Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 164: Restraint

"Let Elaine come."

Cillian Grant’s eyes were bloodshot, his face an ashen hue. "Tell her the location, tell her what happened, warn her about what to say and do. If Ian White is with her, make sure he keeps an eye on his daughter."

Damon Sharp was stunned for a second, then responded in agreement.

Connor Sullivan had dealt a severe blow to Sinclair Group domestically, leaving Damian Sinclair with no time to spare, but he found Elaine and entrusted her to come to Froskar.

He initially opposed this, even though Mr. White intervened, making it clear that it wasn’t about fulfilling Damian’s request, but simple concern between young women. Yet he still hit a wall.

Damon gauged his intentions; it wasn’t to prevent Eleanor from making friends, but rather to fear that Elaine might, like with the Antenatal Injection incident, knowingly risk Eleanor’s health and follow her, harming herself.

This time, it was a rare change of decision.

"And that snakehead called Mr. Ghost," Cillian Grant’s gaze remained fixed on the lit-up operating room sign. "Send him back to the country immediately."

Damon froze again and softly asked, "Do we still proceed with the report against him for illegally taking people abroad?"

Cillian Grant’s breathing was heavy. His mind uncontrollably thought of her clenched teeth, the unstoppable blood, her words, "You won."

"Drop it."

Damon responded, "Okay."

The corridor was silent again, the kind of silence where light seems to solidify, leaving only the sound of fluctuating breaths, exuding deep sorrow.

Damon’s own breathing was barely audible, increasing the strength of his support, intending to guide him to sit on the side, but couldn’t find the words.

His personality was reticent, essentially unsuitable for a life assistant role. After all, a life assistant deeply involves themselves in their employer’s personal affairs. Besides arranging daily schedules and assisting in handling affairs, they must be flexible and able to provide emotional value.

But Cillian Grant didn’t need that; he had no emotional expectations from others. A clumsy and awkward tool was cleaner and less bothersome than someone eloquent.

A phone ring broke the atmosphere.

Damon pulled out his phone with his other hand.

He hadn’t informed Connor Sullivan about the situation here, so Connor remained in the status of a private call from an hour ago.

"Damon, Mr. Grant is holding Eleanor’s funeral at the provincial funeral parlor. Damian Sinclair attended and even sent a wreath, confirming Eleanor’s death."

The surroundings were so quiet the earpiece’s sound was as loud as being on speaker.

Cillian Grant’s gaze turned to his face, their eyes meeting, more bloodshot than ever.

"Miss Eleanor," Damon corrected him shakily, "Cillian—"

From Connor’s side, there was a "rat-a-tat-tat," like a stamping machine, indistinct, naturally continuing downward.

"I know you’re trying to say Mr. Grant lost, but he’s still struggling, so he rushed to confirm Eleanor’s death, right?"

"I think so too, Mr. Grant’s calculation is quite shrewd. If Eleanor wants to return to the country in the future, she can only assume a different identity. If Cillian marries Eleanor then, there’s a sort of facade to save face. To me, this facade is nothing but self-deception."

"But with the investment in Afreia, the Grant Group seems set to rise further. In wealthy families, if there’s profit to be made, one might turn a blind eye."

Damon’s scalp tingled, "I mean Mr. Grant is—"

"I know, Mr. Grant cares about Damian Sinclair," Connor scoffed, "It’s been four years, and every time it’s his heart-drilling tactic, as if they’re telepathically connected~~."

He smacked his lips, "Separated by thousands of miles, without meeting or calling to confirm, just threatening Phoebe Grant, ’Eleanor doesn’t want to return to the country, nor does she want to remain on the Grant Family’s household registry.’"

"Those were his exact words. Listen to how certain he sounds. Clearly aware Eleanor isn’t dead but helping Mr. Grant confirm it with a few sneaky moves."

He finally stopped to breathe, leaving Damon numb from head to toe, "I mean Mr. Grant is next to me."

