Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 60: Is My Fake Period About to Be Exposed?
As soon as the man’s figure disappeared from the kitchen, the faucet was shut off.
The space was left with only the sound of bubbling stew in the clay pot, and the steam spreading in the air made it hard to keep one’s eyes open when getting too close.
Eleanor lifted the lid and added ginger shreds and lettuce.
Auntie King handed over the spatula, "Eleanor, are you going—willingly?"
Eleanor stirred the porridge, "Auntie King, put in more minced meat, I really love it."
Her voice was scattered by the steam, and Eleanor quickly turned her head away, avoiding the steam.
But it was too late, the facade of peace was like a paper tiger, once torn, it drove a deeper, chaotic feeling that surged from the depths of her eyes.
Auntie King added the minced meat and asked nothing more.
Eleanor remained silent.
The window in front of them faced the lawn of the community, and out of nowhere rolled a little girl.
The princess dress, matched with yellow and pink, was rolled up messily, revealing chubby legs like lotus roots, and her tights were covered with grass stains.
Following her appeared a young woman with long hair, holding a school bag, who walked to her side and raised her hand.
Eleanor’s attention was unconsciously drawn to the little girl who was already sitting up, her round face forming a C shape, and the bright sunlight cast a glow on her pale little face, leaving a rosy tint.
She had two small pigtails on her head, bent over, just the size of Eleanor’s little finger, and when the wind blew, the hair trembled like fluffy duckling feathers.
Except the color was more pronounced, dyed in the vibrant morning sunlight, a fiery orange-red.
The young woman was her mother, who raised two fingers on top of her head, crouched and bounced once, turned around, and bounced out of sight.
The little girl crawled up, chasing in her mother’s direction, seemingly not yet able to hop, she could only squat down, stand up, squat down, stand up...
The dress fluttered, she truly was a seriously diligent little frog.
Auntie King suddenly said, "You were even cuter when you were little, round and plump, sneaking into the kitchen for the candy jar, but ending up eating salt, crying little tears of Dottie without daring to make a sound, holding your mouth like a little duck..."
Eleanor couldn’t help but imagine her daughter, envisioning a sunny winter afternoon like this.
Without the shadows cast by Cillian Grant, and the Grant Family far away.
She would take her to the lawn to hop like little frogs after breakfast, but maybe children wouldn’t be able to hop.
Perhaps teaching her to wobble like a little duck first, it’s the simplest.
.........
After the meal, Eleanor went to the bathroom.
Cillian Grant finished the last bite of the egg custard, gazing into the bowl.
Auntie King peeked into the kitchen, while he remained expressionless and motionless.
Obviously, he was waiting for her.
Auntie King knew that since he had laid the cards out on the table, she had to either join the ship or be silenced.
Auntie King braced herself to go over.
Cillian Grant spoke in a flat tone, "Auntie King has always been fond of her, taking great care of her, she was vibrant under your care, and will be so in the future."
Auntie King hesitated, wanting to say a lot but unable to speak, ultimately keeping silent.
Cillian Grant pretended not to see her rejection.
"She is in her period these few days, make some nourishing soups and watch her dietary restrictions against cold foods."
Auntie King murmured, "Eleanor takes good care of herself, she doesn’t eat ice nor crave cold."
Cillian Grant remained still, yet Auntie King sensed his posture was stiff, though his demeanor kept it under wraps, he still appeared distant.
"Just keep a close watch on her."
He ordered forcefully, and Auntie King could only nod.
Cillian Grant only intended to give these few instructions, stood up and left after speaking.
Leaving Auntie King dumbfounded, clutching her hands, unable to react.
Just like this?
No warning?
No silencing?
So casual, not afraid she’d report to the Grant family?
......
In the bathroom, Eleanor listened until it was quiet outside, took the tightly wrapped garbage bag, and secretly went out.
She had previously bought iodine povidone to fake her period, scattered it on that kind of thing, wrapped it up, as long as it wasn’t examined closely from the back, she could muddle through.
But unexpectedly, as soon as it arrived, Cillian Grant was back.
She was too late to create a reasonable wound for herself, and naturally, the iodine povidone wasn’t used now, hence those things remained clean and stark white, she had to find a way to dispose of them.
Eleanor knew that the high-end apartments under Grant Group are equipped with sensing and pedal switches, negative pressure plus disinfection, fully enclosed waste rooms, with garbage normally collected by property sanitation visits but occasionally by maids themselves.
Speaking of this waste room, Soldane Province was the first to push nationwide garbage classification, the public initially didn’t adapt and discussed fervently.
Only Grant Group actively responded to the policy, setting a good model enterprise exemplary effect, directly established by the government as a standard.
At that time the publicity period of Soldane Province was filled with news praising Grant Estates, the promotion department of Grant Group then gained momentum, broadcasting concepts like community landscaping with Archimedes water intake installations and private owner high-end clubs, riding the official wind deep into people’s hearts, instantly cementing the grandeur of Grant Group’s high-end luxury homes.
And this, counted merely as an ordinary entry in Cillian Grant’s commercial resume, drowned amidst his astounding achievements.
His unmatched methods were him, his deadly precision also him.
Old business hands faced him, falling in defeat within months.
Yet Eleanor was locked in a tug-of-war for four years, when Auntie King appeared, revealing her rotten and stench-filled inner sight to those who had trusted her, Eleanor also grew weary.
But when the beauty of the future could become detailed—to the degree she saw that little girl on the lawn, it sparked infinite hope, she gradually grew courageous.
The soldiers come and the walls defend, the waters flood and the earth covers, regardless—wear them down.
With composure settle, Eleanor began to think of cleaning up the mess.
First, as Cillian Grant showed no change of face this morning, it meant his deployed personnel found nothing amiss, she could just muddle through.
Also, there was Auntie King. She had worked diligently at the Grant Family for twenty years without fault, and three more years until her retirement.
Comparing with a gardener who worked eighteen years at the Grant Family, moved home to retire, and Mrs. Grant sent someone to refurbish a two-storey villa, gave a car, and a red envelope of eighteen thousand.
Auntie King would certainly receive more.
If Eleanor sought her help to conceal things, it would harm her late retirement.
Furthermore, company Leona Lewis had a loose end, although Damian Sinclair helped cover the black clinic, she had returned now, to ensure peace during these days, an impeccable handling was necessary to be reassured.
"Where did you go?"
A sudden voice unexpectedly pierced her ears, startling Eleanor, who looked up to see Cillian Grant standing at the entrance, instinctively seeking a topic to divert, "Are you going to work?"
He remained silent, still staring at her intently.
Eleanor braced herself, "Went to throw out garbage, there was a bloody smell, your nose is sensitive."
The man squinted, remaining silent.
The open space was large, the room felt empty, without speaking, it was an expanse of silence, even the kitchen was silent, Auntie King seemed absent.
Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief, yet lacked confidence.
The fake certificate was disposed of, but the given explanation obviously couldn’t convince Cillian Grant.
