Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 158: Farewell, Young Slav

"I’m not used to this."

Eleanor covered her abdomen, "What kind of emergency is this, that can’t even wait a few minutes?"

Wells’s face darkened. He glanced at the servant, then at the black-clad subordinates beside him, and bowed slightly to express his apologies, "Eleanor, I apologize."

Eleanor’s expression vanished, and the servant forcibly took hold of her arms while the black-clad subordinates opened the door and drew a handgun from his waist.

Just as they reached the stairway, a group of people suddenly came in downstairs, followed by several muffled sounds, almost like the "thud" of a stapler magnified, and eerily mixed with the soft sounds of something piercing flesh.

Eleanor hadn’t reacted to what it was, when the group of black-clad subordinates around her shrank sharply into a human wall, protecting her and Wells, as they quickly retreated back to the room.

The door closed, and the black-clad subordinates guarded the entrance. Wells’s eyes were sharp and fierce as he quickly moved to the window, hiding behind the wall, observing both east and west directions from the angle hidden by the curtains.

Eleanor was pushed and protected into a corner by the servant, her limbs stretched to the limit, and as quiet as the stillness around her.

The sound earlier, so common in movies and TV dramas, confirmed by the black-clad subordinates’ reactions, was undoubtedly the sound of silenced gunshots.

Suddenly, another possibility occurred to Eleanor: if Damian Sinclair could find this place, Mr. Grant surely could too.

The people outside, were they enemies or allies? Was the "rat" Mr. Ghost? It remained uncertain.

However, by the window, Wells suddenly relaxed. Eleanor was puzzled when a nimble footstep approached the stairs downstairs.

Simultaneously, the street outside roared with the sound of engines, from far to near, closing in at the doorstep in the blink of an eye.

Wells gestured for the black-clad subordinates to open the door, a sinister smile appearing on his lips, "The reinforcements have arrived. Don’t worry about outside; let’s clean up inside first."

Eleanor’s heart trembled furiously, unable to stop the chill, unsure if it was Mr. Ghost who had come. But what if it was?

The posture of Wells’s subordinates changed from extreme caution to heightened excitement, carrying a hint of venting the recent fright.

Eleanor waited no longer. "Wells," she said bluntly, "is it Mr. Ghost who came in?"

Wells gazed at her, aware of her suspicions. He had been warned of her intelligence, yet each encounter, she was easily placated by a few true and false Therasians messages, too silent and restrained.

Now, being able to think of Mr. Ghost and boldly ask, her agile decisiveness only confirmed her cleverness.

He decided to be straightforward, "Eleanor, Mr. Grant is coming."

Eleanor froze, her fingernails embedding into her flesh, crimson seeping out, yet under her tensed nerves, she felt nothing.

Mr. Grant, Cillian, was coming.

He was bound to come. After such an elaborate process, everyone had become marionettes in his hands, puppets on his chessboard, on this land of Froskar, performing an exquisite drama under his strings.

He had repeatedly accused her, never hesitant to interpret his every word and action with the greatest malice, but each time, had she guessed wrong?

Just like this time, he must have long been in contact with the gangs, and already knew of her desire to disappear.

Perhaps in the restaurant before the whale-watching trip, when she met up with Mr. Ghost, he was already aware. That was why when she returned from the restroom, he couldn’t maintain his friendly demeanor. A command-like threatening tone, "Sit down," yet her mind was full of bold but brilliant plans, she didn’t think much of it.

Afterward, when he stayed in Huvizak, he first proposed straightforwardly in the snow-covered streets, then took her to the restaurant, allowing her to continue meeting with Mr. Ghost. Upon seeing her determined attitude, even after Damian had stated he wanted to marry her, her resolve did not waver.

Now thinking back, when they returned to the hotel villa, his repeated invitations to go out, weren’t they actually chances for her? Instead, she conserved her energy repeatedly refusing, waiting only for a departure.

He must have noticed this, which led to the last test the next day, using "I love you" to tether her, the stubborn mule that refused to be tamed.

Eleanor’s entire body trembled, every muscle and joint, down to her very hair stood cold and despairing.

The questions that tore at her for so long, now appeared so evident, nearly displayed openly.

Mr. Grant’s forcing of choices left him irritable, and her attempts at vanishing spurred his genuine anger, thoroughly fed up with her repeated escapes.

He simply went along with her plan, let her have one grand escape, with a thrilling process, enough to leave a long-lasting impression, never to be forgotten, reappearing after her many near misses, showing her heaven and hell, separated by a hair’s breadth.

In ancient times, Augustus captured Marcus seven times; despite Marcus’s many transformations, he could not escape Augustus’s grasp, experiencing firsthand what was meant by unlimited capability and flawless strategies, ultimately necessitating humble submission, not daring anymore to have ulterior motives.

A psychological warfare of utter brilliance.

She remained silent as the bodyguards filed out, bumping into the sound of someone climbing the stairs.

Eleanor suddenly snapped to her senses, mustering all her strength to push the servant away and stop them.

However, there was no chaos outside the door, the footsteps met, paused for two seconds, then calmly parted, the larger group continuing downstairs, while one stopped at the door.

A familiar Slav face greeted her, holding a silenced gun, "Miss Eleanor, very glad to see you again."

Before the words faded, downstairs, a loud crash echoed, followed by the sound of splintering wood, hasty footsteps, and chaotic shouts of excitement in Froskarian.

Wells smiled, "This time, it’s Mr. Ghost."

Eleanor had initially expected this, but momentarily diverted by the Young Slav, she thought she misunderstood. Her rigid body relaxed for a moment from the shock, only to immediately tense again, her mind stretched to the limit, like a snapping string, she collapsed.

She could only cry out hoarsely, "Let Mr. Ghost go."

The Young Slav took a step forward, and the servant, instructed by Wells, pulled Eleanor back.

"Eleanor, rest assured, we won’t harm Mr. Ghost—"

Downstairs came the dull sounds of physical blows, a cry of pain quickly silenced.

Wells’s expression froze momentarily, then masked it, "There might be some lessons, but no great harm; this friend can testify."

The Young Slav nodded, "Mr. Grant instructed to leave him a life." He paused and added, "I saw him downstairs earlier, but I didn’t make a move."

Wells was taken aback, staring at him in disbelief.

They had received a warning call from Damon Sharp before, as soon as the old fellows appeared on their domestic turf, they were intercepted by their men on the streets. But during the clash, a third party suddenly appeared, joining the battle without a word, aiding to fight off the old comrades.

At that time, although Wells recognized that the third party wasn’t part of the gang, he considered it might be additional forces arranged by Cillian. Just as he was about to confirm, the group suddenly turned hostile, catching them off guard.

Sensing something amiss, Wells hurried back, intending to take Eleanor as Damon suggested, but found signs of an intruder on the courtyard wall.

The Young Slav had been downstairs guarding, without even a side glance when he saw him; Wells had assumed he hadn’t noticed anything.