Ignatius Leclair curled his lips into a cold smile, his handsome face lowering as he whispered inches away, "Five years ago, I let you go. You decided to come back and provoke me yourself, little Delphine."
For all these years, he had kept himself detached from feelings, even abandoning plans for marriage and children—because he was fully aware of his own possessiveness and twisted obsession with control. His unrelenting mental purity rendered him hopelessly demanding about relationships, intolerant of even a speck of imperfection.
"Grandfather has always wanted a great-grandchild. It's time we put in some effort." Ignatius glanced at her flat abdomen with vague implication. Recently, there had been no precautions taken in their encounters. If luck permitted, perhaps a little Delphine, or a little Ignatius, might already be growing in there.
Since she was unwilling to open her heart, he didn't mind forcibly shattering her hardened shell.
