Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 86: Not Even a Ghost Is as Clingy as Cillian Grant
Elaine White tossed away the cotton swab, ultimately unable to ease her mind.
"Once you stop bleeding, we’ll halt the shots immediately. Follow-up with medication to nurture, and make sure to closely monitor any bodily reactions. If there’s anything suspicious, call me right away. Also, the fetal heart monitor I bought for you has arrived—check the heartbeat daily; if it’s steady, your baby girl will be fine."
Eleanor turned over to lie flat. "Can I go to work then? Cillian Grant has moved back home, staying at The Grant Family’s house, and I’m not at ease."
"He’s like a sticky bandage that won’t go away, even ghosts aren’t as clingy as him." Elaine White added, "With his father overseeing things at The Grant Family, what are you worried about?"
"He’s discovered the illegal clinic, waiting for the chance to drag me to the hospital for an examination. Fortunately, he hasn’t pried open the boss’s mouth yet. I’m avoiding him, stalling as long as I can."
Moreover, Mr. Grant has already made his way to The North.
But Eleanor didn’t want to cause anxiety for Elaine White, so she kept silent.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated, displaying the number she had saved.
Eleanor immediately answered.
"Miss Mole Man?"
Elaine White widened her eyes upon hearing the name.
Eleanor pulled down her eyelid. This was the alias she introduced herself with in a text yesterday.
"Mr. Ghost?"
Mr. Ghost responded perfunctorily, getting straight to the point, "Knowing this number means a trusted acquaintance recommended it; it’s reliable. I don’t like beating around the bush in my business. Where to? How many people? Personal vendettas are fine, but I don’t deal with illegal escapes."
Eleanor pinched Elaine White’s mouth to stop her gasp, "Nordheim, alone, personal vendetta."
Mr. Ghost clicked his tongue, "Alright, 200,000 flat fee."
Eleanor hesitated.
Elaine White freed herself from her grip, but Eleanor swiftly covered her mouth again, "Just to confirm, taking your route won’t require any documents, right?"
"Need them, yet don’t," Mr. Ghost chuckled. "Illegal immigration abroad is a serious crime; we can’t break the law. You’ll leave the country with documents first, and we’ll help you hop to another country where no documents are needed, leaving no trace. Your whereabouts will be absolutely secure."
Eleanor said nothing, hesitating.
Mr. Ghost waited a few seconds, losing patience, "Are you going or not? Give me a clear answer."
Eleanor, "I’m going. When?"
Mr. Ghost, "Within five days. I’ll text you the detailed arrangements later."
Eleanor hung up the phone.
Elaine White couldn’t agree, "Just like that? Without asking anything, not even meeting him—what if it’s a scam for your money, or once you’re abroad, you’re sold to Northern Buran?" 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶
Eleanor deleted the call records, "That’s why I need you to help me one last time. If I haven’t contacted you within the agreed period after I leave, don’t hesitate, report to the police directly. Before leaving, I’ll give you the photo and info of the snakehead as clues."
Elaine White, "..."
Eleanor laughed, "Besides, see, they don’t dare break the law within the country, indicating they’re really afraid of our police. The Monkey King can’t escape Five Finger Mountain; daddy state is forever supreme."
Elaine White couldn’t help but finally cracked a smile, poking her forehead with frustration, "You’ve thought of everything. Apart from obeying the empress’s orders, what else can I do but say ’yes’."
...
By noon, Elaine White came in with her phone, asking Eleanor to choose a restaurant for delivery.
Upon lifting the quilt, she discovered that while she was out for just a while, Eleanor had fallen asleep, unperturbed by the repeated vibrations of her phone beside her.
Elaine White knew Eleanor slept fretfully at The Grant Family’s house, so she let her rest, picked up the phone, saw the caller ID was Cillian Grant, and decided not to wake her.
She switched off the phone and adjusted the quilt.
Returning to her computer, she continued researching papers on the injection, when the doorbell rang.
She slid open a crack in the door, seeing a man standing outside.
Tall and slender, dressed in a double-breasted charcoal suit, his presence cool and commanding, his piercing gaze locking onto her.
Elaine White instinctively attempted to shut the door, but the man stepped forward, his shoe tip wedging in the door frame, his bandaged hand forcibly pushing it open.
"Where is she?"
The apartment was small, originally three rooms and a living room. Elaine White lived alone, having combined them, leaving only the master bedroom.
Cillian Grant glanced around; the room didn’t resemble a woman’s dwelling, items scattered about—papers, blankets, snacks—casually placed, near the windows a computer displaying dense academic papers.
Though not curious about other women and with good manners, he didn’t pry, merely scanned quickly.
Unable to find her, he focused back on Elaine White at the doorway, "Where is she?"
Elaine White stayed silent, her expression cold, indicating the door, "Get out."
Having sorted out the troubles on Liam Xavier’s end, Cillian Grant didn’t want his limited time wasted at Elaine White’s doorstep, "Elaine White, I have no extra patience for women."
His attire and demeanor exuded a strong sense of invasion, with a stoic face, slightly leaking his aura, intimidating to the bone.
Elaine White’s sarcastic retort stuck in her throat; she couldn’t bring herself to say, "Not only lacking patience, but lacking conscience."
In the bedroom, Eleanor felt anxious, hurriedly getting out of bed.
The door was ajar, not locked; she opened it quietly.
The man’s keen senses were sharp.
As Eleanor emerged, he turned towards her.
Elaine White, accustomed to working long hours under sterile, bright lights, preferred soft, ambiguous lighting.
Her house lights, all dim and dreamy, mixed with orange and amber hues, cast upon Cillian Grant’s clothing, incongruous against its stern color.
Eleanor didn’t approach, remaining in the doorway, "What’s the matter?"
It was a pointless question; she knew Cillian Grant’s aim was to take her to the hospital for tests.
He walked towards her, "Deliberately ignoring my calls?"
Eleanor instinctively checked her pockets for her phone, "I just fell asleep and didn’t hear."
Cillian Grant paused, standing before her.
Eleanor was short, barely reaching his chin.
Once close, he couldn’t see her clearly nor her face; he bowed only to find her unruly hair, two hair whorls slightly to the left.
It is said one whorl makes people stubborn, and two makes them defiant.
She was both stubborn and defiant, moving quickly.
Eleanor remained motionless, suddenly stepping back, but the man’s chest seemed to have eyes, capturing her expression.
As she took a step back, she hit a firm arm around her waist, the force reverberated, her forehead colliding with a rigid chest bone, muscles like iron.
A dull thud echoed, the pain affecting only her brain, Cillian Grant’s expression remained unchanged.
Eleanor prided herself on a considerable willpower.
Growing up, bumps and bruises were inevitable. Even if rebounded, falling headfirst and rolling over, she’d get up, dust off, and retaliate.
If reason can resolve matters, don’t bother with tears.
So she didn’t understand emotions like nose tips turning sour, red eyes, shedding tears, dramatically collapsing.
But now, she understood.
Human physiological responses are uncontrollable, whether delicate or strong.
When your brain feels trapped, being battered like a bell struck by a hammer, even Ultraman Tiga couldn’t remain standing.
Previously holding contempt and prejudice, she realized now—adorable girls couldn’t possibly be wrong; obviously, it’s the men.
