Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 70: Mr. Grant Makes a Move, Storm Brewing
Mrs. Grant said, "Previously, Cillian wanted Phoebe to go abroad to keep Damian company, so they could build up a sense of shared hardship together. When Mrs. Sinclair found out, she made a point of thanking me for raising her so well—she saw Phoebe in a whole new light."
"So when I agreed to let her come back, I was racking my brains trying to figure out how to smooth things over with the Sterling Sinclair side." Mrs. Grant sighed, realizing her thinking was still limited, "But after hearing you say it like that, turns out it would look like we’re doing this for Damian’s own good."
Mr. Grant laughed. "I thought it was some big problem, deserved to be praised for once. If Phoebe really wanted to develop their connection, she’d have stuck it out to the end and built a credible reputation. But since she’s spoken up about coming back, knowing her temperament, I bet she’s already argued with Damian plenty of times. Keeping her there will only make them resent each other."
He considered for a moment. "But the improved impression we’ve established with Sterling Sinclair can’t be lost. Here’s what we’ll do—when she gets back, while she’s still tanned from Africa, and jet-lagged from all that traveling, you go with her to visit them. You don’t need to explain anything else: just say, ’Sorry, Damian—Phoebe’s too delicate, she can’t keep up with him.’"
Mrs. Grant, a battle-hardened society matron herself, caught on immediately. "A step back to advance two forward!" 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦
Mr. Grant just smiled without a word.
Mrs. Grant was well into her fifties, her eyes as sparkling as ever. She shot him a playful look. "No wonder I always feel at a loss with Cillian—turns out he inherited all ten parts of your cunning."
"It’s not that you can’t handle him. Your strengths lie among the ladies."
The little floral salon was in good spirits when the butler led a well-dressed man to the door. "Sir, Secretary Rhodes is here."
Mr. Grant’s expression immediately cooled. He went upstairs to the study.
"As you instructed, we’ve expanded the search for Miss Eleanor to the neighboring counties and cities. Over at Auntie King’s end—since she arrived at the young master’s residence, she hasn’t set foot outside, except for one trip to buy groceries together with Damon Sharp, the master’s assistant. We haven’t been able to get near."
Mr. Grant’s face darkened imperceptibly. He opened a drawer and took out a cigar box.
Secretary Rhodes automatically stepped forward, took the cigar, and trimmed the tip. "Madam doesn’t like you smoking. Don’t smoke too much."
Mr. Grant ignored him and exhaled a stream of smoke from his nose. "Cillian’s been staying there these days?"
"Yes." Secretary Rhodes took a step back. "The young master’s been busy with the Xavier Group’s business these days. He inspected the company once and spent the rest of the time at The Emerald Residence."
Mr. Grant’s smoking movements were forceful, lungfuls of thick smoke. He choked.
Secretary Rhodes hurried forward to pat him on the back, but Mr. Grant waved him away. "While he’s back today, go up and take a look for me."
Secretary Rhodes hesitated. "The young master—he runs a tight ship and draws a clear line between business and private life. He doesn’t like his secretaries getting involved in his personal affairs."
In families like the Grants, once a secretary’s been on the job long enough, business and private matters are almost impossible to separate—they handle company issues, but also their employer’s personal matters.
All these years, the only exception has been Cillian Grant. Nobody’s been able to get close to him.
Privately, Secretary Rhodes believed that if the Grant family’s young master had been born in ancient times, he’d be a master of imperial strategy—only the court of ministers would spend day and night in fear, never able to fathom their lord’s mood or intentions.
All they could do was strictly abide by his rules, work like hell to carry out his commands, and take pride in getting the most out of being a piece on his chessboard.
Mr. Grant said, "You have me, what are you afraid of?"
That’s the advantage of working for the Grants: standards are high, the rules are strict, but they never pass the buck or shirk responsibility. The pay is generous.
Secretary Rhodes’s respectful smile was perfectly sincere. "I promise to carry out your orders."
He exited the room and nearly collided with the man standing just outside the door.
Today, he wasn’t in formal wear—just a casual jacket and black wool pants. His hair wasn’t styled with mousse, a few stray strands hung loosely over his forehead. Compared to his usual stern and unsmiling appearance, this was a world apart.
