Chapter 147: Chapter 147 Barefoot

Ignatius Leclair finished reviewing the group’s quarterly report and returned to the bedroom. Finding it cold and empty, he finally went to the small attic to retrieve someone.

There had been plenty happening these days; Delphine had taken to sleeping in the attic, and he hadn’t stopped her. But when he recalled Bessie Leclair mentioning earlier that Griffith Squire had gone to the production team that afternoon, he couldn’t sit still anymore.

Ignatius saw her barefoot and had no idea how long she had been in the night breeze or crying there. His face sank slightly, and he strode forward wordlessly, scooping her up in his arms.

The man’s cold, pine-like scent enveloped her, making Delphine shudder. She wanted to move but realized that sitting for so long had made her limbs numb. She buried her face into his firm chest, rubbing her tears onto his clothes, and sniffled softly.

Ignatius carried her directly to his bedroom. Seeing her sitting obediently on the bed with her head bowed, he went to the bathroom to fetch a warm towel.

Being carried here by him, the vast bedroom was filled with his distinct pine scent—on the air, the pillows, the bedding. An inexplicable calm washed over her. She watched him suddenly crouch down to take hold of her foot, her body trembling violently. She shrank her foot back, hoarsely asking, "What are you doing?"

The man’s palm was warm and strong as he held her chilled, petite foot.

Ignatius let out a low, deep chuckle, his gaze dropping to her toes that curled nervously. Pink, delicate, innocently charming. After carefully wiping her feet clean with the warm towel, he pinched her tender toes lightly and spoke in a deep tone: "From now on, don’t go barefoot. You’ll catch a cold too easily."

Delphine met his dark, luminous eyes and shivered slightly, shaking her head quickly.

The rhythm of the moment took her with it, almost making her forget the nightmare she had earlier. Her entire body remained tense; the air seemed stifling and hot, his invading aura subtle yet oppressive, as though barely restrained.

"This afternoon, did Griffith Squire visit you at the production set?" Ignatius lowered his eyes, veiling the fiery intensity beneath them, and asked leisurely.

His tone was gentle, but Delphine’s heart surged upward with tension. The night breeze and her muddled thoughts seemed to dissipate, leaving her more alert. She carefully replied, "I think so. I was filming—I didn’t pay much attention. Why are you asking about him?"

Ignatius chuckled coldly, his laugh tinged with frost. As he raised his eyes, his deep-set, narrow phoenix-like gaze appeared as if exquisitely carved by God. Beneath the surface of his pupils glinted an opulent, dark light that seemed poised to pierce through her defenses.

"Griffith Squire came to the South Isles with an agenda. If you wish to live well, stay far away from him."

Delphine nodded solemnly, her gaze faintly flickering. The person she least wanted to provoke was Griffith Squire. After leaving that household years ago, she avoided contacting Leah for three years, all to steer clear of Griffith. Yet, after all this time, everything had come full circle, leading their paths to cross once more.

"You and Leah Squire have a good relationship?" Ignatius suddenly thought of something. Over the years, he had never seen her grow close to anyone, except for Griffith Squire’s younger sister.

"We owe each other our lives," Delphine paused briefly before answering stoically. She and Leah shared a bond forged in life and death.

Ignatius’s brows darkened, his thin lips pressing together. He didn’t ask further, turned off the lights, climbed into bed, and kissed her.

He didn’t ask her why she had been crying on the terrace in the middle of the night. Nor did he ask what had happened after she escaped from that family, or how she came to know the infamous Griffith Squire. The pain from five years ago cut far too deep. For both of them, time was needed to untangle those knots and move forward.

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