Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 165: Damian Sinclair’s Predicament
The segmented light strip on the ceiling of the ward hung above the foot of the bed.
From Eleanor’s angle, she could clearly see every inch of Cillian Grant’s face under the light.
His brows were stern and fierce, the line from his temple to his jaw formed a straight path, but his gaze didn’t shift even slightly towards Elaine White.
Unbelievable tolerance, followed by indifference.
"If you’re convinced it’s my perversion, playing this game," Cillian Grant intertwined her hair around his fingers, "then I’ve lost."
Elaine White scoffed disdainfully but remained silent, while Ian White rudely pinched her lips and forcefully dragged her out the door.
"You’re my ancestor, little ancestor. He’s filled with regret, and even if you curse him, he doesn’t have the energy to care. Just as he’s starting to adjust his state, don’t cause trouble for him."
Eleanor heard the phrase about adjusting his state.
The door closed.
The fierce look in Cillian Grant’s eyes faded, giving way to a touch of gentleness. His movements were also gentle, his thumb rubbing her cheek, almost numbing the pain of his calluses.
"You’re too strong and brave; I was overly ambitious, took a hundred steps forward, only to find you still retreating; it almost drove me insane." He caressed the corner of her eye.
"I forgot that when you returned to The Grant Family, you were also enduring pain. I just wanted to use Phoebe Grant to make you understand that they had long changed. It wasn’t your eyes, nor was it your disputes with Phoebe Grant."
"You grew up in The Grant Family, but you’re different from all of us. You’re generous and lovable, which makes you upright. We are utilitarian and narrow, showing partiality only to a few. Phoebe Grant is a blood relative, the mother you imagined. The first time you met her, you accepted her. Retaining you was my way of not wanting to let you go."
Eleanor stared at him intently, the coldness in her eyes never warming, frozen beyond repair.
To her, as of today, The Grant Family was like a tumor that had already been removed. She didn’t want to discern the truth in what Mr. Grant or Cillian Grant said.
Cillian Grant silently gazed at her.
She felt no emotional ebb and flow about the past, only had clear love and hate for the outcome. He explained, opening up his heart to her, yet to her, the wound was real; the more it hurt, the more she hated.
Elaine White’s voice came from outside the door, "I’ve never caused trouble for anyone. I brought the doctor to see why the patient can’t even speak or slap. At least let people scold you a bit, you beast."
The sound of pulling and stumbling footsteps ensued, descending into chaos.
Cillian Grant gently touched her hair, slowly laid her flat, tucked in the quilt, and got up to open the door.
Elaine White was caught off guard, almost falling flat on her face while pushing the doctor.
A flicker of surprise flashed across Ian White’s face, then he quickly supported Elaine White with a cheerful smile, giving the doctor a push, "Go see the patient first."
Cillian Grant stepped aside, allowing the doctor to straighten the messy white coat and smile politely, "Mr. Grant."
When Eleanor awoke, Elaine White had already examined her.
Although she was an orthopedic doctor, during her medical studies, she learned clinical medicine as a broad foundation before specializing during her master’s degree.
She was knowledgeable about general trauma, and during her research on antenatal injection papers, she had also consulted extensively with the gynecology director at Aethel Union Hospital.
She came prepared, terrifyingly strong, understanding Eleanor’s situation well, bringing in the doctor purely as a diversion.
As expected, the gynecologist’s examination reached the same conclusion as hers.
The dentist more or less confirmed it too, telling Eleanor the condition and precautions, and advising, "The bite force of human teeth is insufficient to bite off the tongue instantly, and the body would only be at risk from blood loss if it exceeds 1.5 liters. Biting off the tongue to commit suicide often appears in literature, but from a medical standpoint, it’s very unlikely. If you have the courage to die, why not resist and live?"
Ian White couldn’t help but glance in surprise at Cillian Grant, who stood behind the doctor without any sign of anger or intention to intervene, entirely composed and unaffected.
His gaze steadily rested on Eleanor’s face, watching her transition from shock to hatred, observing her face turn pale and eyes shut with constantly trembling eyelashes.
Elaine White reacted a beat too late, "Cillian Grant, what are you playing at? If Eleanor really resists, the first thing she wants is for you to leave, so leave!"
The doctor, not understanding Therasian well, completed the assigned task and looked to Cillian Grant, "Mr. Grant, concerning your plan, the Mayo expert team is having a meeting right now. Can you join us?"
Cillian Grant nodded, paused for two seconds, and Eleanor still hadn’t opened her eyes.
He moved past Elaine White, nodded at Ian White, and disappeared out the door.
"Is he really leaving?" Elaine White exclaimed in disbelief.
Ian White closed the door, "Got surprised, huh? I told you he was adjusting his state. Let’s see what happens next."
..................
"There’s no waiting for later—"
Mr. Sinclair sat at the head of the meeting room table, pointing at Damian Sinclair’s secretary Sean Fenton, angrily rebuking, "Are you a person of the Sinclair Group or Cillian Grant’s person? At this point, what are we waiting for in the future?"
Sean Fenton stood stiffly in front of the PPT screen, restraining himself from glancing at Damian Sinclair sitting to Mr. Sinclair’s right.
Mr. Sinclair noticed this, his expression growing darker, and he signaled for the legal department head sitting to his left, "You explain."
The legal department head stood up.
"Currently, we have conducted transactions with Afreia involving three batches of goods, facing accusations of dumping and smuggling."
"Among them, the second batch of goods, originally meant to be exported via general trade or postal, was instead shipped through cross-border e-commerce retail channels, a clear case of smuggling, making it difficult for us to win."
"Dumping refers to a product being sold in another country at a price lower than its normal value in its domestic or other relevant markets during regular international trade. Our pricing is slightly lower than the general international market price, but considering the scope of commercial competition, we have a seventy percent chance of success."
Mr. Sinclair gestured for him to sit down with a downward motion of his hand.
Mr. Sinclair looked towards Damian Sinclair, "Do you know who the legal department head at Grant Group is?"
"Wayne Wynn, who studied under Sidney. Sidney is now with The United Nations, and formerly a senior legal advisor for the World Trade Organization."
Mr. Sinclair’s expression turned serious, "Wayne Wynn resigned from Grant Group the day before yesterday, and his flight is at three this afternoon, to provide legal consultancy for Afreia enterprises. Our seventy percent chance, with his inclusion, drops to forty percent at most."
"Damian Sinclair—" A middle-aged man wearing an administrative jacket burst in, "Get out here."
Mr. Sinclair recognized the man and immediately stood up. The secretary behind him pulled on Sean Fenton, dispersing the high-level executives in the meeting. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶
Damian Sinclair faced the newcomer, "Uncle Sinclair, why—"
"Smack—" An arm swung loudly across, making Damian Sinclair turn his head.
The newcomer struck in a fit of rage with full force, causing blood to seep from Damian Sinclair’s teeth, and his cheek swelled instantly with a handprint.
"You previously asked me to arrange a bank loan. I agreed, considering our family ties." Mr. Sinclair was furious.
"But my agreement was for the Grant And Xavier project to save a quality enterprise, not for you to oppress competitors and seize personal gains. Damian Sinclair, while commercial tactics are boundless, there must be limits. Have you lived up to my trust?"
