Mark's response remained unspoken, shrouded in silence.

He placed Edwin on his lap, retrieved a candy from his pocket, and presented it to him.

Edwin placed the candy in his mouth but continued to gaze at Mark expectantly.

Mark too yearned for staying, to bask in the joy of making his son happy. But he needed to depart, a multitude of matters requiring his attention at the base.

His internal struggle did not evade Waylen's notice.

Thus, Waylen reached out, taking Edwin in his arms, and patted him gently.

“Go upstairs and play with Leonel. I need to talk to your father."

A momentary pout of disappointment graced Edwin's tender features. Nevertheless, he obediently ascended the stairs. Mark's heart ached profoundly.

At five years old, Edwin already yearned for his father's companionship. Yet, as his father, Mark had failed to spend more than a few days with him. He couldn't even promise him a snowball fight. Waylen, attuned to Mark's mood, could sense the turmoil within him.

However, he refrained from intervening in the intricacies between Mark and Cecilia. Their attachment was complex, after all.

With the aspiration that Cecilia might reconcile with Mark still lingering in his heart, Waylen personally poured a cup of tea for Mark, After a contemplative pause, he asked, “What are your plans after wrapping up this project?"

Clutching the teacup, Mark gazed pensively at the drifting snowflakes outside.

He comprehended Waylen's unspoken inquiry.

His reply, hushed and thoughtful, emerged.

“My family has some projects.

The younger generation is struggling to manage them effectively. I'm considering revitalizing these ventures, giving them a fresh lease on life."

Waylen chose not to push Mark further. Mark's departure was scheduled for four in the afternoon.

However, he set out earlier, around two. Waylen understood his reasons all too well.

After embracing Edwin, Mark departed into the heavy snow. As he stepped into the waiting car, Peter couldn't resist asking, “It's not yet time. Why the early departure?"

Mark, slipping off his leather gloves, fixed his gaze forward with his mesmerizing, narrowed eyes.

“To the studio. And make a pit stop halfway. I want to buy cups of milk tea."

Peter pulled away with an understanding smile.