the two-faced Adopted Girl Who Melted CEO's Ice-Cold Heart Chapter 700 I Remember You Like Windows the Most

The man’s kiss was tender, carrying traces of coaxing. Delphine was kissed to the point of breathless confusion, and only when she was carried into the room did she regain so clarity.

Outside, the night was still and deep, cool and silky, with the distant silhouette of mountains undulating in the darkness. The man’s strong arms wrapped around her from behind, their fingers interlocked as they stood before the floor-to-ceiling window. Kissing her, he murmured in a deep, husky voice, "I rember you always loved windows, and yearned for the world outside."

Delphine was kissed until her body tingled, palms slick with a fine sweat. Her blurred gaze wandered to the night beyond the glass, astonished to realize that he rembered all her whims and affections. In those first years in the South Seas, she had felt like a caged bird—void of freedom and stripped of hope for the future. Sohow, she grew to adore all kinds of windows, as if each led to Alice’s Wonderland, to freedom, to the dreams of an unbound future.

Delphine closed her eyes halfway. These past years, she had repressed herself so harshly, her walls built so high—yet suddenly, she wanted to sink into such tender solace. Like a wandering traveler worn thin by the journey, she finally felt fatigued and longed to go ho.

"From now on, wherever you want to go, I’ll go with you." The man’s gaze was darker than the night itself, his body taut to the extre, yet he restrained himself to offer his promise in a low voice.

"Okay." Delphine’s eyes glistened faintly as she nodded lightly and replied softly. As for the future, she was no stranger to storms and instability, never overly reliant on anyone. Ignatius Leclair’s words washed over her, not taken too seriously. Her feelings leaned on fate; if their paths converged, they would stay together. If they diverged, each would retreat to their own corners of the earth. That would be best.

Neither could see the other clearly, their connection bound only by the heat of their bodies and the weight of their breathing—lost in a world of raw sensation.

Ignatius Leclair panted heavily, watching as the last trace of clarity in her eyes was replaced by an inky haze. She, who had always been cool, restrained, unexpressive—even kissed to the edge of spasms, her skin soft and tinged with a faint pink—remained indifferent in expression, her brows gently furrowing from slight discomfort.

God knows how deeply he loved her detached deanor. He wanted to mark every inch of her, saturate her with his presence.

Perhaps it was perversity at play. The man yearned to conquer, but not to conquer too quickly—it would erode the pleasure. He wanted to turn her into his one-of-a-kind doll.

Ignatius Leclair finally gave in, tightening his hold on her fingers. Their hands intertwined deeply.

The mories that followed were fragnted and chaotic. That night, Delphine slept uneasily, dreaming she had returned to the eve of her eighteenth birthday. The man whispered in her ear: "Rember, I have another na—Magnus Leclair."

After speaking, the man turned and left her. His tall silhouette disappeared into the deepening twilight. She chased after him, calling out to him, yelling his na—but he didn’t look back.

Heartache consud Delphine, and she cried bitterly, convinced she had lost him forever. Her tears soaked the pillow until finally, it seed soone gently embraced her, quiet words of comfort murmured near her ear. Her emotions slowly steadied, and she slept until dawn.

When Delphine awoke, she felt montarily dazed. She couldn’t understand why she had dread of past events.