Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 136: I Want to Marry You, There’s No Scheming

Chapter 136: Chapter 136: I Want to Marry You, There’s No Scheming

Eleanor certainly believes in love,

but she knows even more clearly that most men in this world do not possess such a high-level emotion.

They can perform deep affection, performing it so vividly and captivatingly.

Women, with tender hearts in turmoil, whenever touched, are like pure white flowers in the wind on the tree branches, falling into the depths of a dark web, transformed into mother spiders, mother tigers, all irrational, unwise, constantly out of control, and hysterically malicious creatures.

From sanctity to decay, from brilliance to dimness.

When Eleanor was in university, there was a female professor applying for the national "Outstanding Youth" award.

During the selection phase, her husband repeatedly refused to take her work calls, constantly argued with her, and caused trouble with the sick child. The female professor was overwhelmed, feeling she had neither managed her company nor her family well, and her marriage was on the brink of collapse.

In the end, her husband gave the female professor two choices: either withdraw from the selection and return to a normal, relaxed lifestyle, or divorce, as she was too busy to care for the child, and he demanded she leave with nothing.

The female professor’s father did not agree with her divorce.

In the end, the female professor did not withdraw from the selection, but because of the quarrels, she lost her focus and unsurprisingly failed to be selected.

Amazingly, the moment she failed, her husband turned back into a deeply affectionate, tirelessly perfect partner. The female professor stayed idle at home, realizing that the chaotic and tumultuous family situation before was now as calm as a stagnant pool, with no need for her intervention.

Eleanor couldn’t comprehend the mind of the female professor’s husband, while her advisor pointed it out bluntly.

Just the skill of a bad man controlling his wife.

They possess, they control, they fear that women will grow wings and leave them.

Some think that this anxiety must mean a deep love.

But true love isn’t like this; it’s a longing with patience, a carefulness not to disturb the other in the slightest. It comes from the soul, offering oneself, only hoping the other will get better and better.

Forever pure, forever fervent, willing to self-immolate rather than destroy even a bit, it’s ’I die so you live’.

If love isn’t like this, then it is a conspiracy, a trap, chains, a fall into an abyss from which one cannot climb out.

"But it’s not because I want a child," Cillian Grant observed the subtle changes in her facial expressions, her disbelief, disdain, buried deep within her eyes, beneath her skin.

Eleanor was unlike most young women; she had an unwavering steadiness of a rock, she was resilient, able to endure, and able to perform.

The presentation she gave was always one of bravery and nonchalance, appearing unimportant.

As clever as she could be, as interesting as she could be, people couldn’t see the pain she was enduring, and even if they did see through it, they could only touch her resistance and retaliation following her pain.

A slight negligence would result in a misjudgment.

Cillian Grant cupped her cheeks, his thumb stroking her cheek inch by inch, Eleanor daring not to move, feeling the stagnation of wind and snow around her, the entire long street being pressed to a halt, only the man’s thin lips slightly pursed, his lips and teeth parting, his words clear and deeply etched.

"It’s just because I want to marry you." He lowered his head, slowly looking into Eleanor’s eyes, the thick fog in his eyes always impenetrable, fully spreading into Eleanor’s eyes.

She tried to dodge, but there was nowhere to hide.

He made it clear, without a doubt, "I have no calculation, it’s not because I’m used to sleeping with you, because if being used to sleeping with a woman would mean protecting her and opposing the whole world, then I would be too magnanimous. It doesn’t match your assumption of me being petty-minded and vindictive, illogical."

For the first time, Eleanor lost her composure, expressionlessly tugged his hand down, and walked away with her head down.

Today’s latest persona for Cillian Grant, a cunning man skilled in words of love.

She really wanted to refute him, to throw his words back in his face, to smash his hypocrisy.

Collect your love, because every day of those four years stands as proof; even when Consumer Rights Day comes on March 15, no one bothers to debunk it, as its falsehood is blatantly apparent.

Even if I take ten thousand steps back, if he truly intends to marry her, then among these ten thousand steps is a ten thousand and one step of male’s savage possessiveness.

That extra step, she politely erases it, if she is cultivated enough, politely extends some trust to him.

.........

Restaurant.

The air conditioning is set quite warm, Eleanor took off her down jacket at the window seat, the waiter approached and asked if she needed garment management.

In Froskar, the climate is cold, with large temperature differences between indoors and outdoors. Local restaurant decor tends to favor small round tables and single stools. Once customers are seated, it’s not easy to manage their clothes and bags, so some restaurants offer garment storage management services, usually including ironing.

Eleanor, without a mobile phone and no personal items when going out, didn’t mind the service.

Cillian Grant, however, politely declined it.

He’s always like this, more like a lion, even more like a wolf, with an inherent flow of primal conquest and combativeness, a strong sense of territory, refusing anyone to come near him, approach him, or touch his belongings.

Even when a woman offers weakness before him, his heart is as hard as iron.

Eleanor has a strong self-awareness in this regard, does not appear in front of him unnecessarily, does not pry into his privacy, does not ask too much about his situation, and perhaps it is this sense of propriety that earns his favor.

Cillian Grant’s character, to say he’s abstinent is less accurate than to say he is selective about women, wanting them to be obedient, well-behaved, and to understand boundaries. Ordinary girls experiencing sweet and sticky romances would surely annoy him.

Cillian Grant pushed the menu over, the waiter moved from him to Eleanor’s side, "Hello madam, your husband ordered two portions of pan-fried fish fillet. Our portions are somewhat large, recommended to order a soup or a lamb chop, fries."

Eleanor didn’t take in the colorful menu, "He’s not my husband."

The waiter glanced at Cillian Grant, his handsome and noble face under the overhead light, calm as still water, neither opposing nor explaining, his gaze never leaving the female guest, seemingly indifferent to the words, as if accepting whatever came.

"Your friend?"

His English was fluent, but the word ’friend’ was replaced with Froskar’s term, which implied a love connotation in the local language. Eleanor didn’t understand, so she didn’t take it up with the waiter. "Where is the restroom?"

The waiter pointed in the direction towards the interior on the right, "Follow the wall, turn right, and keep going."

Eleanor put down the menu, pushed it back to Cillian Grant, "You do it."

Cillian indeed didn’t ask more, accepting by default her leaving his sight independently.

The restaurant’s restroom was in a narrow corridor at the far corner of the right wall, with the men’s and women’s restroom doors opposite each other, and the washbasin at the end of the corridor.

Mr. Ghost was already waiting there, and as soon as she approached, Mr. Ghost lowered his voice, "Should we change our meeting method next time? I’m always following you and frequently meeting in the restroom, it’s too easy to be discovered."

Eleanor turned on the water faucet, "He’s already found out, he’s purposely letting me escape."

Mr. Ghost was struck as if by lightning, shocked, "He—deliberately let you go?"

Eleanor washed her hands carefully, "He must return to the country, Froskar is beyond his reach; it’s better to let me go now, waiting for things to calm down at home before finding me again won’t be too late."

Mr. Ghost’s brain briefly overloaded, stuck and stuttering, then thought of a sentence, "Doesn’t that mean if we openly walk out together, he won’t stop us?"

"He won’t stop us." Eleanor turned off the water valve, "On the surface, he alone can’t stop us. As for whether his bodyguards will follow and monitor us, controlling our whereabouts, it’s uncertain."