Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 125: Cillian Grant Loses His Composure
"Cillian, when do you plan to return home?"
Cillian Grant stared at the computer screen.
After the board meeting, the audit committee was formed.
Connor Sullivan urgently reviewed the project data before the audit committee took action.
There were minor flaws, but no major errors.
"With you at the helm of Grant Group, I am completely at ease."
Mr. Grant chuckled quietly, "For one project, you are at ease, but the directors panic. Two projects, three projects then?"
"Would you?" The reflection on the computer screen made his eyes deep as the sea, "Grant Group is also your labor of love, perhaps you can afford to sever an arm, but only to that extent."
Mr. Grant shook his head and sighed, "No one knows a father better than his son. But Cillian, no one knows a son better than his father; the Xavier Family’s project bears the surname Xavier, and whether it be Liam Xavier or Jason Xavier, it causes no loss to Grant Group."
Cillian Grant remained silent.
Mr. Grant was pleased, "I know you’ve left enough personnel in the country to withstand for a while. Among those old foxes, it’s hard to tell who is siding with you and who is loyal to me. But do not forget, there is still the Sterling Sinclair family, Damian Sinclair convinced Sinclair to support Jason Xavier."
On the phone, Cillian Grant’s breathing was steady, as though he was indifferent.
Mr. Grant said, "Cillian, if it wasn’t for Liam Xavier being so incompetent, your win would have been truly brilliant. But with your help, Liam Xavier learns a bloody lesson. Even if you plan everything flawlessly, at critical moments, things reveal themselves, you lost."
Cillian Grant raised a hand to rub his nose bridge, "Father, leaving aside winning or losing, what is behind your show of triumph?"
Mr. Grant paused for two seconds, "What do you think?"
"Is it sending more people to Froskar?"
Mr. Grant suddenly burst into a hearty laugh, a chilling laugh echoing, "Last time you gave Father two choices, now, Father gives you two."
Cillian Grant clenched his phone, his gaze profound to the extreme, like a dark sea with waves amid, utterly devoid of light.
Mr. Grant restrained his laughter, "Will you stay in Froskar or return home? Stay in Froskar, and your four years of accumulation will be ruined at once; you can protect her temporarily but not for life. Or return home, take a gamble, first secure your position, then plan further."
Cillian Grant’s voice was cool, with an undeniable chill, "Don’t you regret?"
Now Mr. Grant holds the upper hand, full of confidence, "A son fighting his father, Cillian, you are far from it."
...............
Outside the door.
Eleanor wished she could blend into the door panel, Cillian Grant’s voice was rather clear, but he hadn’t turned on the speaker.
Her ears strained to the utmost, unable to hear what Mr. Grant said, making her eager enough to scratch the door.
The next second, the door was pulled open unexpectedly from inside.
Eleanor was caught off guard, tumbling into a warm embrace, her ear pressed against a scorching chest, his heart pounding like a drum; his arms tightened, wishing to blend her into his bones and flesh, soul and body merging.
Caught red-handed, Eleanor was startled and terrified; she observed quietly, extraordinarily docile, not struggling, letting him hold her.
Cillian Grant’s chest contracted and expanded, against the little soft bundle he held, her hair’s faint fragrance, like jasmine mixed with cherry blossoms, a chemical amalgam of scents.
Cillian Grant did not favor it, but it was triggered by her body heat, lingering around his nostrils, causing him to lose composure under the extreme pressure and longing, burying himself into her neck to deeply inhale, absorbing every bit of scent from her into his lungs, transferring to his bones.
Eleanor was even more petrified.
Currently, Cillian Grant possesses both power and wealth, he can easily fulfill any desire, revelers lined up at his feet. He raises his hand, causing a dizzying storm, a glance, blood pulses.
She couldn’t fathom what situation must arise for him to lose control to the point of despair.
Mr. Grant?
Eleanor hadn’t time to think deep, the man’s breath was urgent and chaotic, his icy lips sucking from her neck to the ear fragments, then biting her earlobe.
"Cillian Grant..." She tugged at his hair, trying to pull him off as she leaned back.
The man’s palm pressed against her back head, firmly restraining her, Eleanor couldn’t dodge, angrily pulling at his hair.
Cillian Grant’s hair was tough and thick, roots firm, not a strand dropping even as she tried a few times. This time, Eleanor tried hard to yank a small tuft, he aggressively planted a kiss while she plucked at a root.
She wondered if he would be the first to kiss her bald, or she would be the first to leave him a Mediterranean hairline.
The man’s warm lips halted at her corner of her lips, his scalp burning unbearably, the pain caused him to laugh suddenly.
The laugh started as a deep chest rumble, muffled, then leaked a couple of sounds from the throat, finally transitioning into a low, hearty laugh.
The man lay on Eleanor’s shoulder, seemingly unable to contain his joy.
"Feeling better now?"
Eleanor’s hand froze.
"Sneaky thoughts and petty-minded." Cillian Grant gently stroked her hair, stroking it for a long time, suddenly saying, "Want to go out?"
Eleanor’s body shuddered, instinctively looked up to discern his expression.
Cillian Grant bowed, forehead meeting hers. Within inches, a smile surfaced between his proper and handsome brows, "Whale watching, glacier hiking, blue ice caves, based on your body’s suitability—"
Eleanor replied firmly, "Suitable. If you don’t believe, you can check with the doctor."
Cillian Grant straightened, wrapping her shoulders, "Which one would you like to go to tomorrow?"
This time, Eleanor remained silent.
Too abnormal.
If Cillian Grant felt the previous clash between them was not conducive to her nurturing the fetus, and threw her outings to bait her, stabilizing her wasn’t surprising, but time wouldn’t be so specific, especially tomorrow, as though in a rush.
Additionally, with Mr. Grant deploying additional manpower, no matter how well she performs, it would likely be at the doorstep, not wandering around, seizing opportunities.
"I won’t go anywhere." Her words deliberate, directed at Cillian Grant’s expression, "I will stay here, quietly nurturing the fetus."
Cillian Grant’s face was inscrutable, yet his eyes were darker than the intense night outside the window.
Eleanor’s heart sank instantly, filled with resentment, because she knew—
She knew this was another fishing operation.
Eleanor raised her hand and pushed hard, storming out.
Cillian Grant hooked his arm, drawing her back into his embrace, bent over her, still expressionless, "No exercise tonight. Tomorrow, whale watching on the sea, rough winds, take good rest, gather strength."
Eleanor gazed into his eyes, "Cillian Grant, would you let me go?"
"Indeed I wouldn’t." Cillian Grant hugged her and turned, closing the door behind him, "I will take Eleanor out, not you."
So erratic.
Eleanor frowned deeply, Cillian Grant wasn’t the type to jest frivolously with people.
Often, his solemnity rendered him boring. Before, when Damon Sharp reported to him, occasionally slipping in a cold joke, she couldn’t help but laugh while overhearing. Cillian Grant’s expression remained stoic, eyes serious and austere, staring at people until their scalp tingled, hands and feet constrained.
