Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 121: I’m Not Even One Ten-Thousandth as Hypocritical as Damian Sinclair

Chapter 121: Chapter 121: I’m Not Even One Ten-Thousandth as Hypocritical as Damian Sinclair

"It has nothing to do with him?"

Cillian Grant repeated, suddenly sneering, the cold sharpness in his lips and tongue turning into knives and swords, wishing every word could flay Damian Sinclair alive.

"You always protect him, no matter how endangered you are, you want to throw him out of the situation."

Eleanor tensed every nerve in her body, glaring at him, not even blinking.

Cillian Grant’s gaze pierced into the depths of her eyes, as if to carve a hole in her heart, "You always think that in these four years, I relentlessly hold onto him, seeing everything, hearing everything, like a cat on a hot tin roof, then relentlessly pursue you, forcing you to admit your mistake, bow your head, swear again and again."

Bringing this up, Eleanor was even more resentful than him, "Is it not so? Who’s the root of my vulnerability? It’s you, Cillian Grant, neurotically, with your sister acting like a mad dog, amplifying any baseless signs, as if he and I would get into bed the next second, be pregnant and have children a minute later. It’s simply absurd and shameless."

Cillian Grant’s grip suddenly tightened and then relaxed, his face cast in shadow, sinking yet sharp in the dim light, like a raging storm ready to swallow her alive.

"Is it me who is absurd, or is it you two constantly yearning for each other? You protect him, he drives through day and night to see you." He sneered coldly, mocking, dismissive.

"But his deep feelings are thinner than paper, cheaper than grass. Four years, he’s weighed the pros and cons but never once tried to win you back. On one hand accepting the gifts from Sterling Sinclair to Grant Group, on the other not fulfilling the duty of marriage alliance, forcing Phoebe Grant to be suspicious. If it weren’t for me stopping her, during your college years, she could have come to The North thousands of times, publicly tearing you apart, ruining your reputation at school, how would Damian Sinclair react then?"

"The Sterling Sinclair family’s cooperation with Grant Group deepens, they’re long dependent on Grant Group. Do you think he’ll protect you, resist the marriage alliance, and sever ties with Phoebe Grant?"

Eleanor remained motionless.

Cillian Grant seemed to soften, his fingers pressing tighter, caressing her cheek, as gently as a cloud. "You don’t need to infer anything at all. In these four years, over fourteen hundred days and nights, that is the answer. If he ever made an attempt, I’d look at him differently."

"He only saves you once or twice when it doesn’t involve his core interests, yet every time it’s exaggerated as if against the whole world. You think I’m hypocritical, but am I even a fraction as hypocritical as him when it comes to you?"

Outside the window, the daylight brightened, the sun leapt from the distant horizon, through the palm-wide gap in the curtains, illuminating the room.

It fell directly on Cillian Grant’s back, in the golden light and shadows, he seemed to shine, with an irresistible radiance. Those gazed upon by him can only melt into him, be enveloped by him, otherwise, they sink into darkness, falling into decay.

Eleanor’s voice was hoarse too, "Cillian Grant, please let me go. The child is really gone, I hate you, it’s hard to diminish. If after four years you’re used to one woman. That’s me or someone else, what’s the difference, except the length of time, why can’t it be someone else?"

Her words for some reason touched a chord in Cillian Grant, his face suddenly erupted from the depths, layers of frost spilling out, freezing over his eyes and brows, growing thicker and thicker, sealing his anger beneath ice.

Eleanor understood his rage at this point must be unbearable, yet it seemed she did not need to bear it.

Cillian Grant’s chest shook violently, during a few deep breaths, he too seemed sealed in ice.

He bent down, cradled her in his arms, and walked toward the bed.

Eleanor was appalled, mustering all her strength to hit and push him.

Cillian Grant’s muscles were robust and firm, like steel, as his body tensed, his muscular walls were like prison copper walls.

