Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 100: Mr. Grant Learns of Eleanor’s Pregnancy and Sends Someone to Capture Her
Damon Sharp took a deep breath, "Yesterday morning at five, she took a taxi to the suburban bus station. Accompanying her was a man in his forties. Due to the angle of surveillance, his face wasn’t clearly captured."
"However, in the footage, another person interacted with Miss Eleanor, which was Leona Lewis, the woman who previously spread rumors about her."
He glanced at the man’s face, "She has videos of you intimately sending Miss Eleanor to work, and also clothes and pastries as supporting evidence, extorting her for a hundred million hush money. Miss Eleanor used your birthday as an excuse, postponing it for three days."
Cillian Grant’s breathing paused, his hand slowly tightening around the Jade Button, and after a long while, he laughed lowly, "She and my father are quite in sync, both thinking this time she definitely won’t return."
For these four years, living like an underground guerrilla with any bit of risk, she racked her brains trying all means to hide and cover up.
At the Grant family’s dining table, upon learning he wouldn’t stop people from investigating the North for four years, his veins stood out on the back of his hand, almost breaking the chopsticks. Her whole body radiated hatred, refusing to look up at him.
He softened again, willing to delay the plan, if not in spring next year, then in autumn or winter.
The result of relenting once more was the same as the dozen other times over four years, no difference.
What she wanted was not a chance to smooth things over; she wanted his genuine concession to pave the way for her departure once again.
A gift of all his bonuses?
That’s indeed a massive gift.
"Mr. Grant?" Damon bent over, calling once more, "Should we send people to find Miss Eleanor?"
Cillian Grant raised his eyes, the blackness in his pupils unfathomable, shadowed, oppressive, and suffocating.
"First, investigate the people she’s been in contact with recently, then look into the small cities she inquired about in Stonewell before."
Damon waited for three seconds, but the man had already lowered his eyes, signaling him to retreat.
Damon was startled.
Cillian was ruthless, indifferent, yet meticulous in his actions, giving more detailed instructions when it came to matters involving Miss Eleanor.
Compared to last time’s clear logic, this time seemed overly vague.
The attitude was also calmer than before, inexplicable and truly strange.
He was full of puzzling thoughts but dared not ask more. As he was about to exit the door,
the man instructed again, "Let go of Leona Lewis."
Even more baffling, Damon, who had been with him for many years, was quite certain this "let go" not only meant to stop the investigation but also referred to lifting the previous ban.
Searches were not as meticulous as before, and people were released hastily and easily.
Could it be, he finally cooled off about Miss Eleanor, and the heat of this relationship had dwindled?
Damon shut the door.
.........
Flying from Garigal to Cryos took a total of eleven hours.
With a seven-hour time difference between the local and domestic time, when Eleanor arrived, it should be midnight back home, while it was the afternoon here.
Yet Cryos, located in the Frostfang Circle, experiences several months of polar night every winter, with the sky dim and the sun unseen.
After two days of continuous travel and mental tension, though Mr. Ghost advised her to rest on the plane, Eleanor couldn’t sleep.
Now, as she stepped down the gangway, her feet landed on the smooth cement tarmac.
The cold sky of Cryos was a deep color mixed with cold gray, the dark blue of the sky intertwined with the green of the lawn, filling her eyes, so vast and desolate.
Eleanor felt weak, with the omnipresent foreign air unreservedly filling her and shattering her.
Leaving her homeland but shedding the shackles burdening her heart, the indescribable feeling of mixed relief and desolation overwhelmed her, making her want to crouch down and cry her heart out.
Mr. Ghost stretched leisurely, glanced back at her, and clumsily fumbled for tissues, "Women, so emotional."
Eleanor didn’t take the tissue, instead she reached up, feeling a chill on her face and fingertips, tracing her jaw and dripping onto her collar.
She wiped her face haphazardly and opened her mouth to ask, "Where to next?"
Yet she suddenly lost control, like a machine running at full speed, parts flying apart when the task was completed.
Her limbs went limp, her veins growing numb, and the blood in her body sang sonorously, her heartbeat loudly crashing her nerves, and the more joy she felt, the more fatigued she became.
