Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 90: Cillian Grant Reveals His True Feelings
Eleanor saw him drink and breathed a sigh of relief.
Cillian Grant glanced sideways; this time, he would let it pass for the next time.
"You haven’t explained. Why were you in such a hurry to leave without breakfast, and how did you end up here?"
Eleanor felt suffocated.
If time could take everything away, why couldn’t it take this lunatic?
She really couldn’t come up with a suitable, logical reason.
She could only reply with a straight face, "It’s a secret."
Cillian put the glass on the table, positioned his hands on either side of her, his broad and strong figure towering over her, engulfing her to the point where the bright room dimmed.
Under the shadows, there was a tense atmosphere, and the chill rose.
Eleanor asked, "Are you sure you want to listen?"
Without warning, Cillian lifted her chin, their proximity so close that his breath, hot as fire, ignited her cheeks.
Eleanor couldn’t withstand the oppressive heat and instinctively tried to retreat, but he held her firmly, pulling her forward; the heat spread across her nose.
She was trapped in gentle kisses, like a lamb embraced by poisonous mist in a tropical jungle.
"Did Auntie King tell you about my birthday?"
Eleanor’s fingers curled, "Four days later—"
His lips invaded, with a faint scent of alcohol, quickly overtaken by the fragrance of tea. But Eleanor was very sensitive to the smell of alcohol, and even more so in her pregnancy. Her throat felt hooked and plummeted to her stomach, stirring nausea.
She pushed him away with all her strength, covering her mouth, her jaws clenched tightly to suppress the urge to vomit.
Cillian pulled her hand away, and whether it was the frustration of being rejected or renewed suspicion, his expression turned cold.
Eleanor accused first, "You’ve been drinking."
Cillian paused; she detested the smell of alcohol and smoke and couldn’t tolerate even a trace of it.
But it was unavoidable to drink during business engagements, especially when celebrating collaborations. He had only taken a symbolic sip and then switched to tea.
Unexpectedly, she still noticed it.
He handed her a glass, "Drink some water, rinse your mouth."
Eleanor took it, inadvertently gripping his right index finger, the wrapped bandage instantly staining with blood.
She dropped it in shock.
Cillian looked at his finger as if it were a hot iron discarded.
After being let go, blood seeped through the bandage, forming a pea-sized blood drop at his fingertip.
Eleanor sensed he was about to lose his temper, her hand moving faster than her mind, she put down the cup and went to hold his wrist.
Today he wore a leather wristband, and a watch with a platinum on black face, its design mature and simple, with a date display window at the three o’clock position.
Eleanor glanced at the date on it; this kind of day wouldn’t last for long. Then she looked at his finger with more sincerity, "The bandage needs changing, shall I help you?"
Cillian gave her a quick glance and simply said, "Mm."
The shopping mall’s VIP reception room was equipped with a medical kit, usually for emergencies or inspections.
Eleanor opened the small silver case, prepared the tweezers, cotton balls, and alcohol, and then carefully unwrapped Cillian’s bandage.
Since the last time she saw his injury at breakfast with the Grant Family, it has only been a few days. The wound on his first knuckle hadn’t healed, yet a new horizontal cut deep into it.
Eleanor suppressed her curiosity and first rinsed the wound with alcohol; the dark brown scab was not firm. Her movements were as gentle as could be, yet she still inadvertently hindered, almost retaliating against him.
The cut reopened, alcohol mixed with bright red droplets fell onto the laid-out bandage, dizzying upon sight.
"Let’s go to the hospital," Eleanor dared not touch it further, "It’s too deep, and your previous wound hasn’t healed either—"
"You bandage it," the man concisely cut her off.
Eleanor couldn’t understand what taboo a grown man had against going to the doctor, but she knew her words were certainly less effective than Mrs. Grant’s. Persuading him further would only add to his irritation.
Gritting her teeth, Eleanor decided not to rinse it any further and used the tweezers to press a piece of gauze down to stop the bleeding.
Meanwhile, Cillian’s demeanor softened, his gaze focused intently on her.
She was strikingly beautiful, but her nature leaned cold; she didn’t care about much, and what she didn’t care about, she paid even less attention to.
This indifference, if not seen through, could lead one to think she was meek.
But once seen through, with those wide, innocent deer-like eyes, she appeared more fragile and helpless, stirring the emotions more than genuinely delicate women usually would.
The bleeding stopped, but the cut was too deep, and Eleanor, not being a professional, feared moving it any further and causing more bleeding.
Just as she was at a loss, Cillian’s phone rang.
Eleanor was close enough to hear the words clearly.
"Mr. Grant, Director Grant’s people have already found out that Miss Eleanor stayed off-campus throughout her four years of university. Do you need us to intervene?"
Eleanor’s hand loosened, and she looked towards Cillian.
The man’s expression was uncharacteristically calm, exuding a nonchalant sense of control, "No need."
Eleanor’s hand dropped.
Inside her heart, it felt as if it was filled with cotton, but with stones, continuing to fall ceaselessly.
It was too fast; at this rate, Mr. Grant wouldn’t even need four days—probably by tomorrow night, there would be conclusions.
"All I seek in The Grant Family is a place to stay; money, power, influence—I can’t touch any of it and have no impact on you."
Her hand withdrew from him, along with warmth and softness disappearing.
Her delicate eyes, now coated with frost, brimming with resentment beneath the icy surface, spilled from the corners of her eyes.
"It greatly affects me."
Eleanor’s chest was filled with countless grievances about to burst. "The crisis with The Xavier Family has been resolved; there’s no need to sell me into a marriage alliance. How does my presence in The Grant Family affect you?"
Cillian’s face turned somber, clouded with gloom and icy hostility, "Is that what you think?"
Eleanor met his gaze.
In the depths of Cillian’s eyes, an endless dark chasm erupted into a volcanic eruption, molten lava obliterating the earlier calm atmosphere.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her closer, "You’re always like this, forever deceiving yourself. From others, you can deduce the whole story from mere fragments. With me, you only force it together in your mind—does the logic behind your conclusion make sense? Can you even convince yourself?"
Eleanor’s cheeks were ashen, speechless.
Cillian’s chest was fiercely pressing against her, "I supposedly use you for marriage, yet kick you out of The Grant Family? Without an identity from The Grant Family, what kind of marriage alliance is that, and with whom?"
"You cannot have thought of this, could it be that you refuse to think, or when you do, you choose to distort it?"
His face was cold, his eyes icy, shadows creeping from his eye corners and eyebrows, "Answer me, did you think? What did you think?"
Eleanor’s response lingered on the tip of her tongue, "To become an old man’s second wife."
"..." Cillian was momentarily speechless, the silence lingering for a few minutes, Eleanor vaguely seeing beyond his gritted teeth a desire to devour her.
"If The Grant Family can’t accommodate you anymore, you can continue living in The Emerald Residence, arranged just like those four years."
Eleanor held her breath, "What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, you don’t know?" Cillian leaned in, his gaze like invisible thorns piercing her skin until she was shredded, "The decoration remains as it was, the same as before—we’re together from morning till night, whether you’re studying or working."
In Eleanor’s ears, all she heard was the ominous rumbling of an abyss.
Cillian’s face, beneath the blinding overhead lights, blurred and collapsed; her mind went blank.
Every inch of her body reached its breaking point, bursting from her skin, exposing her to the burning sun.
