Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 93: Those Four Years, They Did Have Good Times
Mr. Grant waved his hand, and the servant at the door immediately closed it.
He embraced Mrs. Grant, "Listen to me on this matter, wait until the evidence..."
The room was filled with smoke, like a swirling cloud of bluish-gray, with whispers within.
On the other side.
Cillian Grant rushed to the hospital, the red emergency light glaring intensely. Under the light, Liam Xavier slumped in the chair, his white shirt and linen trousers soaked with bright red blood, with dozens of cuts on his face and hands, some still embedded with glass shards.
Cillian Grant walked up to him, but he didn’t respond for a long time, unable to cry or speak. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖
Amidst extreme despair and resentment, he was as numb as a soul-drained shell.
Cillian Grant frowned, looking around, surprised that no doctor was tending to the wounds.
At that moment, a man hurriedly rushed in from the end of the corridor, Liam Xavier’s assistant, clutching a long series of payment slips, seeing Cillian Grant as his anchor.
"Vice Director Grant, our lady is RH negative blood type, the hospital’s current blood supply is insufficient, and they’ve urgently arranged to transfer from other hospitals, but traffic is congested, and a helicopter needs prior permission from relevant departments, what do you think?"
In cases of life-threatening hemorrhage during pregnancy, seconds count. Cillian Grant was well-versed in pregnancy matters, aware that delays in normal approval processes might mean a difference between life and death.
"Go find my secretary, he will facilitate everything for you."
The assistant hurriedly left again, with Liam Xavier returning to reality from his daze, covering his face, his spirit collapsing, "It’s me, I was too aggressive, when the Sinclair Family showed up, the situation eased, and I thought it was stable..."
"Asked Sarah back... I even went to pick her up, but I forgot desperation breeds dangerous actions, Lucas Xavier would go all out; in his complete defeat, he’s left me with nothing..."
Cillian Grant typically looked down on his vulnerability, yet surprisingly remained silent, listening to his fragmented and chaotic venting.
"I made so many preparations, bodyguards, residence, prenatal care medical staff, I screened over and over, thinking what I provided for Sarah was foolproof, yet still, foolproof is in danger of total ruin, a desperate beggar will stop at nothing, even kill an emperor..."
Cillian Grant stood straight, unmoved.
Liam Xavier suddenly asked him, "Don’t you agree? If it were you..." he showed signs of another breakdown, "With your ability, would you have protected them?"
"I don’t have children, could." Cillian Grant looked down at him, his face cold but profound like a bottomless abyss, devouring those who dared, invincible, "If I had children, they’d be terribly precious; the children are precious, and the mother even more so—"
He didn’t continue, but Liam Xavier already understood.
Cillian Grant acted decisively yet strategically, capable of both aggression and patience. Choosing the right approach for the situation.
If it were him, he’d never let Sarah become a target from the beginning.
.........
Eleanor returned to The Grant Family after nine at night.
In the past few days, at this time, Mr. and Mrs. Grant were already in the bedroom, preparing to rest.
But tonight, they were sitting in the living room, holding a photo album, discussing Cillian Grant’s marriage.
Eleanor stood at the entrance, hearing just one sentence, Mrs. Grant’s gaze pierced through the hollow screen, directly at her.
Eleanor felt her heart jump, forcefully composed herself, and walked step by step into the living room, "Father, Mother."
Mrs. Grant’s face seemed to congeal with a layer of false wax, her brows and eyes frozen, motionless, making one shiver from the heart, yet unable to see through the true emotions concealed beneath her expressionless surface.
Beside her, Mr. Grant’s smile was much softer, very natural, his gaze lingering on Eleanor’s hair for a moment, "Why don’t you wear that hairpin? Don’t like it?"
Eleanor smiled, "I like it, it’s too valuable, not convenient for everyday wear."
Mr. Grant urged, "You’re the young lady of The Grant Family, what’s inconvenient? Wear it; I like to see my intentions respected."
Eleanor did not resist, nodded in agreement.
Mrs. Grant’s chest heaved sharply once, staring at Eleanor, her gaze piercing, Mr. Grant embraced her shoulders, gently shaking.
A reassurance, a hint.
Mrs. Grant inhaled but couldn’t calm down, shook off Mr. Grant, "The day after tomorrow is Cillian’s birthday, he’s invited several young ladies over to celebrate at home. You’ve come of age, sticking to Cillian arouses gossip, you understand my meaning?"
Eleanor’s anxiety faded, unable to contain her joy, "Understood, I’ll stay at Elaine White’s house tomorrow night and return after the birthday."
With Mrs. Grant’s word, she could disappear openly that day, and the time she’d be discovered would be reasonably postponed.
Once Cillian’s birthday passed, he might have time to look for her, but she might already be in a neighboring country, boarding a silent plane, vanishing completely.
Eleanor fell asleep with the excitement of escaping far away.
For the first time in months, she rested peacefully at The Grant Family, content with the future.
Cillian Grant left the hospital close to dawn.
In the afternoon, Liam Xavier’s child was lost, his wife in a coma from severe hemorrhage. An expert flown in from Aethel, in collaboration with provincial hospital staff, held a meeting to discuss treatment plans, the prognosis grim.
After Liam Xavier came out of the ICU, hatred had consumed his soul, turning him into an aggressive madman, unleashed, more reckless than a violent lunatic, devoid of reason.
Cillian Grant denied mutual destruction but supported his vengeance, planning till midnight.
He foresaw busy days ahead.
Cillian Grant returned to The Grant Family, and the servant reported.
"Madam also learned that Miss Eleanor had been living off-campus throughout university, reacted strongly, but was calmed down by Director Grant, momentarily composed. However, the day after tomorrow is your birthday, Madam forbids her presence; Miss Eleanor agreed and will stay overnight at Elaine White’s place until your birthday is over before coming back."
Cillian Grant remained silent for a second, walked to Eleanor’s door, and found it locked.
The servant brought him a key, "Director Grant and Madam slept late, they just fell asleep."
Cillian Grant twisted the door handle.
Eleanor lay on her side on the bed, she slept very orderly, curled up in one position until dawn. When he was there, she’d pillow his arm, nestling like a kitten in his embrace, both obedient and soft, yet picky, allowing him to hug her but not touch recklessly, encircling her with his legs but not imposing on her.
Complained he was hard, complained he was strong, complained his strength was excessive, crude, and prolonged sickness; even men with a slightly coarser hair texture would irk her.
But despite her delicate nature, her proud complaints never incited his anger, only made him want to squeeze her tenderly into an embrace, to bind her within, then have her give him an exasperated kick, coldly calling him irritating.
Their four years weren’t without happy moments.
But she held grudges intensely; that summer, he truly intended to let her return to The Grant Family, and his work genuinely met sudden changes, necessitating an overseas flight without her.
She grumbled boarding the plane, but disembarked all smiles.
He diligently attended meetings, worked tirelessly, sleepless and foodless.
The female secretary took her on a Europe tour for half a month, her phone unresponsive, texts unanswered. Back home, secretive social media posts featured a daily barrage of travel videos, her broad smiling face ever present, gleefully tagging along with "nice," "happy," "very good" remarks.
His ’accidental’ like on her posts led to an account closure within three minutes, another grievance added — she’d rigorously monitor him as a criminal suspect.
The slightest lenience and she’d escape, crack down hard and she’d resent, impervious to soft or hard tactics, more resilient than a tortoise, pricklier than a hedgehog.
Yet, she was so full of life.
