His Lips descended upon hers in a deep, intense kiss, laden with a yearning that lingered in the air.

Initially resistant, Cecilia's 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 year's end loomed with a looming project deadline, yet Mark shied away from making promises he feared he couldn't keep.

After a lengthy silence, he murmured, “Don't let Edwin see this. He might think I'm picking on you."

Cecilia's frustration materialized in a playful punch to his shoulder.

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.

Mark's gaze remained locked on Cecilia.

Eventually, the car vanished from sight.

Returning to the villa's grand hall, Mark found Waylen perched on a sofa.

Seated across from him, Mark inquired in a low voice.

"Have you regained your memory?"

Waylen withheld nothing from Mark. A faint smile graced his lips.

Mark, for a fleeting moment, felt a hint of envy. He took a sip of tea to mask his emotions.

Waylen casually perused a magazine, remarking with nonchalance, "Mark, if you're considering relinquishing everything for Cecilia, the project is nearly done, and there shouldn't be any further mishaps."

Mark discerned the underlying message in Waylen's words.

Coincidentally, Edwin bounded down the stairs, a playful demeanor about him. His cheeks held a rosy hue as he approached Mark's side, softly summoning his father.

Mark's touch tenderly graced his son's head.

Edwin, his gaze brimming with anticipation, queried, “When the snow gets heavier, can you build a snowman with me?"