Chapter 1 The man issued the eviction order coldly

Vancouver, April. Overcast skies and rain.

"4023, someone's here to bail you out." The white policeman wearing leather gloves rapped the taser on the iron bars, calling out impatiently.

Delphine lifted her head from the corner, steadied herself against the wall to stand up. Her face was pale, devoid of any color, with only her large, jet-black, jade-like eyes remaining prominent amid her thin frame.

In a cell less than ten square meters, filled with female inmates of all colors, there were no names here, only numbers.

The bail procedures were completed quickly. She picked up the small backpack she came with, wrapped herself tightly in the only warm garment she had—a worn cotton jacket—and stepped out of the police station.

After a night of rain, the streets in the early morning were shrouded in a hazy gray mist. This little town was perpetually damp and rainy, so much so that it felt as if even people's hearts could grow green moss from the moisture.

The taste of freedom. Delphine closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the cold drizzle against her face.

A black Bentley rolled up from the corner, splashing through a puddle as it passed.

The car door opened, and a man stepped out, opening a black umbrella. Politely but coldly, he called out, "Miss Delphine, are you leaving without saying thank you?"

Delphine opened her eyes, taking in the fair-skinned, refined-looking man before her, the Bentley with an out-of-town license plate, and his peculiar Chinese-accented speech. Clearly, he was a wealthy immigrant of Chinese descent.

"Thank you." She spoke, her voice hoarse, and after saying so, turned to leave.

"Seduction, fraud, intentional injury, illegal immigration. Any of these alone would be enough to get you convicted.

The person you injured is the president of the local Chinese Chamber of Commerce. With his influence, I imagine you've already had your share of suffering, Miss."

The man spoke methodically, his gaze fixed on Delphine's retreating figure. "You need my help, Miss Delphine."

Delphine's footsteps halted. Her pale face was dampened by the rain. She stood motionless in the rain for a minute before turning around.

"In the past five years, I've used many names, but Delphine was never one of them."

Delphine Carter was her real name. After being expelled from the South Seas, she had never used this name again.

"I'm Brock Gray, a lawyer." Brock took a step forward, his large black umbrella shielding her from the fine drizzle.

"I've already applied for your extradition back home. As an illegal immigrant, the Canadian authorities would much prefer to deport you."

"Got a cigarette?" She lowered her eyes, her voice hoarse. Her pale face and sharp jawline exuded a frail yet alluring beauty.

Gold Medal Lawyer Brock Gray froze for a moment, observing the disheveled woman with messy hair, bruises on her face, someone who had spent years wandering on the fringes of the law. Instead of feeling repulsed by her scruffiness, he found a kind of chaotic and wanton beauty in her.

"Sorry, I don't smoke." Brock coughed lightly.

"What's the condition?" The lack of a cigarette seemed to sap Delphine's energy, her voice now even lower and raspier.

"Return to the Leclair Mansion." Brock enunciated every word deliberately, a sharp gleam flashing in his eyes.

The Leclair Family—an emblem of top-tier wealth in the South Seas. Southern economic dominance. The Leclair's decisions not only influenced the dynamics of the South Seas but could even trigger economic tremors throughout the Eastern world.

Had he not made this trip, Brock never would have imagined that the adopted daughter of the colossal Leclair business empire might come so close to perishing in a damp, remote prison cell in Canada.

"What if I say no?" Delphine smiled coldly, her eyes drifting past the fine rain to the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

Five years ago, she was expelled from the Leclair Mansion. The man had been ruthless, issuing a decree of banishment, forbidding her from ever returning to the South Seas.

"My employer asked me to relay a message: the youngest member of the Leclair Family has been diagnosed with leukemia. If a matching bone marrow is not found, he won't survive beyond three months." Brock opened the document he'd been holding and handed it over.

Delphine glanced over it briefly but immediately spotted Isaac Leclair's medical diagnosis, her fingertips tightening around the edges.

When she left the South Seas, Isaac was only four years old. Always dressed in Mickey Mouse pajamas, tugging at the tail of the costume with one hand and clutching her sleeve with the other, he'd excitedly shout, "Sis! Sis! Look at my little tail!"

Isaac was her only blood-related younger brother. Whatever trap this invite into the fold signified, no matter who had laid it, she had no choice but to step into it.