Mark stared in confusion.
He still believed that this doctor was a neutral, alien man.
“You said you wanted to live, Mr. Peterson?” Leo asked.
His voice changed.
It was no longer flat and artificial.
Now it was his real voice.
A voice Mark could vaguely remember – older, deeper, honed by time.
“Yes, Doctor. I want to live,” Mark replied.
“That’s a shame,” Leo said and pulled on his hand.
He took off his mask, revealing his whole face.
“Because I’m not sure I want to save the man who once prayed for my death.”
The face was visible to the naked eye.
Expressive nose.
The same penetrating gaze.
Jaw line.
Genetic heritage.
It was Mark’s face – but younger, healthier, better.
Mark froze.
His eyes followed every inch of Leo’s face.
His mind struggled to connect the dots.
Then his eyes fell on the nameplate on the desk.
Dr. Leo Vance.
Mark opened his mouth.
He didn’t make a sound.
He stopped breathing.
His heart might have stopped for a moment.
He stared at the ghost of his past – now in power, holding his life on the end of a pen.
The silence was so heavy that the ticking of the wall clock sounded like a hammer.
Mark stared at Leo with a blank expression, as if someone had sucked his soul out.
Bella also stared open-mouthed.
She looked from Leo to Mark, recognizing the undeniable resemblance.
“L-Leo…” Mark’s voice sounded like the squeak of a trapped mouse.
“You are… you are Leo.”
Leo didn’t answer.
He simply looked Mark straight in the eyes, cold and penetrating, allowing him to swallow the bitter reality on his own.
Mark tried to stand up, but his knees shook so badly that he fell back down.
He stretched out a thin, trembling hand, trying to embrace the strong figure before him.
“It’s me, son. It’s your father,” Mark whispered.
Not tears of remorse.
Tears of fear.
Tears of manipulation.
“God, you’re a grown-up now. You’ve become… you’ve become a doctor.”
“My son became a doctor.”
The words tumbled out of his mouth as if he had any right to Leo’s success.
As if he was paying for his education.
As if he was driving him to school every morning.
In fact, he was the one who threw that son out onto the street.
Leo pushed away Mark’s hand that tried to touch the hem of his white coat.
Sharply.
Ultimately.
“Don’t touch me,” Leo said firmly. “Your hands are dirty.”
Mark withdrew his hand as if electrocuted.
“Leo, this is your father—your biological father. Your own blood. Don’t you recognize me?”
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