Delphine's throat was dry, and she couldn't utter a single word.
Ignatius Leclair's phoenix-like eyes gradually dimmed, fixed on her as he spoke with a faint tone, "If I let Beatrice go, would you hate me less?"
Even now, he finally said that word. From the first day she returned to the Leclair Mansion, he had seen the hatred in her eyes and chosen to ignore it.
Years ago, battered by wind and frost, he crossed oceans to return to Southeast Asia, bearing the pain of losing his mother. At the wrong time and place, he met fifteen-year-old Delphine Carter.
All the entanglements that followed were merely continuations of that error. Even now, he himself couldn't say what his feelings for Delphine truly were—not an unforgettable love, yet impossible to let go.
