Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 108: Peerless Ninja Boss, Phoebe Grant
There were footsteps in the corridor, drawing closer, pausing for a moment at the door, then walking away.
Eleanor had no desire to stay with Cillian Grant any longer. She broke free from him, stuck her head out from under the blanket, "Is something the matter?"
The footsteps outside stopped, then returned. It was the translator’s voice: "Mr. Grant, Miss Eleanor, would you like breakfast?"
"Yes, I’ll come down now."
Eleanor turned over and scrambled out. As she passed Cillian Grant, he opened his eyes abruptly, without warning.
In Froskar, the sun rose at noon, and now outside the window was a dark blue-black; inside, it was even dimmer.
Once again, Eleanor fell into a pair of clear, sharp eyes—high brow bones, straight nose bridge, eye sockets like deep pools and hidden streams, even a bottomless abyss.
Anyone who met his gaze would get sucked in, skeleton shattered—left for him to play with at will.
Eleanor looked away. "Time to get up."
She lifted the blanket, got out of bed, and went to the bathroom to wash up.
Cillian Grant got up.
The floor lamp was still on—Eleanor had turned it on earlier. Cillian walked over slowly, the hazy orange light falling all over him.
He wore only navy blue pajama pants, the waist loose; his waist and abs exposed, lined with muscles, a hint of thick hair showing where his abs dipped downward—a mature, powerful body, full of male hormones.
Eleanor quickly came out and bumped into him. "Why aren’t you wearing anything?"
Cillian’s gaze fell on her—her clothes wrapped up in tight layers, a few damp strands of hair clinging to her temples, cheeks freshly washed and still moist, a mole on the tip of her nose standing out, not blurred, in fact magnified and clear.
He lifted his hand to wipe it away. "So quick? Did you brush your teeth?"
Eleanor forced herself not to back off. "I did." She paused, studying Cillian’s expression. "Are we going back home today?"
Cillian’s hand froze, then slowly pressed his palm to her cheek. "Do you want to go back?"
Of course Eleanor didn’t want to go back. Mr. Grant was already suspicious she was pregnant. Returning now meant diving straight into a den of tigers and wolves—asking for trouble.
She was testing Cillian Grant—when would he leave?
How would he arrange her? Would he drag her home, or, as she guessed, leave her in Froskar?
She needed to figure out what was happening first, get a handle on things, and only then could she plan her escape.
But right now, she didn’t answer, and Cillian didn’t say anything either. In his eyes, there was a dark and unfathomable depth; he gazed at her for a while. "Let’s go have breakfast."
He put his hand down and walked past her into the bathroom.
Eleanor stood there stiffly.
Cillian Grant—
Something’s not right.
His reaction was off, his eyes weren’t right.
He was always forceful; if he didn’t want to answer, he’d just seize control, redirect the topic—never simply avoid the question.
And his gaze, though still dark and deep, had lost its sharpness—becoming secretive and hard to read.
"Waiting for me?"
Eleanor was hugged from behind, a broad man’s hand grasping her shoulder. It happened to be his right hand, across which faint scars layered—some healed, some scabbed, and two deeper ones stitched up.
He wore no bandage; the black string was wet, soaking into the wound.
Eleanor stared for several seconds, then looked up and asked softly, "When are you getting the stitches out?"
Getting stitches out—a minor thing, not worth going back home for, but a good excuse to lead the conversation somewhere else.
Cillian lowered his head; his burning breath tangled with her nose. "Soon."
Eleanor’s breathing was filled with his warmth—her chest felt ablaze.
The first time he avoided a question was her being sensitive—then what about the second time?
Before, she didn’t know what was happening and didn’t dare to judge rashly.
But now, she had to think harder.
If Cillian Grant had decided to keep her captive, even spent a hundred million to hire a specialist to cure her infertility, give her a child—
That meant if she was really pregnant, he would gladly accept it.
With his methods, even a hint of suspicion, he’d have dragged Eleanor to the hospital for a blood test and an ultrasound last night.
Why was he being so ambiguous now? What did he want?
Or was he waiting for something?
..................
Phoebe Grant was found by Secretary Rhodes and brought back to the Grant Family home, her face unhappy.
