With an abundance of patience, Mark stood there.

The passage of time seemed to stretch endlessly until, at last, Cecilia emerged from the vehicle and advanced ahead, disregarding his presence.

Beneath the soft glow of a dim street lamp, her graceful silhouette concealed itself in the shadow of a sycamore tree. Early autumn had stripped the leaves away, creating an air of desolation.

With a gentle click, Mark shut the car door behind him.

Swiftly, he reached out and captured her wrist, pulling her into his embrace before she could react.

Perhaps the allure of the night was too potent, or it was the nostalgic familiarity that prompted him to recall past memories.

His customary sense of restraint abandoned him.

He pressed his lips against hers, his grip at the back of her head, not heeding any semblance of gentleness, even stifling her breath with the intensity of his fervor.

"Mark! Let go of me,"

Cecilia implored, her desperate struggle proving futile as his hold remained unyielding.

Soon, the smell of tobacco permeated her nostrils.

His scent enveloped her entirely.

Mark appeared well-groomed but only she knew that the lingering aroma of his masculinity would cling to her skin for a considerable duration after this encounter.

The passionate kiss endured, seemingly interminable.

Eventually, he released his grip on her.

In a surprising turn, his fine and handsome countenance received a resounding slap, the sound resonating through the night air.

Mark was suave by nature.

However, it was no secret that he possessed a volatile temper, with women often bending to accommodate him. None dared to act spoiled in his presence, let alone raise a hand against him.

Except for Cecilia.

After the slap, she averted her gaze, her eyes reddened.

"Who gave you the right to kiss me,

Mark? What do you think | am to you? Are we here because you want to continue our shameless affair?”