novelraw Chapter 472: Wishing to mark every part of her from hair to toes as his own
Chapter 472: Wishing to mark every part of her from hair to toes as his own
Delphine didn’t look at him. Her gaze fell on the lush, climbing vines outside the café. She didn’t like the Leclair Family; that red mansion was like a giant beast that devoured people. Mrs. Carter became a vegetative shell after marrying into it, and the former Mrs. Leclair had passed away. Perhaps the overwhelming power was too much—on the battlefield of men, women often became casualties.
She didn’t know when it would be her turn. In truth, it had already happened once six years ago, and it might happen again in the future.
She was no longer the helpless stepdaughter of a wealthy family. If she could stand tall and live her life openly, why should she let herself be controlled by others?
As for Ignatius Leclair—this man had always been an unfathomable abyss, impossible to see through, guess, or grasp. Whatever love there was had died long ago—six years ago, to be exact.
"Mr. Wood, marrying into the Leclair Family won’t do you any good. I’m naturally cold-hearted. Instead of relying on their power, why not take control and lead your people toward the life you’ve envisioned? Wouldn’t that be better?" Delphine looked at him, her clear gaze unwavering.
Finnian was slightly startled and raised his estimation of her. This woman turned out to be even smarter than he’d imagined—or perhaps she had an even clearer view of the ways of the world.
"I need time to plan," Finnian frowned. This matter required patience and determination to execute—it couldn’t be achieved in a short period.
"I’ll wait for your news." Delphine smiled, adding, "You should have Desmond return home sooner. The storms of the South Seas are something he’d best stay out of."
After finishing her words, she stood up and left, heading north along the path from the café. She hadn’t gone far when she saw a man approaching, his face cold, his phoenix-like eyes glinting with frost. His handsome features carried a hint of gloom.
When the man was silent, he had an authoritative air that conveyed a quiet, imposing pressure.
Delphine stood still, neither moving forward nor retreating, watching him from that not-too-near, not-too-far distance.
"Why have you walked all the way here?" Ignatius Leclair approached, took her hand, and asked nonchalantly, his gaze sweeping briefly toward the café behind her.
Delphine’s heartbeat sped up slightly; her palm dampened with a faint sheen of cold sweat. She steadied herself and replied, "Being cooped up in the house all day, I just wanted to take a longer walk."
"Then I’ll walk with you." Without waiting for her agreement, the man grabbed her hand and strolled with her at his own pace.
Delphine gently furrowed her brows. She wasn’t sure if it was her heightened sensitivity since the pregnancy, but Ignatius had been growing increasingly volatile—ten times more domineering than before. However, he was skilled at masking the tension beneath the surface, making it hard to discern.
Every time she intentionally lost her temper to confront him, the man would retreat a step. Then, once her anger had dissipated, he would advance again—twice as aggressively.
This pattern of advancing and retreating left her feeling as though she was coming undone. She decided to ignore him, follow his lead, go along with him, and simply leave him be.
"I have matters to attend to tomorrow and won’t be able to accompany you to the hospital for your prenatal checkup. Mrs. Lee will go with you," the man said, his voice low and steady.
Delphine responded indifferently, but suddenly, her hand was grasped tightly by him, making her look up in shock. She saw Ignatius Leclair’s handsome face darkened with stormy emotions, his phoenix-like eyes narrowing as he spoke word by word: "Delphine Carter, even if you don’t like it, you’d better endure it and get used to it quickly. After all, we’re still destined to spend a lifetime together."
Words that were almost like a confession carried no trace of deep affection—instead, they revealed a sense of obsessive gloominess and twisted possessiveness.
Delphine’s fingers trembled. That suffocating feeling washed over her again. She didn’t know when or how their relationship had morphed into its current state.
Perhaps it was because Ignatius Leclair had always harbored an obsessive streak, one so extreme it bordered on pathological. In the past, she had been someone dispensable, and the man hadn’t shown it. But now, Ignatius Leclair seemed determined to mark every strand of her hair, every inch of her body, as exclusively his.