the two-faced Adopted Girl Who Melted CEO's Ice-Cold Heart-Chapter 763: He will get better, you should like Ignatius Leclair
Ignatius Leclair knew that Griffith Squire was worried about Delphine overthinking alone at home, so he had deliberately come to keep her company. Still, there was a trace of discomfort lingering in Ignatius’s heart as he bent down to pick up the drunken Delphine.
"Delicious." Delphine murmured as she was lifted, squirming uncomfortably. She began fumbling in his arms, searching for alcohol.
Ignatius chuckled, his handsome brows alight with amusement. He stuffed an empty bottle into her hand. Seeing her clutch the empty bottle and fall asleep again, his smile deepened further.
Such a little drunkard.
Carrying her, the man stepped into the bathroom, filled the tub with hot water, and submerged her in it to wash away the smell of alcohol and spice from her body.
That sharp, biting scent lingered—how could Griffith have coaxed her into eating so much of that overly spicy food without worrying about her upset stomach? A faint trace of displeasure showed between Ignatius’s brows.
After bathing her and drying her off, Ignatius turned his gaze away somewhat awkwardly as he wrapped her in a towel and carried her to the bed. Only after safely tucking her in did he return to bathe himself.
By the time everything was cleaned up, it was already late into the night. Over the past few days, Ignatius had barely managed any sleep. Finally, with his head upon the pillow and the drunken Delphine murmuring nonsense beside him, he exhaled deeply, as though the exhaustion of several days dissipated in this moment.
Lowering his gaze, he stared quietly at her swollen cherry-red lips, his eyes darkening slightly. He leaned down and kissed her lightly, only to be met with such fierce spiciness that it made his phoenix eyes sting red.
Damned Griffith Squire!
Pinned beneath him, Delphine stirred uncomfortably. Pushing him away with a grumble, she muttered incoherently, "Too heavy."
Ignatius shifted his body slightly, no longer pressing down on her. His phoenix eyes, deep as a midnight abyss, quietly studied her. Leaning close to her ear, he gently bit her delicate shell-like earlobe and asked in a low, raspy voice, "Do you like Ignatius Leclair or Magnus Leclair?"
"I like Magnus," Delphine murmured, her small ear pinched lightly between his teeth, her brows furrowing painfully as she shifted uncomfortably.
The light in Ignatius’s eyes dimmed dangerously. Tightening his grip on her soft, slender waist, he carried on his questioning, "Why don’t you like Ignatius Leclair, hmm?"
"Bad." Delphine whimpered, struggling weakly against his grasp. Her eyelids felt heavy, her body utterly drained and limp.
"He’ll change, change for the better—so good, so very good. So, you must like Ignatius Leclair," the man whispered seductively in her ear, repeating himself over and over. He didn’t stop until her frustration reached its peak, her tears threatening to spill out. Finally, with a rare act of kindness, he let her go, pulling her close into his arms before falling deeply asleep.
The next morning, Delphine woke to find that Ignatius had already left. She glanced at her changed pajamas and the note left by him on the bedside table. Memories flickered faintly—getting drunk last night, Ignatius returning, his endless murmuring at her ear.
The painfully spicy dish Griffith had brought her the night before had reduced her to tears. Coupled with the drunken haze, her night had been chaotic, yet curiously, the next day’s exhaustion brought a sense of unparalleled relief to her heart.
In the days that followed, Delphine spent her mornings at the hospital, taking care of the elderly patriarch, while Ignatius busied himself addressing urgent matters. At night, they both returned home to share meals, take walks, chat, and rest—outside, turmoil raged fiercely, but their little sanctuary remained unusually warm and bright.
Delphine avoided any news reports, refused to check social media, and ignored all phone calls. Apart from video calls with Nicholas and Benjamin, she devoted her remaining time entirely to the old patriarch, personally cooking nourishing broths to aid his recovery.
The elderly patriarch, recovering remarkably well from his surgery, couldn’t help but shed tears in secret as he witnessed the bond between the two of them. His thoughts turned unwittingly toward the grandmother who had passed away so many years ago.
A week later, the trial connected to Ignatius Leclair finally commenced.
On the eve of the trial, nearly everyone in the prestigious Southern family circles stayed awake through the night. For the past half-month, the sword hanging over their heads was finally about to drop.
