novelraw Chapter 497: The Lost Half Year
Chapter 497: The Lost Half Year
Delphine was tightly held by him, yet she remained silent. Her anger had not subsided. Accepting the established reality was one thing, but whether or not to show Ignatius Leclair a cold face was another.
In any case, she hadn’t planned to get along well with this man. He was domineering and unreasonable, so she simply ignored him. In marriage, the biggest taboo was a cold war. Over time, if Ignatius couldn’t take it anymore, perhaps they could let each other go and give one another a way out.
Ignatius held her tightly, his faint, cool scent of pine wrapping around her, carrying the deep and grounding reassurance of a man.
Delphine found herself somewhat lost in it, only to snap awake suddenly and struggle to break free.
The man refused to let go of her. His voice hoarse and almost unrecognizable, he spoke low and raspy, "I’m sorry. I’m sorry."
Delphine let out a cold laugh and ignored him. He had already apologized yesterday, and now here he was playing the victim again. When he was overbearing, he was unmatched in his arrogance, yet afterward, he would bow his head and apologize. His ability to bend and bow—oh, she thought, how pitiful he must feel.
"I remembered what happened at Wellspring Villa," Ignatius buried her head into his chest, his hand brushing her cheek as he spoke in a low voice, "Does your eye still hurt?"
Delphine froze slightly when she heard him mention Wellspring Villa and only then realized he was talking about their first kiss. Those memories had always lingered like a shadow over her, impossible to forget for even a moment. Yet, it turned out that Ignatius only remembered now, by sheer chance.
A bitter ache welled up in her chest, so piercing it turned numb. Her voice was cold as she replied, "I don’t remember anymore. Let go."
Ignatius didn’t speak. He lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on her hair before finally letting her go.
Delphine took a deep breath, got up, and turned on her heel, walking into the house to find Mrs. Lee.
The man didn’t get angry. Instead, seeing her head to the backyard to talk to Mrs. Lee, he pulled out his phone and called Maximilian. His tone was dark, "Find some time tonight to go to the Leclair Family Manor and bring over all my medical records. Every single one, from my birth till now."
Maximilian immediately set aside what he was doing, made a trip to the Leclair Family Manor, and delivered the records before nightfall.
"The butler said all of your medical records are here," Maximilian said quietly.
A thick stack of medical files lay before them. The Leclair Family placed a heavy emphasis on their lineage; nearly every descendant’s medical records were meticulously kept from childhood.
Ignatius started flipping from six years ago. That year, his medical records were entirely empty—not even a minor illness like a cold was documented.
He closed the medical file, his phoenix eyes dark and brooding. A shadow passed through them as his thin lips tightened in silence.
"Mr. Leclair, is something wrong?" Maximilian, waiting quietly nearby, felt a wave of unease. First a psychologist, now the medical files—was Ignatius really ill? But they had just gotten married. What would happen to Miss Delphine? None of this made sense. Ignatius had always been in great health, undergoing regular check-ups. Apart from insomnia cropping up two months ago, there was nothing to worry about. Insomnia hardly counts as a serious issue, does it?
"Help me look into my itinerary from six years ago," Ignatius said gravely, his face heavy with concern as he spoke.
Maximilian swiftly made a call to retrieve the schedule from the group’s confidential archives.
An hour later, Ignatius stared at the itinerary, his face as dark as storm clouds. A six-month blank space stared back at him. Six years ago—right after he had driven Delphine away—there were no records of any plans or activities for that half-year. The medical records could be falsified to deceive others, but his work schedule could not be tampered with.
In other words, he had lost six months of time—and along with it, a critical stretch of memory.