Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 50: Tell Damian Sinclair to Wait

At nine in the evening, the rain had stopped, and the wind had calmed.

The neon lights of the provincial city stretched endlessly, and looking down from a high place, water mist floated between the skyscrapers, everything was hazy and blurred, indistinct and vanishing.

Cillian Grant stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, flashes of colored light occasionally passing over him, swallowed by the dark, chilling gleam in his eyes.

His personal assistant stood not far away, reporting in a low voice, "Mr. Sinclair’s secretary booked a flight at Aetius Airport, but Miss Eleanor never showed up until the plane took off. Based on ground transportation speed estimates, other airports reachable within four hours include Ruvian and Ardane Airport in Veridia, both also have no travel record for Miss Eleanor."

After finishing the report, the assistant left, the next person stepped in.

"No trace of Miss Eleanor was found at the checkpoints on roads from the provincial city to the surrounding counties and cities."

"Surveillance showed at 2:26 PM, Miss Eleanor and Elaine White entered the Eastgate Slums and did not reappear after that."

"Miss Eleanor’s phone was found in a trash can 500 meters from the slums in the East Second Beltway, the SIM card was also there."

"Since joining the Stonewell Project Team, Miss Eleanor has frequently inquired about the members’ hometowns. Upon organizing, it was found that most are in less economically developed counties and cities. As per your instructions, Tilly, whom you asked to pay special attention to, mentioned that Miss Eleanor intends to compile an economically feasible travel list focusing on places with no documentation and strong local hospitality." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

One person entered, then exited, then the next in line came in.

On the desk behind Cillian Grant, piles of documents accumulated.

Until the last person bowed and closed the door.

The room remained silent, the neon reflected in the floor-to-ceiling window bursting into colorful hues, abruptly shattered by a cold sneer.

A man’s face emerged, as if frozen in icy coldness, from his eyes to the corners of his mouth, sinister and bleak.

This matches.

This matches her sudden disappearance, her rebellious submission.

It wasn’t that the lesson had been imparted, and she was scared of him.

On the contrary, the lesson was too light for her desire to escape to die.

The more she lied low, the more she wanted to leave him.

Even to the point of enduring humiliation and hardship, secretly agreeing to a blind date with someone as filthy as Quincy Lewis.

Even after he found out and obstructed it, she got scared but remained unrepentant.

Cillian Grant sat down behind the desk, reading through the assistants’ organized documents one by one, a few details standing out, meticulous and calm, making the chilling coldness in his eyes almost overflow.

He tore open his shirt collar, buttons flying off, his exposed chest heaving sharply.

The new wounds on his fingers, clenched, split open, blood trickling down his fingers, pooling on the screen.

He paid it no mind and swiped open the screen lock.

The call connected.

The man’s voice, as icy as frost, "First, investigate the cities she asked about in the Stonewell Project Team. Second, retrieve the transaction records of all accounts under her name from major banks. Third, closely monitor the movements of the White Family and Elaine White, both in reality and online."

As for abroad, whether Damian Sinclair has any other tricks, whether she will use other ways to meet up with Damian Sinclair.

A cold gleam flickered in Cillian Grant’s eyes, something he would personally confirm.

......

The bus stopped at a key station in Trilliant County, Eleanor left quickly from the exit, wearing a mask and hat.

At the last moment of the checks on the bus, another bus arrived behind with unexpectedly more than half having no documentation, the traffic police called for backup.

The two traffic officers had already got to her row, glanced back quickly, saw no one at the back, and hurried off the bus, allowing Eleanor to narrowly escape unharmed.

That night, Eleanor stayed at a small motel in the remote outskirts of Trilliant County, the price even cheaper than Tilly had said, only twenty.

The environment was naturally less than ideal, the room reeked of mildew, with a broken table, a rotten chair, and a hard board bed. The sheets and blankets belonged to the landlady herself, with ’80s large red peony prints, unfortunately, a big hole in the middle, revealing yellowed and blackened cotton inside.

Following her gaze, the landlady patted her leg and angrily scolded, "Oh dear, I told you those two tawdry blonde ones were no good, ruined my blankets."

