the two-faced Adopted Girl Who Melted CEO's Ice-Cold Heart
Chapter 126: It Turns Out That He Was the First to Have Feelings Back Then

Chapter 126: Chapter 126: It Turns Out That He Was the First to Have Feelings Back Then

Inside Squire Manor, Griffith Squire stood by the window, watching the stormy night outside while listening to his subordinate’s report.

"That third-rate actress—Ignatius Leclair had someone ruin her face completely and dumped her by the roadside. Thiago Wade has two broken ribs and has been sent back to the Wade Family. After this incident, it’s safe to say the Wade Family has thoroughly infuriated Ignatius Leclair."

He didn’t let a single one get away. Griffith Squire squinted briefly.

Father against son, calculating against each other, all while Delphine was being treated as nothing more than a pawn. Ignatius Leclair didn’t hold back, directly striking out against the Wade Family on the spot.

Men know other men best, perceiving things others cannot. That man might as well have plastered "Ignatius Leclair’s property" onto Delphine’s forehead.

You’d have to be blind not to notice such blatant masculine possessiveness. If not for Reginald Yeager seizing the opportunity to stir the pot, Ignatius Leclair might have already confessed, under Stone Leclair’s intense pressure, that he had been the man involved in the scandal years ago.

Griffith Squire’s lips curled into a cold, cynical smile. Tonight, he had deliberately sent Leah away to let those clowns make their move. He hadn’t expected to be unknowingly set up by Stone Leclair, let alone for Thiago Wade to step in, Reginald Yeager to snatch the advantage, and Ignatius Leclair to escape the trap. A complete misstep.

And then there was Stone Leclair, that shameless old man. Griffith Squire’s expression darkened further as he instructed, "Keep an eye on the Leclair Family."

A night of torrential rain. Ignatius Leclair woke abruptly in the early hours and got up to close the windows, which had been blown open by the storm. The old house had traditional-style windows—the old man was sentimental, and despite several rounds of repairs, the house’s original design remained unchanged, devoid of modern elements.

Ignatius Leclair shut the windows, noticing how desolate the room felt. Without thinking, he put on his loungewear and headed downstairs to the side hall.

The side hall had only a nightlight lit. The storm lashed against the windows, and black lightning split the sky, leaving jagged crimson streaks on the horizon as the rain intensified.

Ignatius Leclair stood by the window, looking out at the suffocating darkness of the night. Sudden memories of a stormy night six or seven years ago surfaced—the weather then was as violent. Unable to sleep, he had gotten up to brew coffee.

At that point, he had not long returned to Southeast Asia, taking over his late mother’s estate, managing it piece by piece, often working late into the night.

His mother’s death had devastated his grandmother, leaving her bitter towards the Leclair Estate and eager to bring him back to the Howard Family. During that time, Isaac Leclair had just been born, Stone Leclair had risen to prominence in Braxton, and though his wife had passed away, the man had kept numerous women outside and even had a younger woman bearing his child. He was at the height of his glory—how could Ignatius, coldly observing from afar, possibly want to return to the Howard Family? He even altered the trajectory of his life, opting to remain in Southeast Asia.

Originally, he had planned to settle with his mother in the United Kingdom, graduating from Cambridge and pursuing a career in politics, making a mark in the political arena as a British Chinese.

At the time, Stone Leclair had already made significant strides in his political career. Ignatius, still young, would have needed at least a decade to surpass him. He couldn’t wait that long; instead, he abandoned politics for business upon returning to Southeast Asia.

Back then, he had been young, navigating the whirlwind of life’s upheavals. Though outwardly composed, never showing sadness, he struggled to sleep through the nights. During one stormy night, he had gone downstairs, accompanied only by the light of the fireplace, to brew coffee—and discovered a young girl huddled near the extinguished hearth.

It was a deep autumn evening. The fire in the hearth had long gone cold. He approached, crouched down, reached out, and poked at the head of the petite figure curled up and trembling.

The girl flinched and lifted her head. Her pale face quivered at the sound of thunder, her eyes like dark gemstones brimming with fear and unease.

Like a nervous kitten, she tentatively and timidly clutched at the sleeve of his pajama top, her voice so soft and frail it could almost break: "Brother."

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