They say women are made of water and men are made of iron; at this moment Eleanor’s nails, her fists, were indeed like streams of water hitting a wall, unable to move it an inch.

Watching Cillian Grant lift the quilt, watching his shoulders lower, pressing down, the fire in Eleanor’s eyes nearly burned through, "Cillian Grant, you ani—"

The quilt was pulled over her head, she felt its corners tucked in, and the silk covering her pulled down to smooth beneath her chin.

Cillian Grant sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down, his arms propped on either side of her, "Hospital, you don’t need to think about it. I’ll arrange for a doctor to visit, this isn’t because I doubt the child is gone."

He touched her belly through the quilt, "Twelve weeks, it’s time for the NT screening."

Eleanor’s eyes were wide with rage.

Cillian Grant raised his hand again, gently sweeping aside the strands of hair at her temples, "Behave, the country will be chaotic for a while, while you’re here, the sky is clear and comfortable, safely give birth to the child."

Eleanor felt her entire body go limp; every word he spoke, every glance as he spoke, every breath’s rise and fall in his chest, all explained his impeccable self from head to toe, thoroughly breaking her, shattering her, shackling her again.

She seemed to have her soul drained, leaving nothing but her shell.

To take it away, take it all.

................

Domestic, seven-thirty.

Emergency Board Meeting of the Grant Group.

Mr. Grant smoked a cigar in the board chairman’s room.

High society favors cigars for good reason; fermented and mellowed, cigar leaves don’t choke the throat, have lower nicotine content, removing the fishy taste of tobacco, enhancing the natural flavor.

Mr. Grant usually doesn’t inhale cigar smoke into his lungs, keeping it lingering in his mouth. Only when his emotions are on the verge of losing control does he exhale it, making sure to avoid Mrs. Grant.

Now it’s at Grant Group, Secretary Rhodes did not advise, merely glanced at his expression, "The hints given to Miss Eleanor, do you think she understands?"

"Hasn’t she already understood?" Mr. Grant coughed while speaking, "Asked me if a bastard needs no hospital."

Secretary Rhodes was startled, "Miss Eleanor is so smart."

The praise was in the tone, yet phrased as a question.

Mr. Grant glanced sideways at him, "David Rhodes, you need to pick the right time to use your cunning." He warned, then laughed, "I taught both her and Cillian from a young age, when she was as little as bean sprout three years old, I took her to board meetings. Though she couldn’t understand at my knee, she steadied herself and could divide the board members into two camps based on their expressions, discerning who conformed to me and who opposed."

Secretary Rhodes had been with Mr. Grant by then, but wasn’t close enough to be his personal secretary. Listening to this father’s fondness, doubt crept into his heart.

If he was so fond of Miss Eleanor, why now so heartless, only because of a breach? Yet the main cause wasn’t Miss Eleanor.

Secretary Rhodes checked his phone again, "Even if Miss Eleanor has realized, why is there no movement from Froskar? Could there be a mistake?"

Mr. Grant, hidden in grayish-white smoke, squinted his eyes without replying.

Just then, a junior secretary from the board office knocked on the door, "Director Grant, all the board members have arrived."

Mr. Grant extinguished the cigar and stood to go to the meeting room.

Grant Group had recently undergone renovation, shifting from Mr. Grant’s official retro aesthetic to Cillian Grant’s depth and coldness in a neo-Chinese style. The decor remained in solid wood, but the colors changed from red-orange to black-gray.

The old faces of the board members, however, remained unchanged, comforting Mr. Grant, making him feel more assured.

The main topic of this meeting was about a department receiving a real-name report, accusing a Grant And Xavier collaborative project of cutting corners, misappropriating project funds, increasing advertising budget, losing sight of priorities, ignoring the safety of the people.

The board members present were seasoned old foxes, and during the Vice Director Grant’s overseas inspection, a huge flaw inexplicably appeared in his led project.

Director Grant doesn’t cover it up, instead, raises the stakes by convening a meeting, making clear the father-son estrangement is on the horizon.