There was a striking, gentle aura about him now—a hint of calm leisure. He still didn’t crack a smile, but this little change alone, if it was because of some woman, just thinking about it was enough to make a person lose their mind.
Except, that woman really shouldn’t be her.
Most of all, she better not be in The Emerald Residence either.
"Young Master."
Cillian Grant shot him a glance, nodded, and entered the room.
.........
Eleanor woke from a deep sleep.
The entire house was empty and silent.
Cillian Grant was gone; Auntie King was nowhere to be seen either.
She served herself some congee and sat alone in the dining room. The bright sunlight slanted across the table, dust motes swirling—all those thousands of tiny specks.
After what she’d done last night, she had no idea if it had worked.
Pretending her period for four days felt like maxing out a credit card—she was running out of room.
And then there was the issue of the shady clinic. Once the chestnut cake incident happened, her confidence completely vanished. It’s not that she didn’t trust Damian Sinclair. In terms of character, Damian was a hundred times better than Cillian Grant.
But when it came to strategy, he couldn’t compare to Cillian. Even just that assistant Damon Sharp—Damian’s innocence couldn’t compete at all.
"Eleanor." Suddenly she heard a familiar voice from the foyer. "Why are you just having congee? There are dishes in the warming drawer, you know."
Auntie King bustled off to wash her hands in the kitchen and brought out several dishes: steamed bass, poached shrimp, stir-fried egg with loofah, plus steamed dumplings, taro cake, and milk.
Eleanor was a little dazed. "Auntie King, he’s not here."
"I know." Auntie King dried her hands on her apron. "Young Master left early this morning. These are all for you."
Eleanor didn’t think much of it and pulled Auntie King to sit with her. "I can’t finish it all. Auntie King, join me."
Auntie King didn’t refuse but sat beside her without picking up her chopsticks. "Eleanor, there’s something I want to ask you."
Just as Eleanor turned toward her, Auntie King quickly added, "I know the rules for household staff. If you don’t want to say, just pretend I never asked."
Eleanor paused, setting down her chopsticks.
Auntie King’s voice was soft and plaintive. "Eleanor... are you, are you pregnant? With Young Master’s child?"
Eleanor’s hand tightened abruptly, rigid as ice.
She’d forgotten—Auntie King had worked in the Grant family for twenty years, never made a mistake, praised by everyone. She was honest and attentive. Things others missed, overlooked—by the time they realized, Auntie King had already quietly made all the preparations.
"I—"
Eleanor’s throat was tight. She lied to Cillian Grant constantly—that was her weapon for self-preservation.
But with Auntie King, who’d staked her entire career and retirement on protecting her, even a hint of falseness felt like betrayal. One lie alone, she should swallow a thousand needles.
"Is it obvious?"
"Not obvious, not obvious at all." Auntie King waved her hands in alarm.
Eleanor was nervous, but Auntie King was even more so—her voice barely more than a whisper. "I only noticed because I took out the trash and saw your period was faked. Yesterday you couldn’t get the chicken soup down, and you’ve been sleeping so much lately. But mostly, it’s experience."
Eleanor didn’t say anything.
All at once she realized—every bad outcome Elaine White had warned her about was coming true, one after another.
On top of all the mess, pregnancy symptoms had arrived right on cue.
One bout of dry heaving from chicken soup could be just a stomach issue. But if she couldn’t handle meat every time, even a fool would know something was up.
"So you’re hiding it..." Auntie King’s voice quivered. "Is it because he doesn’t want the baby? Between you and him, Eleanor, what do you want to do?"
At this point, no matter what Eleanor said, nothing beat honesty. "I want to leave. Take the child and disappear—"
These past few days, with Cillian Grant home all the time, Eleanor was exhausted just dealing with him. Whenever he did go out, she spent the time catching up on sleep, and whatever Auntie King knew, she’d pieced together bit by bit.
Now, after hearing what Eleanor had endured for four years, Auntie King could hardly breathe. She froze, stunned, unable to recover from the shock.
"Auntie King." Eleanor was calm as she took her hand. "My life and the child’s are tied together, but there’s no shortage of things threatening both. The most urgent thing right now—did he pack any luggage when he left this morning?"
Did last night’s trick actually work?
