the two-faced Adopted Girl Who Melted CEO's Ice-Cold Heart-Chapter 775: He Was Tired of Pretending to Be Magnus Leclair
Delphine didn’t know why, but these days she had become increasingly paranoid, always feeling uneasy. Especially after that night of drinking with Griffith Squire, the next day she remembered bits and pieces, and the words Ignatius Leclair said to her that night came back to her, leaving her drenched in cold sweat.
Those kinds of words could never have come from Magnus Leclair; they could only have been Ignatius Leclair’s.
Later, as Delphine observed him, she started feeling that he resembled Ignatius Leclair. Seeing him taking medication to suppress himself all the time, she thought that perhaps that night it really was the dominant personality awakening. But if that were the case, she absolutely couldn’t let it slip, lest it panic Magnus.
"You’re not allowed to take the medication anymore. I’ll take you to see a psychologist. Even if—even if he really has awakened, it can’t be stopped." Delphine snatched the medicine from him, her fingertips trembling slightly. She steadied herself with great effort, telling herself that even if Ignatius returned, as long as Magnus didn’t disappear, she wouldn’t be afraid.
"Will you go see a psychologist with me?" the man asked softly, his phoenix-shaped eyes deep and penetrating.
Delphine nodded.
Ignatius narrowed his eyes, glancing at the suitcase she’d packed. His gaze deepened further as he said in a low voice, "Don’t be afraid. As long as I’m here, he won’t hurt you. I’ll sleep in the study tonight."
After speaking, the man left the bedroom. Seeing that Delphine didn’t follow him out, his steps faltered. He leaned against the stark white wall, a shadow passing through his phoenix eyes. It seemed that deep down, she still feared him. For now, he would sleep on the floor and dispel her worries first.
It was time to clear her doubts. The man’s handsome face darkened slightly. He was tired of endlessly pretending to be Magnus—it was time to reclaim his own name.
Early the next morning, Delphine accompanied Ignatius to see a psychologist. Ignatius’ personal psychologist, based in the United Kingdom, had been treating him since his youth. But because the senior doctor couldn’t stay in Nanyang long-term and Ignatius couldn’t leave for the time being, he had temporarily scheduled an appointment with the doctor’s prized protégé, Jian Zheng.
Jian Zheng, nearing forty, was one of the most sought-after psychotherapy consultants in the country. The sensational trial that shocked the public had just concluded yesterday, and now the young Leclair heir from Nanyang was requesting a consultation. Jian Zheng’s mind was racing.
After lunch, Jian Zheng arrived at the agreed-upon villa. The heavy rainstorm from yesterday evening had left the garden in a mess. Ignatius was trimming the battered banana plants in the garden, dressed simply in a white shirt and gray trousers, exuding a calm, measured demeanor, like an ancient, unfathomable pond.
When he noticed Jian Zheng arrive, Ignatius set down the tools in his hands, walked over, and spoke with elegant indifference, "Mr. Jian, to the tea room."
Jian Zheng had encountered countless patients before. Even though he had mentally prepared himself for this case of dissociative identity disorder, seeing Ignatius in person left him slightly taken aback. He was markedly different from the cold figure Jian Zheng had seen on television. In person, his presence was even more commanding. Those phoenix eyes, so deep and sharp, seemed to pierce straight through to a person’s soul. Yet they also carried a tempered warmth, honed by time, making it impossible to discern his inner depths.
In truth, with his long-standing dominance in a high position and as the heir of a noble family, Ignatius’s scheming mind was undoubtedly beyond comprehension. This psychological consultation was bound to be a challenging endeavor.
Jian Zheng followed Ignatius into the tea room, a sectioned-off part of the living room. Before the session even started, a tall, slender young woman descended the stairs. Her features were exquisitely flawless, her skin unusually pale, her black eyes like polished onyx—an indescribable sense of breathtaking beauty radiated from her.
"This is my wife. She used to suffer from severe depression. I would trouble you, Mr. Jian, to have a chat with her later and see if her depression has fully recovered," the man said in a low, deep voice. A rare gentleness flickered through his phoenix eyes.
