Delphine lifted her eyes to look at the road she had come from. The night was deep, distant lights twinkling. She bit her lip, steeling herself, and nodded, saying, "Let's go."
Nowadays, Ignatius Leclair's illness was getting worse, as neither had time to catch their breath. Perhaps separating for a while was the best choice.
Griffith Squire nodded and led them onto the ship.
Once the ship started, the black Bentley car chased to the port, and the man alighted and looked at the ship departing farther away, along with the woman standing on the deck. His handsome face revealed a hint of unsettling gloom.
"Mr. Leclair, should we chase? Our ship can catch up," Arthur White asked quietly.
Ignatius Leclair said nothing, simply fixed his gaze ahead, wanting to etch the image of that heartless woman deep in his mind. After a long while, he spoke in a low, raspy voice, "No need to chase."
