
After a lengthy silence, he murmured, âDonât let Edwin see this.
He might think Iâm picking on you.
â
Ceciliaâs frustration materialized in a playful punch to his shoulder.
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Pushing the door ajar, she departed.
Mark trailed after her, observing her entrance to the car.
Her assistant occupied the front, a young boy likely from the studio accompanying them.
Markâs gaze remained locked on Cecilia.
Eventually, the car vanished from sight.
Returning to the villaâs grand hall, Mark found Waylen perched on a sofa.
Seated across from him, Mark inquired in a low voice.
âHave you regained your memory?â