Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 106: The Name I Forgot

Chapter 106: The Name I Forgot

Mark hurried down the winding village path, the gravel crunching under his shoes.

The sun was barely peeking through the mist, casting a soft haze over Solmere.

His chest was tight, and not from the jog—he knew what was waiting for him.

Mr. Frank.

The man’s messages had grown more relentless with every passing minute.

Missed calls, then texts, then more missed calls. Mark didn’t want this confrontation—not yet, maybe not ever—but it was here.

The cool morning air scraped at his face as he walked briskly, the village almost silent at this hour.

In the distance, the guest house sat like a quiet, hidden haven, a place Mark never thought he’d return to so soon.

It felt like a different lifetime — before the chaos, before Billy’s village, before everything had been thrown off course.

He could still see Leo’s smile, frozen in the photos from so long ago, next to Mr. Frank’s crooked grin, frozen in time.

But now, the only thing frozen was the unanswered question hanging between them.

As he turned the corner toward the guest house, he spotted him. Mr. Frank stood out sharply against the sleepy village backdrop.

Immaculate as always in a tailored coat despite the rural air, he was pacing near the gate, phone in hand, his jaw set and tense.

The moment he saw Mark, he stopped. Took you long enough, to show up.

Mark sighed, his voice low. "You didn’t exactly give me a choice."

Mr. Frank stepped forward, the lines on his face deeper than Mark remembered. His eyes, usually sharp with wit or sarcasm, were tired today—worried.

"I’ve been calling since dawn," he said. "Where the hell is Leo staying, Mark?"

Mark looked away, hands in his jacket pockets. "I told you before—he’s fine. Just needed time."

Mr. Frank’s voice snapped, sharp like breaking glass. "You said that week ago. You think I flew all the way here to chase riddles? I want to see my nephew. Now."

Mark’s lips parted, then closed. His jaw clenched. "You should’ve stayed in the city."

"And you should’ve told me where he is the moment I asked!" Mr. Frank shot back, then caught himself, exhaling hard through his nose.

He pinched the bridge of it. "Mark, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m not here to dig into anyone’s life. I just want to see Leo. Is that too much?"

Mark hesitated. His throat felt dry.

"I didn’t want you coming here. I knew this would happen," he muttered.

"What?" Mr. Frank stepped closer. "What would happen?"

Mark looked up, finally meeting his eyes. "Everything getting messy. This place... It’s not like the city. It’s quiet. Calm. I just thought he needed peace."

Mr. Frank’s expression softened—just slightly. "He’s my family, Mark.You think I’d just sit back and wait while he vanishes without a word?"

There was a long pause.

Mark finally exhaled, a breath he’d been holding since the moment he saw Frank’s name flash on his screen.

"He’s here. In Solmere," he said quietly.

Mr. Frank blinked. "where exactly?"

"He’s here. He’s been here."

For a moment, Mr. Frank didn’t say anything. His mouth opened, but no words came.

Then, quieter now: "Take me to him."

Mark didn’t move.

"Please, Mark."

Mark nodded slowly, the weight of his decision sinking in. He already regretted it.

But there was no going back now.

The walk back to the house felt longer than usual.

Mark led the way, his steps heavy, gaze mostly fixed on the ground.

Gravel crunched beneath their feet, but the silence between him and Mr. Frank was louder.

Once or twice, Mr. Frank looked like he might speak, but he didn’t. He respected the quiet—for now.

The village air clung with the scent of morning dew, and faint mist still curled around the fence posts. Overhead, drifting clouds moved like thoughts yet to settle.

A few distant sounds—birds, a cartwheel creaking, someone calling out from the neighboring field—reminded them the day was moving, even if their thoughts weren’t.

When they finally approached the house, Mark slowed, turning toward the front porch.

"Wait here," he said quietly, his voice barely above the wind.

Mr. Frank gave a single nod, his brows drawn tight. He remained by the fence, fingers tapping restlessly against his coat.

Mark stepped up to the door, inhaled once, then pushed it open.

Inside was quiet.

Billy sat curled up on the couch, one leg folded beneath him, flipping casually through a worn magazine.

His damp hair clung slightly to his forehead from a recent wash, eyes soft and half-focused, unaware of anything out of place.

Mr. Dand had already left—probably to tend to the fields or the neighbor’s mule again.

The air inside held the soft warmth of a home already lived in for the morning.

But the moment Mark stepped in, Artur turned from the hallway.

He paused mid-step.

There was something different about Mark’s face. His shoulders weren’t carrying their usual calm weight. His lips were tight. His gaze avoided everyone.

Artur frowned and stepped closer. "Mark?"

Mark looked up like someone surfacing from deep water—face pale, breath caught. Regret swam in his eyes before words could.

Artur tilted his head. "What’s wrong, bro?"

Mark didn’t answer at first.

He exhaled, long and low, rubbed the back of his neck, and finally met Artur’s eyes. "I’m... sorry."

Artur blinked. "Sorry?"

"I didn’t mean for this to happen," Mark added, voice low. "But it’s already done. I told him."

"Told who what—?"

Mark turned his head slightly toward the door and called out, with the weight of finality in his voice, "Come in, sir."

There was a beat. Then the soft creak of the door, followed by calm but steady footsteps.

Billy looked up from the couch, confused at the unfamiliar voice.

Artur slowly turned toward the door as a man stepped into the room—clean-cut, older, refined, yet visibly tense. His sharp eyes scanned the room quickly before landing on one face.

Billy.

Silence spread like cold mist through the room.

Billy sat completely still, fingers frozen against the magazine, his expression faltering in slow motion—first confusion, then something distant, buried.

Mr. Frank didn’t speak yet. His face wasn’t angry, only searching. Hopeful. Fragile.

