NovelBarMark possessed a distinction that set him apart from the rest of his family. He held a prestigious position in his career as a politician.
Regarding the other members of the Evans family, they dabbled in business and the arts. Yet, when critical decisions had to be made, it was Mark who assumed the mantle of authority.
Mark’s lifelong singularity had become the stuff of legends.
Throughout his existence, he had ceaselessly sought out his long-lost twin sister.
Gazing outwards, Korbyn’s voice resonated softly, laden with a tinge of caution. “This gentleman from the Evans family may appear unassuming but behind closed doors, he is ruthless. Many have perished due to his machinations. Waylen…. How did you manage to incur his wrath?”
Waylen entertained a few hypotheses.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtHowever, he chose not to divulge them explicitly. Sporting an enigmatic smile, he merely replied, “Perhaps it is due to the scarcity of members within the Evans family. They may be seeking a suitable son-in-law.”
Korbyn’s anger skyrocketed.
He extinguished his cigarette and hissed vehemently, “Accompany me downstairs to receive our esteemed guest.”
With that, Korbyn descended the staircase, accompanied by his son.
In the grand hall of the Fowler estate, a figure of elegance stood tall, hands tucked behind his back, his gaze fixated upon an authentic painting adorning the wall.
Though his features were not distinctly visible, the gracefulness of his posture was resplendent.
Upon hearing the approaching footsteps, the man turned around, a faint smile playing upon his lips.
Despite being in his forties, he exuded a remarkable charm, appearing no older than thirty-five or thirty-six.
Korbyn experienced a jolt of astonishment within.
However, the more affable Mark appeared, the more Korbyn sought to interject with a touch of sarcasm.
Of course, Korbyn was no stranger to the art of deception. Far from being taken aback, he warmly extended his hand, greeting Mark, “Mr. Evans, do you happen to admire the painting that caught your attention?”
Sporting a genial smile, Mark responded, “Mr. Fowler, would I dare to pilfer your cherished possession?”
Korbyn offered a few vague remarks before instructing a servant to serve tea.
Waylen, usually brimming with pride, took the tray from the servant, expertly pouring a cup of tea for Mark, and respectfully offered it to the man. “Mr. Evans, this tea is truly exceptional. I implore you to savor it.”
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmKorbyn’s eyes widened, pondering whether a remarkable transformation had befallen Waylen’s character.
Mark possessed a lucid awareness of the situation at hand.
Instead of partaking in the tea, he delicately retrieved a faded, yellowed photograph from his tailored suit pocket. Placing it gently upon the tea table, a smile graced his lips as he remarked, “Today, I have come to seek information about an individual from you, Mr. Fowler,”
Waylen picked up the photograph.
The young woman captured within its frame possessed a captivating beauty and an air of nimbleness, akin to Rena.
Mark finally lifted the teacup, but as his lips hovered near its rim, he paused and inquired, “Mr. Fowler, does she bear a resemblance to someone familiar? This is my long-lost younger sister, who vanished years ago… Yet she left behind a daughter named Rena Gordon.”
Having uttered those words, Mark gently returned the cup to its resting place.
He turned his gaze towards Korbyn and Waylen, his tone courteous as he continued, “I have been fervently searching for her for an extensive period. I heard that she shares a profound connection with young Mr. Fowler, thus I took the liberty of coming here to inquire about her.”
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