Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 102: Desperate Escape

Secretary Rhodes carried a briefcase, following behind Mr. Grant.

As they bypassed the entrance screen, he seemed to sense something and looked up.

On the third floor, Cillian Grant was leaning against the railing, looking down. He was dressed in a black shirt and black trousers, with no other color found on him, his whole demeanor solemn and harsh.

Secretary Rhodes could hardly recall the last time he saw Cillian wearing a casual jacket, appearing relaxed and carefree. Now, he seemed as if shattered pieces were reassembled, carrying an aura with three parts tenderness like water.

A person hurriedly bypassed the entrance screen again, glanced respectfully at Mr. Grant, did not report beyond their rank, and whispered in Secretary Rhodes’ ear.

In just a few breaths, Secretary Rhodes’ expression changed dramatically, struggling to control his gaze from looking towards the third floor.

Mr. Grant noticed the unusual atmosphere, slowed his pace, stopping at the staircase entrance. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

On the third floor, Cillian Grant rested his elbow on the railing, slightly hunched, fingers interlaced under his chin. The lights between floors reflected on his face, casting deep shadows over his sharp features, yet his expression was relaxed, as if something was happening and everything was under his control.

"David Rhodes," Mr. Grant turned his head to call Secretary Rhodes, but his eyes were fixed on the third floor, "What’s the matter?"

Cillian Grant also appeared to be listening.

"The people we sent out—were blocked." Secretary Rhodes failed to restrain a glance upstairs, meeting Cillian’s gaze for a brief moment before looking down again, "They escaped."

Mr. Grant’s figure stiffened, his chest heaved for a long time before calming down, stepping up the stairs to the third floor, "Cillian, do you have something you want to discuss with your father?"

Cillian Grant straightened up, leaned against the railing, "I have nothing to discuss with Father, does Father have something to discuss with me?"

Secretary Rhodes took a sharp breath, refusing to take the last step up the stairs.

Mr. Grant felt as if his throat had been stuffed with fire, while Cillian’s sharpness was aggressive, his nature cold and stern, his temper cutting, but generally, he was cultivated. Towards subordinates, he handled things with professionalism without resorting to pettiness; towards elders, he showed respect and humility, even if the counterpart was aggressive, he was accommodating.

Now, it had changed.

His stance was demanding, his words seized the initiative, suppressing the other side—a tactic to outmaneuver opponents in business.

"Leona Lewis was placed before me by you, wasn’t she?"

Cillian Grant did not deny, "Father values heirs, even the slightest rumors."

Mr. Grant showed no smile, those age-ridden bright eyes deepened with fog, curling inward, rolling more intensely, denser and more severe.

"The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. Now you use rumors to coax me into dropping it, do you think I will still believe?"

"Certainly not."

Cillian Grant changed his position, the corridor’s spotlight had no obstruction, directly illuminated his face, glowing white light as calm as water, "Only the foolish Phoebe would believe such words."

Mr. Grant showed some displeasure but said nothing as he watched him.

"I can still covertly maneuver operations."

These words, he held cautiously between lips and tongue, exposing them stingily, reluctantly, revealing them and still longing for them, like a child reminiscing eating candy, the sweetness was in the past, yearning filled the heart, unbearable now.

Mr. Grant obviously didn’t understand, overly wary of his unusual expression.

At this time, Secretary Rhodes braced and entered the fray, quietly reporting to Mr. Grant, "Director Keane has betrayed you, as for the Xavier Family, he publicly supports the vice-director."

A trusted confidant suddenly turns face at the moment he planned to support Liam Xavier’s uncle to control Cillian Grant. Mr. Grant had navigated the business world for four decades, seeing beyond immediate success or failure, he evaluated deeper motives.

Cillian Grant was declaring war on him.

He was to continue tightly grasping Eleanor, wholeheartedly blocking, or turn heads, securing his position as chairman.

In situations where opponents were all his, only one option was available, unable to progress parallelly.

Mr. Grant suddenly softened his expression, forced a smile, "Cillian, this—can’t be called covert maneuvers."

Cillian Grant, "It depends on your choice."

Mr. Grant was expressionless, instantly realized.

Maintaining position, abandoning Eleanor, was Cillian’s encircling maneuver to rescue tactics.

Abandoning the position and continuing to seize Eleanor, covert maneuvers could still be forced as an explanation.

After all, the definition of this term is doing something overt without disguise, attracting the opponent’s attention, thus facilitating secret actions.

Once Cillian Grant becomes chairman, with power in his hands, he can no longer suppress him. By then, Cillian will do as he pleases; nobody can stop him.

Mr. Grant lost his composed demeanor, took deep breaths, his face darkened as he turned to descend the stairs.

......

Eleanor gazed through the porthole, observing the dock embarking point, where two groups of foreigners with high noses and deep-set eyes faced off.

Mr. Ghost was also observing, "The shorter, more built group are the ones who drove the Land Rover chasing us earlier, the ones who look like proper fighters don’t seem to be with them, could they be here to save you?"

Eleanor lowered her eyes, "Neither group is. I have two enemies back home, one old enemy and one new enemy."

Mr. Ghost chuckled lightly, "Are these enemies easy to handle?"

"The new one is overly suspicious and cautious, but I’ve managed for four years, barely able to deal with them. The old one is unfathomable, experienced, likely tougher than the new one."

"Look there," Mr. Ghost jerked his chin, "which group is the old one, which is the new one?"

Eleanor frowned, "They aren’t holding signs; how would I know?"

Mr. Ghost, "Two groups, not a single familiar face?"

Eleanor scrutinized closely again, "No. Both old and new, their subordinates are Chinese. I’ve never heard of them having foreign forces."

The previous decision to leave the country was inspired by the notion that Cillian was a giant octopus turned The Kraken, his tentacles unable to reach beyond the Pacific Ocean.

Unexpectedly, a miscalculation occurred.

Mr. Ghost turned serious, "Power isn’t necessary; as long as money is provided, mercenaries can ascend to the heavens and descend into the earth. I’ll go buy food now. Once fed and rest well, after disembarking, you will have a wild escape."

The white stern vanished into the sea’s blue-gray mist, the extending snowy coast and icebergs, amidst a boundless and chaotic world.

On the dock, the taller group set down binoculars, the leader waved, signaling withdrawal.

The other group waited for instructions.

"That group is daunting. I suspect they are armed. This contradicts the information provided by the employer. I suggest dropping this business."

"A woman who doesn’t know Therasia kungfu and a bunch of armed thugs, those are two different prices. I agree to drop the job."

"I also agree."

The sturdy man standing in the center surveyed around, "Now things have changed again, one million euros in exchange for a vial of blood. Whether their stomachs have the courage, all they want is a vial of blood."

One group looked at each other, suddenly revived with enthusiasm for the deity from the East.

......

As the ship docked, Mr. Ghost grabbed the luggage, pulled out a card from the inner pocket of his jacket, led Eleanor to deposit money, change clothes, and rented a Volvo, filling the tank.

"Two scenarios. The good one is they also took a ship, docked three hours later than us. The bad news is, there is a plane from Cryos to Froskar. I checked the flight, landing in half an hour, the airport not far from here."

"As for me, delivering you to Froskar, I’ve already exceeded completion of my task."

The cabin was dark and cramped, the sealed windows made the air heavy and stagnant, suffocating without respite.

Eleanor looked outside.

Night had fallen.

Frozen mountains, silent seas, deep black beaches. Snow under the night sky, a quiet blue, as if a road stretching a lifetime, vehicles soaring.

Heading toward the world’s edge.