She grabbed the blanket and slung it over her shoulder, "I know you young girls love cleanliness, got a good heart, I’ll give you a half-price discount on the change fee, three bucks."

Eleanor pulled out the small change the landlady had just given her, the smallest denomination was ten bucks, and she paid it, "Any food?"

"Didn’t have any before, do now." The landlady unceremoniously took the money, "Want some noodles? Five bucks more and I’ll add meat."

Eleanor was generous, not only did she add meat, but also added a five-buck fried egg.

She wasn’t picky about plain food, but the daughter in her belly needed nutrition.

After eating her fill, she lay dressed on the newly changed blanket, gazing at the not entirely clean and white ceiling.

Honestly, she’d never lived in such conditions from childhood, nor tasted noodles so salty they stung her lips, nor fried eggs so greasy.

In contrast to the luxury residences of the upper class, with interior air purification systems, and a diet that was light, low in salt, oil, and carbs, with ingredients flown in daily from around the world.

Yet she surprisingly didn’t feel discomfort from the disparity.

Here, there were no celestial hounds, no three-eyed beings, no Cillian Grant, nor increasingly hostile parents.

No constant danger, no frost and sharp swords, no precariousness.

She lay quietly here, her internal organs and limbs, those acupoints constantly tense, spread open, relaxed, every blood vessel unimpeded, blood flowing joyfully through her entire body.

A sour, tingling, numbing sensation spread from Eleanor’s heart, her throat unconsciously choked, she wanted to cry.

But she didn’t.

She was relaxed, joyful, free, finally able to catch her breath, feeling each breath of air entering her lungs, the moldy smell transforming into soil, blooming with flowers on her body.

Moreover, she had two hundred thousand, the last of her savings after bribing the obstetrics and gynecology head.

Calculating it, it wasn’t even enough for one of Phoebe Grant’s hairpins.

But looking at the landlady’s room, the meal, the small-town prices brimming with the smell of fireworks.

Two hundred thousand, enough for her to safely give birth to her daughter, to nurse, to wean, to learn to walk, to learn to speak...

To call her mom.

Mom—

The room suddenly went dark, intermittent sobs sounded in the pitch-black.

.........

In the latter half of the night, Phoebe Grant was half-dreaming, half-awake when she heard a rapid knocking on the door.

Her close acquaintance, servant Ms. Lewis, sharply called her, "Miss, Miss, wake up, the young master has returned, Miss—"

Phoebe pushed her silk eye mask up, drowsily opened the door.

"What’s the matter?"

Ms. Lewis breathed a sigh of relief and bowed with a smile, "The young master is back, instructed me to pack your luggage and have you downstairs in fifteen minutes."

Phoebe looked downstairs, bewildered. "Pack my bags, to where?"

This question, how could Ms. Lewis possibly answer?

The young master was sharp and aloof, taciturn but always authoritative.

In the Grant Family, aside from the household manager and Auntie King who’d been around the longest, no one ever dared to ask much about his affairs, nor dared to come close and tease.

Ms. Lewis was on night duty today, and the man suddenly came in, cold and dewy, emanating a chilling aura, the air pressure around him low enough to crush the human spirit, it was unlikely to be anything good.

She could only shake her head.

Phoebe showed disdain, "An idiot who knows nothing, it’s just that my family is kind, paying a high salary to keep a simpleton like you."

She changed her clothes and went downstairs.

The chandelier in the living room wasn’t on, only the light strip around the sofa was lit, its pearl-white glow casting an inorganic pallor in the deep, dark rainy night.

In the brightness, Cillian Grant leaned on the sofa, resting his eyes, wearing a black shirt and black trousers, the only exception being his right hand wrapped in bandages, a spot of white.

As she stepped down the last stair, about to call out, the man had already opened his eyes.

Those pitch-black eyes darker than the endless cold winter night.

Like a barren abyss of death, once fallen into, utterly obliterated.

Phoebe nearly suffocated, her heart contracting to the extreme. "Brother—Brother—"

Cillian’s gaze fixed on her, "Call Damian Sinclair, tell him to wait at the airport."