The man stood tall and lean, his features chiseled like a statue, and his mesmerizing blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. His aura was one of devil-may-care charm.
"Marvin, you're being naughty again," the man said, his voice a deep, rich melody that was oddly soothing.
But the little boy, Marvin Connolly, shivered slightly and nestled closer into Stella's embrace.
Seeing that, Stella protectively placed the boy behind her and asked, "Excuse me, sir, but who are you to this little boy?"
The man seemed to notice Stella then, his strong eyebrows arching slightly in surprise.
He answered, "And who am I to him? Well, I'm his father, of course."
Stella eyed him skeptically. "Are you sure?"
The man's lips curled into a lazy, almost teasing smile. "Shall we call the police and have them confirm?"
"Fine," Stella replied, pulling out her phone, ready to dial.
The little boy gently tugged at her sleeve. "There's no need to call the police. He, he is my dad."
Stella glanced from the boy to the striking man before her, sensing an unusual tension between them. However, since the boy had admitted it, she couldn't argue. She softly told the boy, "Well, if your dad's here, you should go home with him."
The boy suddenly protested, "I don't want to go with him!"
Stella's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of the boy's distress. A family quarrel, perhaps? Something sharp enough to send him fleeing into the night. She opened her mouth, ready to coax him toward reconciliation, but the man's voice cut through her thoughts like a blade.
"Well," he drawled, his tone dripping with nonchalance, "if home's not where you want to be, then don't go back. Simple as that."
Both Stella and Abby, standing nearby, were stunned and looked at the man.
"I'm Neville Connolly," the man introduced himself, "Marvin's father."
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