the two-faced Adopted Girl Who Melted CEO's Ice-Cold Heart
Chapter 138 The woman couldn’t move, but that Griffith Squire could

Chapter 138: Chapter 138 The woman couldn’t move, but that Griffith Squire could

Outside, the raven-gray centuries-old house stood silent in the passage of time, witnessing births, deaths, and the decay of splendors into ashes.

Delphine’s eyes stung slightly; deep down, she hoped he would uncover her past five years, then walk over and embrace her in repentance. Her heart had once been so tender, nothing like the cold, razor-sharp hardness it was now.

The things lost would never return, and the wounds inflicted remained, rising like venomous snakes coiled in her soul on countless damp, shadow-filled nights, tearing into her, suffocating her with unbearable pain.

There was no way for them to return to the past in this lifetime.

So, if Ignatius Leclair believed that she had been with Griffith Squire, then let him think so.

Ignatius saw her serene expression, his fists clenched tight, veins visibly bulging on his hands. His handsome face was cold and sharp as a blade, suppressing the raging beast within that roared to be set free. She wouldn’t even bother to lie to him!

"Do you think," his voice was deep and low, his gaze consumed by a dark and turbulent storm as he spoke each word deliberately, "this will make me let you go?"

"No. Way."

What belonged to him, even if tarnished, would remain his so long as he desired it. If it was dirty, then it could be cleaned. Such a crazed notion flickered in the depths of his mind. He spoke in a heavy tone, "From now on, stay away from Griffith Squire."

Delphine let out a faintly cold smile. Seeing him like this made her scoff—men, such creatures—when you love them, they treat you like a plaything with utter disregard. But the moment someone covets what’s theirs, they instantly erupt in fury. It all boiled down to territorial invasion and challenged authority, devoid of real emotion.

Ignatius watched the mocking smile tugged at her lips, his face darkened, his fury reached its zenith. A wild urge to strangle this woman consumed him, yet logic screamed that he must not harm her. His eyes turned pitch black, and he lowered his head, biting down hard onto her pale, tender shoulder.

Delphine let out a muffled groan, her expression paling in pain. But she dared not move; if she angered him further, she would only suffer more.

Ignatius did not come back to his senses until his mouth tasted the faint tang of blood. Seeing her shoulder now marked with deep rows of bloody teeth impressions, his handsome face turned slightly ashen. As if driven by something inexplicable, he lowered his head to lick away the blood on her wound. Then, as if snapped awake, he staggered out of the car, slamming the door with a deafening impact.

Maximilian and Dongzi, huddled in a corner doing their best to minimize their presence, shivered involuntarily, stood in a line, their eyes fixed forward, silently repeating to themselves: You can’t see me. You can’t see me.

The sound of the car door slamming jolted Delphine’s entire body. She quickly pulled her clothes on, took a deep breath, opened the car door, and ran off toward the film crew without looking back. Spotting Dongzi waiting ahead, she suppressed her frantic trembling and said urgently, "Move now."

Ignatius watched her fleeing figure, leaning against the car door, his face cloaked in a shadowy layer of inscrutable malice. The man’s upbringing imbued him with restraint, so even at his angriest, he wouldn’t resort to hysterically destructive acts. The table-flipping this morning had already been a rare moment of uncontrollable fury.

Ignatius exhaled deeply, no longer looking at Delphine’s back. His brows tightened, his face grew darker, and he uttered coldly, "Head to Cloud Summit."

The woman was untouchable, but Griffith Squire— that damn bastard— was fair game. A brutal glint flashed in Ignatius’s eyes.

Meanwhile, Griffith, having avoided Ignatius, left the film crew ahead of time. First, he treated himself to a lavish meal before leisurely strolling into Cloud Summit.

Upon entering, he immediately sensed the tense atmosphere. Griffith raised a brow, the sly smirk on his lips receding slightly.

His trusted aide also picked up on the odd ambiance and murmured in a low tone, "Boss, I’ll go get some reinforcements."

Griffith said nothing. Ignatius Leclair—in South Asia, this man had kept a profile almost too low, leaving virtually no useful information about him. Griffith had only encountered him twice since arriving here and found him unfathomable. Could it be that something Griffith said today provoked Ignatius into setting up a trap like this—a veritable ’feast at Hongmen’?

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