Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 54: Caught at Our First Meeting

After all, from Cillian Grant’s perspective, she was completely under control, well-understood, and wouldn’t be bought or sell out the Grant Family, thus, she wouldn’t betray him.

The more imminent the risk of exposure, the more it stirred his boiling blood, allowing him to vent the heavy burdens of his career.

Now, with the sudden possibility of such a woman capturing his heart, Eleanor felt even more unsettled after the initial surprise.

With Cillian Grant having a woman, he no longer needed her to vent, and thus, pushing her out for benefits became even more urgent.

"Miss Eleanor, this house is on a single floor, spacious with many rooms, how about I show you around first?"

Eleanor was a bit surprised; what was there to familiarize?

"No need for the hassle, just tell me which room I’m staying in."

Damon Sharp’s expression was somewhat peculiar, "As you like."

Eleanor stood by the sofa, neither touching nor sitting, "Alright, are you all staying here tonight too?"

Damon Sharp wouldn’t dare stay under the same roof with her, "Mr. Grant will arrive in two hours, we won’t disturb you."

He bid farewell and turned to leave.

Eleanor looked out the window, it was four or five in the morning, the darkest time, with much of the neon lights from earlier in the night having faded away.

A black beast seemed to engulf the city, leaving no one in sight, uncertain if there was still a chance to run now.

Seemingly in a long stretch, yet like a blink of an eye, the door suddenly opened from the outside, and a tall figure stood in the doorway.

Meeting those sharp eyes abruptly, Eleanor couldn’t look away, unable to move, watching the man approach step by step.

As he moved, the lights in the foyer changing room turned on, spreading to the boundary of the living room and foyer, the pale yellow light shifting to glaring white.

In contrast, there was almost no light in the man’s eyes, as dark as the storm that pressed over the city days ago, eerie and oppressive.

"Weren’t you driving me away?" Eleanor took the lead, "I left as you wished, so why did you grab me?"

Cillian Grant unbuttoned his coat, taking it off and tossing it onto the sofa.

He glanced at the person sitting on the carpet.

Still in the clothes she ran out of the Grant Family in the day before yesterday, a long black coat, crumpled, her hair dry and messy, dark circles under her eyes, her face pale and haggard, even someone collecting trash on the streets looked better than her.

Recalling Damon Sharp’s investigation, the bus with narrow seats, the cheap hotels, the calm and methodical way of confusing traces with rented apartments through agents.

She had improved not a little compared to two years ago, yet, she could still hold up now and even countered back.

He sneered, bending slightly to look down at her, "Mother said you’re an ungrateful wretch, and she wasn’t wrong. Raising you is no better than raising a dog, even a dog knows not to forget kindness."

Eleanor closed her eyes; she’d heard these words a thousand times, yet they still penetrated to her core every time.

She wasn’t sure how much Cillian Grant had discovered by now.

Damon Sharp’s reaction upon her capture was very similar to the past, seemingly unaware of her pregnancy.

Eleanor speculated that maybe they caught her too quickly, only discovering her whereabouts without delving deeper into the truth.

So she couldn’t just give up, as long as her daughter was safe, she could still run.

Not to be intimidated by her enemy’s menacing force, not to be disheartened by difficulties she could still endure, not to lose heart over some setbacks, but to show necessary patience and perseverance.

Obstacles and setbacks were faced and overcome, each step painstakingly.

Eleanor held back her tears, opening her eyes, "I thought—the Grant Family didn’t want me anymore."

The man crouched down, "When did you start thinking that? Since you asked colleagues about their hometowns, stopped calling your mom ’mom’, endured insults in the private room, and submitted to blind dates?"

Her excuse once again exposed, Eleanor guessed these would be discovered, and wasn’t surprised but continued, "Those were just thoughts. It was you who drove me away, so I—"

As the man unexpectedly clamped her jaw, his grip was merciless, as if wishing to choke her, "Your thought was to leave the Grant Family, to leave me. Wasn’t the past four years enough for me to pamper you? Or was it too lenient, making you so bold."

The sharp pain from her jaw pierced her mind, as if her bones were about to shatter in the next second, rendering Eleanor speechless.

Tears of physiological pain dripped onto the back of his hand; Cillian Grant clenched his jaw, flinging his hands off her.

Eleanor was thrown onto the floor, and only at such close distance did she notice the light-colored patterns on the carpet, like pomegranates bursting with seeds.

She propped herself up on her elbows, feeling suddenly dizzy and then falling heavily back onto the carpet.

Cillian Grant’s expression changed dramatically, fists clenched so tightly that the veins on his arms protruded.

A few seconds later, he picked her up in his arms and placed her on the sofa, taking out his phone from his coat to make a call, "Prepare the car, head to the hospital."

Eleanor panicked, disregarded her darkening vision, grabbing his sleeve inadvertently catching his hand, "No need to go, I just didn’t eat, it’s low blood sugar."

In fact, she’d eaten at the high-speed rail service area. Being pregnant with her daughter, she couldn’t ignore her nutrition.

But at this moment, she couldn’t find a suitable excuse, deceiving as much as she could.

Her hands were cold, as if holding ice, her nails neatly trimmed, her nail beds white like porcelain without vitality.

Cillian Grant, holding the phone, moved her hand to her face following her initiative, her forehead covered in cold sweat, sweat beads on her nose, her pale cheeks bruised by his momentary uncontrolled pressure.

She seemed fragile and easily broken.

The man pried her hand away and walked off.

Eleanor urgently tried to grab him, "Cillian Grant—"

Met with a stern order from the man, "Lie down and don’t move."

Eleanor still bewildered and couldn’t see, yet hearing the voice not from the hallway, she felt slightly relieved, lying back on the sofa.

The dizziness and dull pain gradually receded like a tide, and Eleanor’s vision cleared up, it seemed all the lights in the living room turned on.

The balcony also became clear, the latest sky garden concept from the Grant Group, with a ten-meter-high atrium, a cherry blossom tree on the left corner, followed by a rose frame, and Margaret, Mrs. Grant’s favorite.

From Eleanor’s limited perspective, she could also see a few lilies planted near the balcony door.

Her reflex led her to look at the carpet below the sofa, confirming the pattern of pomegranates bursting with seeds.

Was Cillian Grant seeking a child?

Eleanor didn’t think further, with time to ponder his private life it was better to think how to escape.

When she heard footsteps approaching, she automatically sat up.

The man held a plate, with creamy yellow boiled corn and pasta, thrusting it in front of her, handing a silver fork with the other hand.

Eleanor felt dubious yet held no hesitation in accepting it.

Playing a part of a woman who fainted from hunger, indiscriminately devouring.

Cillian Grant stood observing from the side, watching her devour in silence.

The room was quiet, except for the sound of her swallowing, and the man’s breathing.

Rising and falling, growing turbulent.

Eleanor swallowed the last kernel of corn, sensing his breathing coming closer.

Instinctively looked up, meeting the man’s obscure eyes.

"You told Damon Sharp you didn’t like corn, felt sick at the sight of it."

The corn in Eleanor’s throat got stuck.

"Many things stem from a single lie leading to more lies, reaching the truth eventually." Cillian Grant took the plate and silver fork from her hand, "You know my methods. Will you be honest, or should I make it clear?"

For a moment, Eleanor’s heart seemed to leap into her throat, as her blood flowed faster, dashing around in her veins.