Delphine listened to the voice in her dream, an exact replica, her entire body drawn tight like a taut string, unable to say a single word.
Griffith Squire stood by the window, looking at the night outside. Hearing the rapid, panicked breathing coming through Delphine's phone, his almond-shaped eyes narrowed deeply as he laughed, "Are you coming back on your own, or shall I come fetch you?"
Anyone familiar with him knew that Griffith Squire loved to smile. The more charming his smile, the more ruthless his actions.
Delphine's face turned slightly pale as she suppressed her panic, speaking slowly, one word at a time, "I am not Little Sweet."
Upon hearing this, Griffith's lips curled into a smile as he sighed, "Why don't you guess? Will Ignatius Leclair package you up and deliver you to my bed directly, or will he sell you off for a good price?"
"If you're sick, go get treatment." Her gaze grew icy as she abruptly hung up the phone, her chest heaving violently.
