21. A Dinner

My heart pounded incessantly as Marco led me out of the room. His thumb rubbed the back of my hand, probably trying to calm me down, but it wasn't enough. I had absolutely no idea what a host was like in a mansion of this size and luxury.

"I'm afraid of meeting your father," I whispered, squeezing Marco's hand as we turned into another room.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No."

"Then you'll be fine meeting my father."

I frowned, wanting to ask him what he meant, but I quickly dropped it when we turned another corner and the scene in front of me was a dining table with a large number of chairs and four people sitting there.

Starting at the head of the table was a middle-aged man who looked so authoritative, powerful, and seemed to have so many things in his hands. One hundred percent sure it was Marco's father, the owner of this place, the master of this mansion. He had black hair, combed neatly back like Marco used to do. I now know where Marco's dominant attitude came from. Apparently he ha