"Try and hit me?" Delphine smiled calmly, her gaze passing through the wooden door that connected the side hall to the small garden.
If there was even the slightest commotion here, everyone in the side hall would see it. If this slap landed, Melody Cloud's meticulously cultivated image of perfection built over the years would be utterly destroyed.
Melody's eyes were bloodshot, brimming with hate for her, her teeth itching with rage, but she couldn't lay a finger on her.
Because she wasn't like Bessie Leclair or Yvonne Wade—those kinds of fools.
"But clinging to an opportunity to cozy up and climb into his bed, do you think that gives you the right to compare yourself to me?" Melody sneered coldly.
Delphine lowered her gaze, her smile chilling to the core, and replied, "Miss Cloud, the man you care about means nothing to me. If you like Ignatius Leclair, go ahead and have him. You don't need to consult me."