Before her eyes, she saw the brilliant aurora borealis fluttering on the sky’s curtain, the joyous laughter of a little girl, like her dream daughter, came from afar, but before she could clearly see, everything returned to black silence.
Upon awakening, before she could clearly see her surroundings, she felt the jolting of her stomach churn incessantly, and involuntarily turned to the side to vomit.
Mr. Ghost exclaimed, hastily wiping her mouth with one hand and the stain on the car seat with the other. Eleanor had lost her appetite for a long time, forcing herself to eat a little each meal for the child’s nutrition.
At this moment, she vomited only clear water, slightly acidic but not within the realm of unpleasantness. Mr. Ghost estimated, "Please try to hold it in; renting a car here is inexpensive, but the compensation is deadly. Once you sell that hairpin, I’ll rent you a Rolls-Royce to vomit to your heart’s content."
Eleanor grasped the key point, "When will we exchange it for money?"
She had an ominous feeling, perhaps too fearful of Mr. Grant’s shrewdness, even though Mr. Ghost had checked and found nothing extra, it was still better to strike as early as possible.
"Initially planned to take you to a black clinic; our identities are temporary, and we can’t go to high-end hospitals here in Nordheim. But since you’re awake, whether to go to the clinic or sell the hairpin directly, it’s up to you."
"Sell the hairpin, drive faster."
.........
Five hours earlier back home.
A mysterious guest arrived at the Grant Family, claiming to have discovered a groundbreaking secret unknown to outsiders.
The butler led the lady guest upstairs. Mr. Grant never received guests in his study, usually meeting them in one of the reception rooms downstairs.
Now, making an exception was surprising, so the butler couldn’t help but discreetly observe her without offense.
She was not tall, similar in stature to Miss Eleanor, but her gaze lacked Miss Eleanor’s rightful clarity, filled instead with greed, malice, and an unpleasant vehemence.
Similar to when Phoebe Grant first returned.
The butler shifted his gaze away.
Upon reaching the second-floor study, Leona gathered her focus and stood obediently behind the desk.
"Where’s the evidence?"
Leona eagerly presented her phone, unlocking the screen to show a video.
Mr. Grant hastily skimmed through segments, his expression gentle and composed, seemingly unconcerned, "I have a question, quite curious because I really can’t figure it out, can you help me understand?"
"Of course, of course."
His demeanor was approachable, even amiable, yet with a certain dignity and presence. Leona’s hands were shaking with nervousness, "Certainly, feel free to ask."
"My son conducts everything meticulously. If he doesn’t want something to be known, even I can’t discover it. How did you sense something was amiss?"
Leona rubbed her hands behind her back, projecting her own intentions onto Eleanor, fabricating rumors, later fearing retaliation, only to then target Eleanor.
"I—" Leona gritted her teeth.
Eleanor had marginalized her at the company, forced her out of Varden, and now seemingly framed her, provoking Cillian Grant to investigate her again.
If she couldn’t ruin Eleanor this time, she planned to urge Cillian Grant to take action later on.
"I ran into her at a black clinic for a prenatal checkup on The Peridian Way, and afterwards your son sent people there too, I have photos." She tentatively picked up her phone from the desk, swiped a couple of times, and pushed it towards Mr. Grant.
"I live nearby, the previous time she went to the clinic for a prenatal checkup, I didn’t take a photo. A week ago, I saw someone familiar again, snapped a quick shot."
Mr. Grant glanced, the curve of his lips deepening, "Miss Lewis, I prefer hearing the truth, you wouldn’t find the person familiar, rather investigated the Grant Group’s annual gala online? Last year, it was last year only when he attended publicly with Cillian."
Leona felt caught by the throat, stammering unable to respond.
Mr. Grant, uninterested in connecting the dots with a fool, pulled open a drawer, tore a check, "Miss Lewis, one million, someone will ensure these videos and photos are thoroughly deleted, if you fail to recall any backups, their experts will manage it."
Leona was sent out of the Grant Family.
Secretary Rhodes was summoned in haste. "Director Grant, you called?"
"I need a vial of Eleanor’s blood tested on-site, if she’s pregnant, bring her back immediately."
Outside, a figure tiptoed away, reached the second-floor balcony, "Young master, just as you anticipated, Director Grant made a move..."
