the two-faced Adopted Girl Who Melted CEO's Ice-Cold Heart Chapter 191: The Rising Nouveau Riche in Southeast Asia, Not

"Mr. Squire, you’ve co to attend the engagent party as well?"

"Mr. Squire, congratulations on acquiring another Fortune 500 company recently."

"Mr. Squire, I heard you plan to collaborate with the governnt to develop the urban villages soon?"

Recently, Griffith Squire had been dominating the South Seas, spending money like water without a blink. Rumor had it that he had connections to the military, wielding fierce and ruthless thods that left his rivals in ruin. His actions had already stirred a storm in the circles of high society.

Canyon Sinclair, the Sinclair Family’s young master, imdiately recognized Griffith Squire as the famous nouveau riche from the upper echelon. His legs trembled, and he thudded onto the ground with wide eyes and a pale face, as if suddenly awakened from a nightmare. He crawled over to Delphine, sniveling and sobbing uncontrollably, "Miss Delphine, I was blind and ignorant. I beg you to spare !"

As he spoke, he began slapping himself on the face repeatedly.

Delphine didn’t look at him—the mory of this man grabbing her arm and even improperly touching her lingered like a nauseating stain, refusing to fade.

She glanced briefly at the strikingly handso and demonic Griffith Squire and asked in a low voice, "Why isn’t Leah here?"

"Won can be such dawdlers—she’s coming along behind ," Griffith replied, brushing off the sycophancy around him lazily. He narrowed his flirtatious eyes and smiled leisurely.

Delphine nodded and then turned to face Yvonne Wade, who stood to the side with a hostile expression. She walked over.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Yvonne’s expression shifted. She puffed out her chest, attempting to feign composure.

Delphine’s face was cold as she raised her hand and slapped Yvonne hard enough to make her own palm tingle. Her voice was icy, "If you can use your hands, don’t waste ti spouting nonsense. If you want dead, see if you’ve got what it takes."

Yvonne’s face was slapped so hard it turned sideways. Half of her face quickly turned crimson, and the girls beside her gasped in shock, exclaiming, "How could you hit soone!"

"Yvonne, are you okay?"

"Yvonne, we should fight back!"

Fight, my foot. Yvonne spat out a strand of hair from her mouth and stared at Delphine with a venomous gaze. She recalled the last ti her brother had two ribs broken—ever since then, she’d only dared to harass Delphine verbally. She simply didn’t have the courage to truly confront her, especially with Griffith Squire present.

Humiliated and seething, Yvonne gritted her teeth and said, "We’ll see about this!"

With those words, she turned on her heel and stord off toward Bessie Leclair’s engagent venue to vent her grievances.

The onlookers, realizing Yvonne wouldn’t dare fight back, began paling themselves—those who had verbally insulted Delphine earlier instantly looked uneasy.

Canyon Sinclair remained kneeling on the ground, slapping himself fiercely. The crisp sound echoed, sending chills down the spines of the spectators.

Delphine noticed the crowd growing larger and felt a hint of coldness flash through her gaze. She turned toward Griffith Squire and said, "I’m heading over first."

"I’ll co with you," Griffith said with a devilish smirk. The calloused palm of his hand, roughened from years of toil, latched onto her wrist, his smile holding a cryptic undertone.

Delphine’s body tensed instantly.

Maximilian, having just received the news, rushed over from the main venue of the estate. He arrived just in ti to see Delphine entangled with the formidable warlord figure of the Golden Triangle. Calm and respectful, he spoke in a low voice, "Miss Delphine, what’s going on here? Mr. Leclair is growing impatient—he asks that you hurry over."

Maximilian, as the Leclair Family’s Crown Prince’s long-standing assistant, was considered the sharpest blade in Ignatius Leclair’s hand.

Seeing Maximilian was akin to seeing Mr. Leclair himself.

The mont Maximilian spoke, Canyon Sinclair’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted in terror.

By the ti Delphine reached the main engagent party venue, she was greeted by a breathtaking scene. The romantic French estate was enveloped in a sea of violet flowers, surrounded by verdant hills and pristine waters. Close by, vibrant blooms flourished in abundance. The main stage, constructed with eight towering columns adorned in purple and blue flowers, extended across a sprawling floral landscape that stretched hundreds of ters. Every detail was steeped in understated luxury and immaculate elegance.

Delphine felt montarily dazed, her gaze cold and detached. In her youth, she had once dread of having all this—only to realize later, through painful experiences, that so things were forever out of reach for her.

"Did you et Griffith Squire on your way here?" Ignatius Leclair had been socializing all day, his handso face showing signs of impatience and gloom. The mont he saw Delphine, he abandoned the crowd and strode toward her, taking her hand. His gaze froze abruptly, and his voice turned low and furious, "What happened to your hand?"