When Mark stood in the middle of the bedroom.
By the dim light of the oil lamp on the wall of the bedroom.
Mark clearly saw a figure leaning against the big bed.
It was the previous Marquis Duca, Mark's biological father, Donovan Ducas!
In Mark's memory, the originally tall and burly Donovan was now all thin and bony.
On his arms, the twisted, coiled veins could be clearly seen beneath the yellow-black skin.
On the wrinkled neck, Donovan's sharp, high Adam's apple bulged and rolled abruptly as he swallowed.
The once lustrous black hair that captivated countless young women had now become sparse.
Strangely.
The obviously terminally ill Donovan had a reddish flush on his hollow-cheeked face…
At a glance, Mark knew that Donovan did not have much time left.
Donovan sat leaning on the big bed, his eyes intently staring at Mark, speaking once more in a strong voice.
"What? Do you not recognize your own father?"
