Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 159: Accusing Cillian Grant

Eleanor disregarded their stares, gathering her strength to stagger outside.

Wells tried to block her way, and Young Slav stepped forward again, while Eleanor, entangled by the servants, approached him. "Get out of the way."

The words were half-spoken when her head suddenly spun, her limbs and body felt as heavy as lead, and she fell stiffly to the ground.

Young Slav swung his gun to his back, supported her, and turned to Wells. "The people downstairs were beaten by you, and she fainted because of you. Our squad has nothing to do with it."

Wells opened his mouth to argue.

Next to them, the servants were in a panic, pointing sharply at Eleanor’s legs, "Blood, she’s bleeding."

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

Cillian Grant had just gotten off the plane when the gang leader approached him on the tarmac.

It was 1:40 in the afternoon, with the dawn rising in Froskar, casting a white bright light that dispersed the dark purple clouds and shone on the gang leader’s face, making his expression appear wax-sealed, rigidly pale.

Cillian Grant watched him for a few seconds, feeling an ominous premonition.

The gang leader didn’t wait for him to ask, instead lowered his head, eyes settling on Cillian’s chest, "Something unexpected happened, disturbed Miss Eleanor, the child... didn’t survive."

Didn’t survive—

Cillian’s mind exploded, losing his balance as he staggered backward, caught quickly by Damon Sharp. Though his body steadied, his rationality was engulfed by the brilliant sunlight.

Like the leader’s waxen face, Cillian’s expression became even more wax-like, deeper and broader, more fragile. A gust of wind could crack him open like land eroded by a tsunami.

The brightness, the surroundings, everything swallowed, and a clear feeling of sinking inch by inch overwhelmed him, rendering him speechless.

Damon Sharp, alarmed by his pallor, urgently called for the accompanying doctor, "Check on Mr. Grant first—"

His buttons were undone, letting the cold wind seep in, as the doctor adjusted the stethoscope on his chest through his clothes.

Cillian waved him away, the doctor startled and relieved as it indicated he wasn’t catatonic from intense mental stress.

"There’s significant pulmonary rales, likely fatigue from long-distance flight. We should administer the infusion medication brought from Therasia—"

"No need—" Cillian’s bloodshot eyes suppressed the searing pain in his throat, tasting a metallic sweetness as he swallowed it down, pushing the doctor aside and pointing at the gang leader, his demeanor dark and severe. "Get in the car."

The gang leader dared not argue; this was their major error, perhaps a continuous one.

It started with the car accident behind The Whale Museum. Despite Cillian’s warnings to be vigilant of Therasia’s reinforcements, they monitored the Red Beards without foreseeing their brazen audacity in staging an accident.

But the crash happened in an instant, impossible to prevent, and when Eleanor was dragged from the vehicle, seemingly unharmed and bloodless, the gang leader, accustomed to robust female subordinates, didn’t stop her, considering the auxiliary plan.

Later, failing to intercept mercenaries dispatched by Therasia led to Eleanor being taken to the hospital. The critical danger, her life hanging by a thread, coupled with physical and psychological stress, resulted in a threatened miscarriage.

This last time was worse when repeatedly warning Wells not to underestimate Eleanor, who was observant and perceptive in communication nuances, cautioning meticulousness. But he was careless, early alerting Eleanor. Unable to conceal, with Young Slav’s limited wit, even he would know to blame others, yet Wells, obliviously foolish, resorted to force against Eleanor.

The convoy raced away from the airport, the icy field bathed in dawn’s golden light, with the wind blowing snow against the windows.

Cillian’s coughing intensified, a trace of blood seeping from his lips, stark against the pristine exterior snow.

"Director Grant," Damon Sharp noticed, hurriedly offering a cup of water and tissues. "The doctor is in the car behind, do you need—"

Cillian’s gaze stopped him. His chest was ablaze, consuming his organs with empty suffocation, devouring his soul.

From the beginning of this child’s arrival, he had suspicions, yet remained uncertain for a while.

He was aware Eleanor harbored no romantic feelings for him. She lingered on The Grant Family and the past, feeling no hatred for him, but had a growing desire to distance herself.

When she truly fell pregnant unexpectedly, she would absolutely not keep the child.

Initially at White Family Hospital, besides monitoring, he focused on checking for any procedures of miscarriage, finding none.

After her departure, Damon reported she hadn’t visited any clinic nor shown any inclination toward abortion throughout her journey, even during her cycle at The Emerald Residence, which diluted his suspicion after she agreed to leave The Grant Family.

When he learned of the black clinic, and she had crossed the ocean.

He confirmed her pregnancy, and her intention to keep the child. The same plane landing in Froskar, enroute to see her, through this dazzling icy land, his heart too burned with raging fire back then.

Burning fiercely, consuming his soul, with disbelief, gratitude, and turmoil, the flow of blood raging like lava, urging him to embrace her, hold her tightly; the world silent, yet deafening, to hold her, embrace her...

An intense desire to become part of her essence.

Yet upon meeting her, he found she severed their past, yet also cut him off completely. Bringing up the child only triggered her buried resentment.

In just two short weeks in Froskar, she grew to hate him, and began to hate The Grant Family. With their child’s blood bond, she was beyond salvation.

So, what about losing the child?

A sharp ringtone shattered the silence within the car; the gang leader answered his phone, the caller ID’s suffix indicated ’Doctor.’

He cautiously glanced at Cillian Grant, connected the call, and turned on the speaker.

The doctor’s voice spoke out in an instant, using English, "Mr. Adrian, the patient has woken up—"

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

Eleanor had been in darkness for a long time.

No sound, no light, no sense of touch, she floated weightlessly, only her thoughts were clear.

Occasionally, there was a faint pain in her abdomen.

It gave Eleanor a sense of reassurance.

The pain wasn’t severe, nor constant, and not overwhelming, much better than when she was previously bleeding.

Her daughter was always so strong and obedient. It made her, who wanted to be a good mother but always dragged her into danger, feel deeply ashamed.

Ultimately, she underestimated Cillian Grant, underestimated his capability, underestimated his callous ruthlessness.

He was no lunatic; he was a monster pretending to be human.

Eleanor thought of Mr. Ghost, thought of Damian Sinclair, thought of the chaos in Froskar, and how she could save them and extricate everyone she implicated from the monster’s clutches.

Her previous rebellion was entirely insufficient, and her approach was completely wrong, hesitating because of Mrs. Grant, fearing The Grant Family, tentative in her actions.

None of these things would hold her back now. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

She was the victim.

She should turn to the embassy first; the gang ran rampant in Froskar, but against Therasia, they were nothing, and Mr. Ghost could return safely.

As for herself, accusing Cillian Grant was a difficult road; her residence registration was still with The Grant Family...