Mrs. Grant held her hand, teasing. "Just as your brother says, daughters are water poured out—once you’re married, you’re gone. And you aren’t even married yet, but we still can’t get you back!"
Phoebe trudged upstairs with her, even more disgruntled. "That time, Brother was just standing up for Eleanor. I wasn’t seeing things—Brother did give her that platinum milkshake purse."
Mrs. Grant stiffened, muttered angrily, "Doesn’t matter. It’s over now. She knew her place and left by herself; your father and I were only letting her go out of old times together."
Phoebe still couldn’t figure it out. "But Brother’s so smart and meticulous. How could he ever like someone like her? Did she take advantage when he was drunk—"
At the mention of drinking, she suddenly realized, "Mom, do you remember when I first got home four years ago? Brother used to drink, and he could hold his liquor, got completely smashed a few times and was carried back, but then suddenly quit. It must have been Eleanor resenting that Brother helped me get Damian, so she took revenge on him with the same trick. That’s why he learned his lesson and never drank again."
Mrs. Grant paused on the stairs, her expression unexpectedly serious. "Phoebe, your brother is currently discussing a marriage. Don’t bring up the past anymore."
Phoebe knew the damage if word got out, but she was still hurt by Mrs. Grant’s rare coldness.
She mumbled under her breath as she pushed open the door to the tea room on the second floor.
Mr. Grant was brewing herbal tea, the scent of honeysuckle thick and overwhelming, filling her lungs. Phoebe felt suffocated, edged away, insisting the windows were opened and the tea tossed before she’d go inside.
Mr. Grant complied with a laugh. Mrs. Grant protected him, complaining a bit, "Honeysuckle’s cold in nature, sweet in taste, clears heat and detoxifies, disperses wind and heat—your father has a lot on his mind; you should understand."
Mr. Grant waved her off. "Seeing you two relieves all my worries. Grace, I really need you this time."
Mrs. Grant immediately became anxious. Mr. Grant was her general—their vanguard. If even he couldn’t withstand the threat, it meant the enemy was at their very gates.
"What is it? Tell me clearly."
Mr. Grant gestured to Phoebe. Phoebe sat still, eyes shining. "Father, what’s wrong? Does this concern me?"
Mr. Grant’s throat tightened.
Mrs. Grant explained for him, "Your father’s asking you to close and lock the door."
Phoebe replied with an "Oh," obediently getting up to do so.
Mr. Grant exhaled, squeezed Mrs. Grant’s hand. "Grace, I need you to stay calm after I tell you. Cillian is our child—if he already has a child—"
Mrs. Grant was no fool. She could be fiery and impulsive, but now she was calm and resolute. If it weren’t for her vice grip, Mr. Grant might have believed she’d missed his implication, like Phoebe.
"Eleanor?"
"So soon, Indigo Yates—" Phoebe’s expression froze.
When Mr. Grant nodded, a castle Mrs. Grant had kept in the clouds for so long crumbled the instant it crashed to earth.
"How long?" She was burning up, eyes blazing with fury. "Was it during that Emerald Residence period?" 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞
Mr. Grant shook his head. "After the last checkup, one of Eleanor’s colleagues saw her go for a prenatal exam at a shady clinic on The Peridian Way."
Phoebe shivered, then suddenly cried out, "She really did it—I wasn’t wrong about that checkup!"
Mr. Grant was blank. "What?"
Phoebe’s voice climbed, latching onto Mrs. Grant’s arm. "Mom, I didn’t missee it at White Family Hospital that day—she did touch her belly, with a look of expectation. She wasn’t envious; she was happy because she already knew she was pregnant!"
Mrs. Grant frowned, exchanging a look with Mr. Grant.
He pulled Phoebe’s hand off Mrs. Grant’s arm. "Eleanor’s bloodwork was normal at the last checkup, and she had an ultrasound, too."
Phoebe scoffed dismissively, "So what? Elaine White is her best friend—she could fiddle with the report at White Family Hospital so easily. As for that ultrasound doctor—though you asked for her specially, Mom, I always thought something was off. Who moves the probe like it’s a bomb? No one examines that carefully—something wasn’t right."
Mr. Grant suddenly stood and strode to the door, flinging it open.
Outside, a servant—caught eavesdropping—lost balance and tumbled to the floor.
