Mark grinned and said, "No. It's just I've thought about something the wrong way all the time."

Mark had long believed that women like Cathy and Miss Holt embodied independence. However, Peter's words made him realize he was wrong on that.

Cecilia was the epitome of the self-reliant woman he had always admired.

Perhaps she lived comfortably with only modest goals.

Still, considering her origins in the Fowler family, how could anyone expect her to be ordinary?

Her love had its boundaries.

The thought of Cecilia made Mark's heart flutter. He was eager to reunite with her.

Peter had a knack for reading Mark's mind. After guessing what was on Mark's mind, he refrained from adding more words.

By nine o'clock in the evening, the private jet touched down.

An hour and a half later, Mark was back at the villa.

In the hallway, there was just a single wall lamp still lit.

Surrounded by the gentle, golden light, he sensed the warmth of home.

A sweet home with Cecilia and Edwin.

Mark removed his coat and gazed around the villa adorned with decorations from a while ago, and his heart warmed with nostalgia.

He made his way upstairs and headed straight to the child's bedroom.

Edwin had dozed off. While sleeping, he remained perfectly still, lying on his side with his small body snugly wrapped under the quilt.

Only half of his soft face was visible. His brown hair had a shiny, vibrant color.

Mark perched on the bed's edge, loosened his shirt and leaned down to plant a kiss.

Edwin remained asleep, but he murmured something in his dream.

Mark watched over him tenderly for some time.