Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 140: Cillian Grant Makes It Clear

"Second Secretary, the Vice Director has taken the call."

Connor Sullivan immediately paused the executive meeting. After the executives left, he closed the door.

Cillian Grant spoke first, "Delay it for one more day."

"Vice Director, we can’t delay any longer," Connor Sullivan said, unable to hide his agitation. "We’re no match for Director Grant. We thoroughly reviewed the previous project with The Xavier Group, yet the audit team found loopholes the same day. You haven’t returned, and Director Grant has scheduled another board meeting this afternoon to officially replace the Xavier collaboration partner."

Connor Sullivan moved to the corner of the room, away from doors and windows, "Liam Xavier went abroad and hasn’t appeared since. The Xavier project is leaderless. Mr. Sinclair of the Sinclair Group suddenly supported Jason Xavier to replace Liam Xavier. The Sinclair Group previously stepped in with resources and funds to help resolve the Grant And Xavier crisis, and now he’s picking sides. The board members recognize this."

A hint of mockery flashed in Cillian Grant’s eyes.

Mr. Grant was clever enough to find out about Eleanor’s pregnancy in the shady clinic and naturally knew Damian Sinclair had a hand in it, bribing the owner and threatening him to keep quiet.

Holding one daughter hostage while coveting another adopted daughter, even protecting this adopted daughter to stab the Grant Family in the back.

With Mr. Grant’s character, whether it’s reprimanding or controlling this unruly son-in-law, Damian Sinclair will not have peace in the short term.

To force his return, they even managed to coordinate together despite their differences.

"My father is indeed generous."

Connor Sullivan faced the wall, picking at the wallpaper, maintaining silence.

"I’ll return tomorrow and should arrive the morning after tomorrow. As for the afternoon meeting, I’ll arrange for someone to delay it."

Connor Sullivan hung up the phone, exhaling heavily.

Serving Cillian Grant was stressful. Yet his leadership never shifted blame onto others, never coercing subordinates to handle tasks beyond their capabilities forcibly.

Compared to Jason Xavier who was "constantly anxious and prone to collapse," he, as Second Secretary Sullivan, was "steady, calm, and sure-hearted."

.........

Eleanor tiptoed away from the corner.

Just as expected.

Mr. Grant was shrewd and always one step ahead.

She would leave tomorrow, and Cillian Grant was returning to the country.

Mr. Grant’s grand play was about to begin.

In past times, she’d rather have squabbled with Cillian Grant three times than face off against Mr. Grant just once. But this time was different. After all, Earth wasn’t completely controlled by the Grant sphere, Froskar was an ocean apart, with Mr. Grant unfamiliar with remote controls and the mercenaries under Cillian Grant that remained concealed.

Eleanor envisioned that if she fell into Mr. Grant’s hands and was taken to the hospital, how would the mercenaries behind Cillian Grant react?

They would certainly come to her rescue.

By then, with Cillian Grant and Mr. Grant’s men counterbalancing each other, her odds of success increased by thirty percent.

Moreover, she had a plan B.

If the hospital attempt at faking death failed, Damian Sinclair planned to whitewash things along the gang’s route.

There were so many countries in the world, and after she was whitewashed, she wouldn’t stay in one place for long. Despite the wandering life, she’d wear down the Grant Family’s patience bit by bit until they gave up.

Eleanor returned to her room to wash up and came out to find Cillian Grant still on the phone on the small balcony.

As she passed by, she heard him say, "President Lewis’s son-in-law."

It was likely the board of Grant Group. Eleanor lingered for a while more, fearing she’d be discovered if she stayed too long, then left for the first floor and opened the fridge.

The food Cillian Grant mentioned, placed ostentatiously and solo, was in the middle of the second compartment in the fridge.

Eleanor took it out.

A plate of not-so-appealing fried eggs and ham, and a meat patty of unknown type. She examined it for a long time but could only recognize the rosemary garnish next to the meat.

"Well done."

Cillian Grant stood on the stairs, "If you can eat it, eat it. If not, call to order food."

Eleanor put down the plate, "What’s the number to order food?"

Cillian Grant paused.

Eleanor pretended not to notice, walked out of the kitchen, and went to the living room to make a call.

Cillian Grant stood in place, pursing his lips, seeming unnatural.

While flipping through the hotel phone directory, Eleanor dialed each number. He walked over step by step, slid his arm under her, encircled her in his arms, his tone somewhat sinister and brooding, "Are you picky with your food?"

"Not really," Eleanor didn’t struggle, "Everything I could eat, I finished."

Cillian Grant frowned and glared at her, "This time, you can’t eat it?"

"Not exactly," Eleanor shook her head, "Aside from the overcooked eggs, the burnt ham, and the unidentifiable meat patty, it’s quite good overall, especially with the sprig of rosemary, which retained its original flavor, very rare."

Blatant nonsense, an utter waste of words.

The rosemary never went into the pot; it was added as a garnish, so naturally, it retained its flavor.

Although accustomed to her pretense and evasions, Cillian Grant’s patience, however ample, failed to engage this time when she once again deliberately ignored and twisted his intent.

"I made it, just like this Jade Button, the beads, which I carved and polished personally, bit by bit." 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

The room was filled with warmth.

Yet Eleanor’s back turned stiff, a chill descending upon her.

Cillian Grant’s detachment stemmed from a certain coldness, a restraint in self-expression, never fully revealing himself without reservation.

Whatever he intended, he would proceed silently, without a sound, only subtly revealing his hand when the net was about to close.

And now, he was expressing his desire for her to obediently give birth to the child and his intention to marry her.

Even going so far as to make the Jade Button himself and prepare the meal personally.

How could he know how to cook?

Only during those four years they lived together, when she was ill, feverish, and too weak to get out of bed, did Cillian Grant take a few tries at cooking pasta.

So now, what’s the meaning?

Was this a meticulous ambush?

The space suddenly tightened as Eleanor’s shoulder was squeezed. She sensed him looming over, embracing her in the most intimate manner, with no reservation.

"You once asked me why the greenery in winter was changed in Soldane Province to plant cherry blossoms."

Outside, the wind had risen, a whistling sound sweeping across the snowy plains.

The Fjord’s geography made the wind sound more intense than in the previous small town, battering against the windows with unending wails.

Eleanor couldn’t hear it though; what filled her ears was the sound of the man’s breathing, unusually steady, bringing about a unique upheaval.

Even his breath was as scalding as lava.

Merging into her ear canals, burning its way alive into her body, scorching her brain, fracturing her heart.

"It was never because of Phoebe Grant, simply because you liked it."

The room was heated, both wearing light clothes. The heat of Cillian Grant’s well-defined muscles seared through the fabric, brazenly wrapping around her.

Eleanor detected an extreme danger.

Like a caged beast long held back, finally opening the gate, a single claw ominously extended from the shadows, followed by the head, then another claw...

She shivered uncontrollably, "Cillian Grant—"

"Eleanor." Cillian Grant lifted her chin, forcing her to look up and face him, "Unless I articulate every word crystal clear, you will continue to distort my intentions, twist my meanings, won’t you?"

The wind outside howled even louder.

Since Cillian Grant arrived in Froskar, Eleanor had felt an illusion that as each day passed, the wind howled against the glass more fiercely, while he grew gentler.

As if his chill extended outward, morphing into a gale that raged outside, leaving the inside relatively safe.

But now, with the wind still wailing, he no longer felt secure.

"Then I will say it clearly."

Each word deliberate, he declared, "It’s because I love you, so I will marry you."