the two-faced Adopted Girl Who Melted CEO's Ice-Cold Heart Chapter 392: My Enemies Are Everywhere, Which Grudge Do I Sh

Delphine was forced to sit down. The man’s fingers were slender and beautiful, clearly jointed, yet exceptionally strong.

As soon as she was firmly seated, hateful, probing, and speculative glances shot at her like knives from every direction.

Delphine raised her gaze to glance at the venerable elders of the South Seas. Her perpetually calm and aloof face remained as steady as water.

The table full of big shots: "..."

The crowd was stunned.

Nightfall arrived. The bright city lights began illuminating the South Seas as blessings for the newcors flickered across the 99-story skyscraper opposite. Griffith Squire lowered his eyelids, sitting before the floor-to-ceiling window, lighting a cigar and crossing his long, straight legs.

At this ti, he should’ve been on the opposite skyscraper, sipping red wine and admiring the nightti scenery of the South Seas with young Delphine, not sitting in his office smoking and waiting for a confrontation with Richard Shaw.

Griffith Squire felt a small pang of regret, his devilishly handso face entirely devoid of a smile.

"Boss, Richard Shaw is here. Do you think that Miss will end up in his hands?" A trusted aide rushed in, announcing that Shaw, the Major General, had already reached the lobby downstairs.

Griffith Squire scoffed lightly. Leah wasn’t that weak. Besides, if Richard Shaw had managed to encounter Leah, how would he even have the spare ti to wander over here?

"Let him in." The man lazily exhaled a ring of smoke; the curling haze concealed the wicked grace of his features.

Richard Shaw entered as if the place were unguarded, flanked by two officers, easily ascending to the forty-eighth floor. Two hours ago, South Africa’s largest arms smuggler had been arrested and was now en route to The Hague’s International Court—a gift from him to Griffith Squire on their eting, along with a series of minor warnings over the past two days. This incarnation of Shiva in the Golden Triangle should welco him with open arms. Not to ntion, it wouldn’t be long before Griffith’s most beloved sister fell into Shaw’s hands as well.

Seated in a wheelchair, the man’s strikingly resolute face held an enigmatic smile, his gaze seemingly imbued with compassion.

Griffith Squire’s trusted aides, each heavily ard, emanated an icy and ominous aura. They widened their eyes, staring at the man who hailed from the Imperial City—the once-renowned Major General. Seeing that he neither bore three heads nor six arms but instead carried himself with a composed deanor and possessed strikingly attractive features, their lips involuntarily twitched. Sure enough, the crueler the character, the more flawless and inviting their exterior seed to be, just like their boss.

"Major General Shaw, please." A trusted aide raised a hand to block the entry of the two officers trailing behind him.

Richard Shaw nodded slightly, and his wheelchair automatically rolled into Griffith Squire’s office.

The man remained seated in the armchair, one leg crossed over the other as smoke billowed around him. Seeing Shaw enter, he tapped his military boots against the floor, and the lights imdiately brightened.

Griffith Squire squinted his almond-shaped eyes and sighed, "What a beautiful day... what a sha."

The man let out a deep sigh, then extinguished his cigar, stood up, and looked at Richard Shaw. At six foot two, his towering figure radiated a wicked allure, his eyes brimming with imasurable hatred.

Griffith Squire curved his lips into a faint smile. "It’s been years, Major General Shaw, but you remain as striking as ever."

Sitting in his wheelchair, Shaw saw those familiar almond-shaped eyes and instantly clenched the Buddha beads in his hand. His iron-blooded tone was cold as he spoke, "In my ten-plus years in the military, I’ve handled countless cases and made enemies everywhere. Which past grudge are you referring to, Mr. Squire?"

Despite standing on opposing sides, Richard Shaw, as a key figure in the military, had always been listed on international assassination targets.

Griffith Squire narrowed his eyes into a smile and replied, "When I was eleven, I visited the Imperial City once." It was the year he made his mark in the Golden Triangle. He had led his n to kill a notorious local warlord, absorbed the man’s forces, and, drenched in blood, barely recovered from his wounds before heading to the Imperial City.