The phone line went deathly silent for a second, then erupted in a heart-wrenching fit of coughing.

Cillian Grant showed no expression. After a minute, hoarsely, he spoke.

"Let them make a scene."

A scene?

Damon pondered whether this meant temporarily ignoring it, waiting to reclaim Eleanor’s identity when they returned, or just going with the flow and ignoring it altogether?

............

Eleanor faintly heard Elaine White’s voice.

She was cursing, cursing rather crudely.

"I specially got a rabies shot before coming. I fear you." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"Triggered memories, you damn well only occupy the ’animal’ bit."

"You’re an animal, your whole family is, so let them all eat shit, Phoebe Grant’s mouth is full of it, your parents have it in their heads, you are unbelievable, you’re full of shit—"

Someone covered her mouth.

Eleanor, in a moment of urgency, became slightly aware.

It seemed to be happening right next to her, not a dream, nor a soul’s return to see the living one last time.

She hadn’t planned on opening her eyes, but with Elaine suddenly there, she had to.

But her eyelids were heavy, and after a long effort, Elaine went from cursing to crying, crying until she started convulsing.

And then she opened her eyes.

Before she could speak, a dark figure lunged at her, prying her eyes, pinching her mouth, giving her a head-to-toe examination.

Then pressed the bedside call button, hugging her tightly until she was blurred into darkness, burying her deeply, wailing sorrowfully above her head.

"You deceived me, how could you deceive me?"

Elaine sobbed, "We agreed on a fake death to go to New Zealand. I even wrote a plan on how to secretly visit you abroad afterwards."

"Your fake death became real. You died and came back to life, and now you’re dying by biting your tongue."

Elaine cried so much that Eleanor felt as if her scalp was drowning; she raised her hand to hug her back, but both arms were tangled in tubes, and as soon as she moved, a flurry of beeping erupted from beside her, sounding the alarm.

There seemed to be someone on guard outside.

As soon as the sound started, the door was suddenly pushed open from outside.

Eleanor heard chaotic footsteps, quickly reaching the bedside.

Cillian Grant’s voice was rough and hoarse, like a worn-out tape, difficult and dry, "Move aside."

Elaine’s arm tightened, holding Eleanor securely, "Animal, get the hell away."

Eleanor opened her mouth, trying to speak, but her tongue wouldn’t move.

She opened her mouth wide, her gums nibbling Elaine’s soft belly.

Elaine let out a startled cry.

Cillian Grant’s temple veins bulged grotesquely, unable to suppress his violent restlessness, almost terrifying under the bright hospital lights.

Ethan White sensed he was about to lose control, and swiftly peeled Elaine from the bed like removing a plaster.

"You come—"

Eleanor was enveloped by him, his palm landing on her face, gently pinching her chin, fingers prying at her lips.

"Does it still hurt?"

His voice trembled, Eleanor’s body trembled, clenching her jaw, gathering strength to break free from his embrace, just struggling twice.

Before biting her tongue, she was weak but could still speak. After, she couldn’t speak at all.

Elaine’s temper flared, breaking free from Ethan White, coming up to rescue her.

Cillian Grant’s arm was jostled, his expression was poor, his eyes filled with dense blood vessels, a gunpowder barrel with the fuse already lit.

Eleanor watched him warily.

She was too aware the one in front of her was a monster.

Loathing physical contact, allowing no one to offend him face to face, vindictive.

Elaine cursed him, tore at him, and helped her escape twice before.

Once he retaliated, the White Family had no way to resist, with evidence of fabricating health checks in hand.

Ethan White pulled Elaine back again, maybe Cillian Grant had other considerations because he restrained himself, not making trouble.

The cold palm reattached to her cheek, "I sent Mr. Ghost back; Elaine will stay with you. Sedatives won’t incapacitate you; you’re just too weak. There’s no winner or loser between us—"

Elaine couldn’t bear his pretense, "Tranquilizers indeed won’t incapacitate someone, but you won’t let Eleanor contact us; why don’t you mention that."