"We're heading out," Mark murmured, his warm breath grazing Cecilia's ear, eliciting a slight shiver.

Her eyes lifted to meet his.

He raised a hand, gently caressing her shoulder and back, his voice a soft prompt.

"Try to get some rest."

Before she could muster a retort, Mark had whisked Edwin away.

Descending the stairs, they encountered Korbyn.

Mark greeted him politely.

Korbyn, sipping his tea with a leisurely air, remarked with a smirk, “Hearing you this humble feels odd. But after your near-daily visits?

That's better now I guess."

Though not a fan of Mark, Korbyn harbored a deep affection for Edwin.

He beckoned the boy over with a wave, ruffling his hair and planting a kiss atop his head.

As Mark departed, Korbyn's final words carried a laden meaning.

“Cecilia's no spring chicken. There are certain matters neither her mother nor I need fret over. But just remember, as long as we're here, no one's going to take advantage of her and get away with it.”

The implication wasn't lost on Mark.

He was free to woo Cecilia, but coercion was off the table.

Mark's smile held a trace of resignation.

"I understand, Dad."

A flicker of discomfort crossed Korbyn's features, finding Mark's familiarity brazen. He scoffed.

“Don't call me that. You are no longer married to Cecilia."

Mark's response was a simple, amiable smile.