Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 117: Miss Eleanor Confirms Pregnancy

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: Miss Eleanor Confirms Pregnancy

In the morning, Eleanor was still asleep when Cillian Grant received a video call from Liam Xavier. He frowned and hung up.

The phone screen showed the time: six o’clock in the morning.

There was a five-hour time difference between Froskar and home; at this moment, it was just one o’clock in the morning back home.

At this hour, Liam Xavier was usually at the hospital taking care of his wife and would never contact him.

In the darkness, Eleanor’s breath was warm and steady, blowing across his chest, rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Cillian Grant gently slipped his arm out, making sure not to wake her.

Only then did he quietly get out of bed, dress, and go to the room next door.

This room had once been a small reading room, equipped with walnut shelves and desk. He’d had it cleared out these past few days, reinstalled the lighting, and made it his study,

Cillian Grant turned on his computer; the desktop wallpaper was a glacial aurora. He opened his email—dozens of unread messages had just popped up—when Liam Xavier’s call came again.

This time, he answered.

Liam Xavier’s voice was rough as sandpaper. "Sarah is awake."

"I know," Cillian Grant replied, scanning his emails.

"Right, I forgot—Damon Sharp already reported to you." Liam Xavier sounded not himself, defeated and wooden. "My child is already fifteen weeks old. It has a nose, eyes, features like Sarah, and now it can move. The doctor said at this stage, it should be growing fingernails. It’s barely as big as my palm, just a tiny lump, a blur of blood and flesh..."

Cillian Grant’s voice was calm. "You’re seeking revenge now."

"No." Liam Xavier’s tone choked, pausing for a few seconds, "During the procedure, Sarah saw the child that was lost. Now she wants to divorce me."

Cillian Grant was silent.

Ever since they’d met, except for work—where Cillian Grant was stern and focused—he’d always been aloof and cold otherwise. Liam Xavier never expected words of comfort, just specific advice.

He didn’t need comfort or advice, anyway; all he needed was a place to vent his emotions.

Liam Xavier took a harsh breath. "Sarah said, in the end, what we paid for being together was a life. It’s too much. She can’t bear it."

"You’re giving up?"

Liam Xavier rubbed his face. "I carried out half your plan. They think I’ve gone off the deep end, biting anyone, with nothing to lose. Your father doesn’t suspect a thing. But I can’t keep going."

He apologized. "I allied with you, all for Sarah. Now she’s gone; I have to go after her. My position—find someone else for it."

Cillian Grant’s face darkened.

Before he could reply, Liam Xavier had already hung up.

Cillian called back—only to see that the other’s phone was shut off.

Just then, Damon Sharp’s video chat popped up on the computer screen.

Cillian Grant put down his phone and answered.

Damon Sharp’s backdrop was his office; Connor Sullivan sat beside him.

Cillian Grant was distant. His subordinates all kept to their roles, never crossing boundaries or prying. The work secretary was the work secretary, the personal assistant was the personal assistant.

No matter how long Damon Sharp had been with him, he’d never come close to the kind of intimacy Secretary Rhodes had by Mr. Grant’s side.

When it came to Grant Group affairs, for the trivial or when all was smooth, conveying a word on his behalf would do. For detailed reporting, especially those involving shifts in power, not allowed.

This time things at Grant Group were urgent—Connor Sullivan came first.

"Vice Chairman, half an hour ago, President Xavier urgently handed over his work to me and said he’s leaving. According to the original plan, it’s not yet time to attract Director Grant’s attention. Do you want me to take over?"

Connor Sullivan’s question was essentially redundant.

If it were day-to-day operations—even a billion-dollar acquisition—they’d be fine on their own.

But this time, they were hunting, and their target was Director Grant. Compared to them, Liam Xavier operated unpredictably. With one child wounded and the other lost, his blood feud drove him on. He didn’t care about consequences; he’d go after anyone. It all made sense.

To suppress the Vice Chairman, Director Grant openly backed Jason Xavier. Liam Xavier retaliated against Mr. Grant’s camp, while the Director was busy elsewhere and didn’t care.

If it’d been them, Director Grant would immediately be on alert, and all their previous effort would count for nothing.

Cillian Grant shifted his gaze to Damon Sharp. "What about your end?"

Damon Sharp was brief. "Director Grant’s people have checked the black-market clinic. Miss Eleanor is definitely pregnant—right now, it’s twelve weeks plus one day."

Cillian Grant’s face showed neither surprise nor joy. Instead, he froze—expressionless, an empty shell—but in his eyes, suddenly, a fierce light exploded, as bright as those new white lamps in his study, all converging inside him, so dense it could not be dispersed.

Connor Sullivan waited for his instructions, but the computer screen suddenly went black, and Cillian Grant’s figure disappeared, revealing Damon Sharp’s tropical rainforest wallpaper.

He instinctively tried to reconnect the video. "Damon, is your internet down?"

Damon Sharp stopped him. "Hold on. Just pretend my network’s out."

......

Eleanor was still asleep.

Lately, she’d already developed a tendency to sleep too much. Last night, walking briskly in the snow, the distance wasn’t far, but she hadn’t dared linger, racking her brains to keep within safe limits—not alerting Cillian Grant, nor approaching him.

By the end of it, the combined mental and physical effort was no easier than a marathon.

Plus, after she got back, she’d had a midnight snack, so her stomach wasn’t empty and she wasn’t hungry. Sleep came easier and deeper.

Cillian Grant stood by the bedside, chest heaving violently, the tremors swelling out of control, his head dizzy and eyes blurred.

Through all these years, in this game of power and deception, every player was cunning as a fox. Many things, he could deduce with sixty percent certainty, and that was enough for him to set a plan, steady nerves.

But this matter—hearing it with his own ears was different. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Cillian Grant’s right hand shook uncontrollably; he could barely grip the object in his palm.

He crouched down. Thanks to his excellent night vision, he could see her slender silhouette clearly in the dimness, peaceful, pearly cheeks, black hair loose and spread across the pillow.

Cillian Grant gazed at her for a long time. Suddenly, moving with utmost care and gentleness, he undressed, bare-chested, slipped into bed, lifted the quilt, and cradled her in his arms in silence.

Her thick hair, like a cascade of water, spilled onto his arm, so soft it seemed boneless.

In this, things did not obey their owner’s will.

Cillian Grant opened his right hand; nestled in his palm was a hard, emerald green Jade Button, its braided red cord short, the jade beads on either side of the button mismatched in size.

All in all, it was a well-made yet unattractive jade button bracelet.

Cillian Grant gently drew out Eleanor’s hand, slipped the bracelet on, and tightened the cord.

Jade against snow-white skin—in this morning in Froskar when the wind never ceases, the room was so quiet it seemed like an hourglass, each grain of sand trickling down, slowly, gently.

He stroked her hand and leaned in to brush a kiss.

.........

Meanwhile, in Mr. Grant’s study.

Secretary Rhodes bowed deeply, nearly ninety degrees.

It was the strict back half of the night. Outside the windows, the sky was thick with darkness, and inside, only a single desk lamp was lit.

The faint white light illuminated the desktop but couldn’t cast clarity over Mr. Grant, seated behind it. He wore a deep green robe and his hair, unlike its usual daytime neatness, was disheveled and careless, yet chill enough to pierce the marrow.

The atmosphere, following Secretary Rhodes’s report, grew unbearably tense and stifling as each second ticked by.