Artur stood still, caught between them, his gaze flickering from Mark to Billy to the stranger at the door.

Mark lowered his eyes again. "I’m sorry," he whispered, more to Billy than anyone else.

The room held its breath.

Mr. Frank stepped inside, time seemed to freeze.

His eyes locked on Billy, sitting quietly on the couch. The soft lamp beside him lit half his face, casting a warm glow that only deepened the shock settling into Mr. Frank’s features.

His lips parted, barely breathing. "Leo...?"

Billy looked up at the voice, confused, then glanced toward Mark, unsure.

Mr. Frank didn’t move at first—he just stared, as if his body didn’t quite believe his eyes.

His voice cracked again, barely holding it together. "Oh my God... Leo, it’s you."

Billy stood slowly, the name hitting his ears like static—familiar, yet unreachable. A flicker behind his eyes—recognition? Or just fear of the unknown? "I’m sorry... should I know you?"

The words stopped Mr. Frank cold.

"What?" he whispered, his eyebrows tightening, his voice trembling with disbelief. "It’s me—Frank. Leo, it’s Frank—your uncle. I’ve been looking for you for months. We all thought—God, we didn’t know if you were even alive."

Billy’s breath caught. He looked at Artur, then at Mark. Something shifted behind his eyes—panic or pressure, even he didn’t seem to know.

Mr. Frank stepped forward, emotions catching up to him in waves. "I was there with you that day at the resort, Leo. At the shoot. When the accident happened, when the wave pulled you in—Jesus, we thought you were gone.

The whole crew searched the shoreline. Every day. I called every hospital, every coast guard. We never gave up."

Billy swallowed, voice quieter than before. "I don’t understand, I’m not Leo."

"Yes, you are," Mr. Frank said, his voice rising—not in anger, but grief

"That scar—" he pointed to Billy’s shoulder, "the one from falling off your bike when you were ten.

The way you bite your lip when you’re nervous. You used to pace the dressing room with your headphones in before every scene. Leo, I know you."

Billy’s hand hovered near his chest, as if he were trying to steady the weight forming there. His voice cracked. "But I don’t remember any of that."

Silence fell, heavy and devastating.

Mr. Frank turned sharply to Mark. "You didn’t tell me," he said, his voice tight with disbelief. "You found him—and you didn’t say a damn thing about the memory loss?"

"I couldn’t," Mark said softly. "I didn’t know how. I was going to—when you got here. But I knew it would break you."

Frank stared. Jaw clenched. Chest heaving. A breath, then another. "You didn’t tell me."

Billy took a small step back, overwhelmed. "I’m sorry."

Mr. Frank turned back to him. His eyes were already red, filled with too many unshed emotions. But he softened instantly at Billy’s voice.

"No. No, Leo—you don’t need to be sorry," he said quickly. "I am. I should’ve been there. I should’ve done more." He blinked fast, fighting to hold his composure. "You don’t have to remember me. But I remember you. And I’m just... so damn glad you’re alive."

Billy’s chest rose with a heavy breath. His hand found Artur’s unconsciously.

Artur didn’t speak. He simply stood steady at Billy’s side, present and quiet.

Frank noticed it.

He gave a small, grateful nod. "Whoever’s been with you... thank you."

Still dazed, Billy asked, "Why did you call me Leo?"

Frank’s throat tightened again. "Because that’s your name. Leo Sandoval. You’re my nephew—and my family. You’ve been missing for over 15 months, and everyone thought you drowned. We’ve been grieving someone who’s still breathing."

Billy blinked, disoriented, I go by Billy.

"Maybe now," Frank said gently. "But I think... maybe it doesn’t matter what name you go by. What matters is that you’re okay."

Billy didn’t answer. His face was still—a storm of confusion and flickers of pain passing behind his eyes.

Mark stepped closer. "We didn’t plan to hide him, Mr. Frank. I swear. We just wanted to give him space to heal. None of us expected this."

Frank nodded faintly, glancing once more at Billy, softer now. "Can I stay in the village for a few days?" he asked gently. "I won’t push you to come back.

I just want to be near you. To answer your questions... if you ever want answers."

Billy hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Okay."

Frank exhaled shakily, hand brushing his face. "Thank you, Leo."

"I’m... trying," Billy whispered.

"I know," Frank said, his voice heavy but warm. "You always did."

Mr. Frank finally loosened the grip of his embrace, eyes misty, his hands still on Leo’s shoulders as if afraid that letting go would make him disappear again.

"I still can’t believe this..." he muttered, studying Leo’s face like it was a dream. "After all this time... after everything..."

Billy—Leo—shifted uncomfortably under the weight of it all.

The name didn’t fit in his mouth, not yet. It hovered like someone else’s coat—too familiar, too heavy. And still, part of him didn’t want to take it off.

Mr. Frank caught the hesitation in his expression. "I know it’s a lot. And I won’t rush you." He gave a gentle pat to Billy’s chest. "Just knowing you’re alive... that’s enough for me right now."

He turned to Artur, offering a quiet, grateful nod. "Thank you. For looking after him."

Artur, still silent, returned the nod, his expression unreadable.

Mr. Frank took a long breath and stepped back toward the door, his voice softer now. —his gaze lingered on Billy"I’m staying in the guest house down the road. Solmere’s, you’ll find it. Or just ask your friend here." He motioned toward Mark.

Billy gave a small nod, unsure of what to say.

Mark stepped aside, holding the door open. Mr. Frank glanced back one more time—long enough for his eyes to find Leo’s—and then gave a faint smile. "We’ll talk again soon."

And with that, he stepped outside, Mark following behind, the door closing gently behind them.

Inside the house, the silence pressed in like a thick fog.

Billy stood there, his breath shallow.

Artur was still by the doorway, staring at him.

The storm hadn’t begun yet.

But it was coming.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.