The man stood tall and imposing at the doorway, his deep, narrow phoenix eyes locking onto hers for a moment before he spoke in a low voice: "It's time to take your medicine."
After speaking, Ignatius Leclair walked over, grabbed the medicine, poured water, and handed it to her. His movements were fluid and graceful, exuding an inherent elegance and natural ease.
Delphine was momentarily startled, gazing at the beautiful, slender hand extended toward her and the pills resting on its palm. She lifted her eyes and quietly said, "I can do it myself."
The man remained silent, neither withdrawing his hand nor responding. His phoenix eyes only deepened further. Sure, she had hands and feet, but he wanted to feed her the medicine, let her drink the water—he wanted her to recover quickly, so he could do so much more for her.
"I don't want Nicholas and Benjamin to keep worrying about you," the man said in his deep voice, a trace of indescribable hoarseness hanging in his tone.
