the two-faced Adopted Girl Who Melted CEO's Ice-Cold Heart Chapter 135: Does the Tycoon Lack a Thigh Accessory?

Maximilian listened to the deafening sounds coming from the office, his heart pounding in fear. When he turned back, he saw that the people in the secretary’s office had fled, and he instantly felt the malice of the entire world. In his mind, he cursed Griffith Squire, that warlord bandit, with every insult he could muster.

"Maximilian." A man’s low and terrifying voice ca from inside.

For the first ti, Maximilian envied his second brother Arthur White, who had been sent to the United Kingdom. His legs weakened as he entered the office, where he saw the chic and minimalist space in utter disarray. Papers worth millions lay scattered across the floor. Carefully avoiding the shards of glass, he noticed Ignatius Leclair’s oldest and longest-used pen smashed to pieces. He didn’t even dare to look up.

He vaguely rembered that this pen was a graduation gift from Ignatius’s mother, Mrs. Leclair—a final nto she had given him.

Ignatius called in several people, but he remained silent for a long ti. The man’s aura was oppressively heavy, his eyes brimming with dark, turbulent light. It felt as though a ferocious beast roared inside him, desperate to break free, but kept restrained by sheer force of will.

"Arrange a eting with Griffith for tonight, at Cloud Summit," Ignatius spat out with difficulty, closing his eyes and pressing against his throbbing temples. In his mind echoed Griffith’s mocking words: "Her shoulder bears my mark, and her womb once carried my child."

With each thought, the malice etched into his brows grew deeper. How dare he treat Delphine that way?

"I want every possible detail on Griffith Squire—all-encompassing intelligence, starting from his birth," Ignatius said firmly, his voice chilling and laced with a killing intent.

Maximilian swiftly nodded, picking up the shattered pen and quietly tucking it away. He spoke softly, "Mr. Leclair, should I call soone to clean up?"

Ignatius nodded silently, before asking in a hoarse voice, "Where is Delphine?"

Maximilian quickly dialed Dongzi, who reported back with ticulous detail—not only ntioning the commotion caused by Bessie Leclair at the filming set but also noting Griffith’s visit there.

Maximilian hastily ended the call, carefully choosing his words. "Miss Delphine is at the filming set, acting in Director Lianjiang’s production."

Ignatius fell silent for a mont, then rose to leave.

Seeing this, Maximilian’s face turned ashen. He imdiately sent a ssage to Dongzi. Should Mr. Leclair suddenly decide to visit Miss Delphine and end up running into Griffith with her, well, everyone in their circle might as well pack up their lives. This would spell absolute disaster.

As soon as Griffith arrived at the set, he acted like a privileged lord, casually planting himself beside Lianjiang and raising his brow to signal everyone to continue filming.

The crew, seeing Lianjiang’s enthusiasm and noting Griffith’s arrival, watched as Bessie, the arrogant and domineering fourth miss of the Leclair family, stord off in a huff. Instantly, the dynamics beca crystal clear to everyone. They could hardly resist the urge to run over and latch onto the "golden sponsor’s" leg, wailing to ask: "Hey, millionaire, do you need a clingy sidekick?"

Delphine noticed how everyone’s attention had shifted to Griffith, and she finally felt a bit relieved. Otherwise, forcing Bessie off with just a couple of remarks might have earned her judgnt from those on set. In this industry, rumors snowball with the slightest spark, tearing reputations to shreds in no ti.

"Alright, let’s shoot one more scene and wrap it up for today," Lianjiang clapped his hands, signaling everyone to prepare for one last take.

Delphine had already adjusted her mood, carefully analyzing her character again before nodding towards Lianjiang and stepping onto the stage.

It was the first ti Griffith had seen her wearing a cheongsam. For so reason, it brought back mories of years ago, of the girl in coarse, rough clothing—fragile and skinny like a fledgling chick. His peach-blossom eyes narrowed slightly.

Back then, he’d thought that under such wretched conditions, the girl, who went by the alias "Little Quiet," would barely survive a month. Yet not only had she made it through, but she’d thrived in ways he’d never imagined.

A subordinate approached him and whispered, "Boss, Ignatius Leclair has arrived at the film set."