Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 88: Travel Expenses in Hand for Making a Run
Eleanor hurriedly packed up and opened the door.
These past years, her interactions alone with Mr. Grant generally happened in the study. Visiting an adult child’s bedroom was something Mr. Grant seldom did, even for Phoebe Grant.
Eleanor invited him to sit on the small sofa by the entrance, "It’s so late, what brings you here, Father?"
"Have you contacted that young man?"
Eleanor suddenly realized she had neglected this matter, "I’ll contact him tonight."
Mr. Grant smiled gently, "I’m not rushing you. Anyone moving far away to a place with different customs will need some time to adjust."
Eleanor sat across from him on a small stool, "Thank you for your understanding, Father."
Understanding.
Mr. Grant pondered this word—it lacked intimacy, but was overly respectful.
Apparently, it’s not just that they had grown apart; Eleanor was also becoming distant.
Since both sides felt the insincerity of their relationship, there was no need for pretense. He got straight to the point, "Why didn’t you tell your mother and me when you took a year off from university?"
Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat, but she quickly steadied herself.
Since learning that Mr. Grant was investigating The North this morning, she had been considering how to respond.
But her plan to leave this time was progressing quickly and smoothly, with the timeline already quite certain.
Even if things went bad, dragging it out for another five days would suffice.
By then, she would be as free as a bird, and no matter how much chaos broke out here, it couldn’t drown her once she spread her wings.
"There was an issue in the second semester of my freshman year, so I temporarily took a leave of absence," Eleanor said, her eyes downcast, "But I didn’t fall behind academically; I still graduated after four years."
Mr. Grant stayed silent for a long time while Eleanor looked down at her toes.
Her answer, which avoided the main issue and shifted focus, couldn’t fool Mr. Grant. But he seemed lost in thought, suddenly becoming gentle again.
"Eleanor, what do you want for your dowry?"
Eleanor pressed her legs together, sitting obediently, "Whatever you arrange."
Mr. Grant took out a small box and handed it to her, "I remember once Cillian lost your little pink butterfly hairpin, and you were upset for a long time. Recently, I happened to come across a similar one. Look, do you like it?"
Eleanor opened the box as instructed.
It had been so long that she had forgotten what the original hairpin looked like, but this one was definitely more expensive.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, with the butterfly wings trembling slightly. The antennae were tipped with bead-sized pink pearls, shiny and smooth. The pink gemstone was a top-notch Padparadscha, a variant of a ruby with superior hardness and brilliance.
In terms of color, it added more pink or purple hues compared to a pink diamond, making it a favorite among upper-class women under the age of thirty.
In simple terms, it was worth two million.
Eleanor’s heart stirred, and she raised her head.
Mr. Grant had already stood up, "Consider this a gift from me to you, apart from your dowry."
After he left,
Eleanor locked the door again, stared at the two-million treasure in the box for a long, and then took out her phone to add a friend.
The potential match given by Mr. Grant was very proactive.
Once she sent the verification message, it was immediately accepted within two or three seconds.
A seamless transition to a long message, as if it had been composed long ago.
"Hello, Miss Eleanor. I’m 187 cm tall, weigh 83 kg, with no hereditary diseases in the family. I’m healthy, with a clean romantic history—only had a brief relationship in high school, and my first kiss is still intact."
Eleanor, "..."
She deleted the greeting "Hello."
Tilly said, in arranged dates, one would not find love but could witness biodiversity.
Eleanor wouldn’t go that far, but her underlying aversion to the Grant family’s matchmaking naturally extended a bit to this yet unseen match.
"Thank you for your honesty. I’m quite complex and can’t be summarized in brief."
With such an evidently perfunctory response, Eleanor believed anyone from a wealthy background would instantly understand its implications.
The other party replied, "Miss Eleanor is indeed a complex and interesting person."
Indeed? Interesting?
Eleanor frowned. She felt the underlying meaning wasn’t merely polite flattery, "Do you know me?"
"I’ve seen Miss Eleanor before," the other side was typing.
Eleanor waited for the input to finish, and a message popped up, "Very beautiful, like a white pear blossom on a windy branch."
A small... white flower?
Eleanor stiffened, not even wanting to know his name anymore, and replied curtly, "Once sleeveless and graceful, now big and round, flower’s withered and the fruit weighs two hundred pounds."
Before he could reply, she added, "Good night."
Begone before I plead for it.
The other party showed typing again under his name.
Eleanor shivered, set the chat to "Do Not Disturb," and exited the WeChat interface.
She didn’t want to touch her phone again tonight, so she took out the pink butterfly hairpin.
Two million...
Two million can’t buy dignity.
That’s a joke.
Her dignity had long been trampled by the Grant siblings. Leaving the travel expenses of two hundred thousand left her penniless, worried about being impoverished in a foreign land.
These two million solved her urgent need; it was the foundation for establishing herself.
Eleanor closed the box, feeling the surge of emotions.
May destiny help everything go smoothly and bring wealth my way.
......
In the morning, Eleanor woke up to find the bleeding had stopped.
The uncomfortable feeling of abdominal heaviness had also vanished.
Heading to the kitchen, Auntie King was starting the morning meeting and mentioned a batch of expensive ingredients arriving, assigning them to the right chefs.
Eleanor didn’t understand before the meeting ended.
Auntie King pulled her aside and handed her a bowl of corn cake from the warming cabinet, "He stopped eating corn, so the Lady no longer allows it. You can have some here secretly."
As a child, Eleanor loved sweets so much, she ended up with four cavities, enduring sleepless nights of pain but never stopping her sweet tooth.
Growing up, she lost her love for it.
However, the corn cake was Auntie King’s specialty to comfort her. Eleanor took a piece, but once in her mouth, it just wouldn’t go down.
Her throat was empty, but blocked tightly. As she chewed, it stirred the chaos in her stomach, causing an acidic reflux.
Auntie King frowned, "Is the morning sickness starting?"
Eleanor mumbled a response, diverting her attention, "Is the Sinclair family coming? With bullet sharks fin, starry cod, and large blue lobster involved, it’s surely a seafood feast to entertain them?"
Auntie King shook her head, looking uncomfortable, "It’s Young Master’s birthday in four days, and the Lady has invited some ladies. It’s sort of a family banquet, and also..."
Eleanor, "A matchmaking event."
Auntie King watched Eleanor’s expression, "That day——"
Eleanor couldn’t swallow down the food, set the bowl aside, but wore a relaxed look, "I won’t be around that day."
The five days was the final deadline given by Mr. Ghost; she might be long gone by Cillian’s birthday.
Taking advantage of the bit of time before breakfast, Eleanor went out.
Technically, she should use her period as an excuse to stay at the Grant residence, avoiding Cillian.
But Cillian allowing Mr. Grant to investigate the truth about The North showed he had nothing to hide, possibly even waiting for Mr. Grant to gather enough evidence to kick her out of the Grant family.
Yet Eleanor couldn’t figure out why Cillian, if unafraid of Mr. Grant finding out, didn’t straightforwardly expose everything, cutting off all her escape routes and leading to her utter doom.
Instead, it was this ambiguous, dragging situation, as if playing a game.
Thinking back, every time rumors of her pregnancy spread, with Cillian’s usual attitude and ways of handling things, Phoebe catching her at the White Family Hospital back then couldn’t have ended without incident.
After all, instructing someone to draw her blood would require just a glance from him.
