Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 18: Has Cillian Grant Discovered It?

The director’s face didn’t change, her tone tinged with impatience. "Still Brianna Garrison."

"Is Brianna Garrison like this?"

The director had already finished the exam. "Miss Eleanor’s Brianna Garrison is different from most people’s."

Phoebe wanted her to look again, more carefully.

Mrs. Grant could finally relax, motioning her to stop. "The doctor was this thorough, she wouldn’t have made a mistake."

Phoebe had to let out a breath, turned and walked to Mrs. Grant’s side, mumbling, "I swear I saw her touching her stomach outside the obstetrics department. If I don’t see with my own eyes, I can’t let it go."

Eleanor took the paper and wiped her stomach. "I’m not allowed to be jealous?"

Phoebe shot her a look, about to get snarky, suddenly thought of something, and shut up, yanking Mrs. Grant out with her.

The director, while tidying her tools, whispered in Eleanor’s ear, "There seems to be an issue with the fetus’s development. I tried hard to avoid it earlier, I could only vaguely see the edges. You’d better find time to do another check, just to be sure."

Eleanor looked at her sharply. The director nodded.

She lowered her gaze again. The hand supporting her on the bedside trembled softly.

After a long moment, she finally thanked her.

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

When Eleanor came out, the blood test results were ready too.

Phoebe Grant was holding the report, comparing every figure with her own data.

Cillian Grant was standing next to her, face stiff. "Why are the numbers this much lower?"

The doctor had fiddled the results according to the annual checkup data, and the explanation was the same as last year’s: "The lower the value, the harder it is to get pregnant."

"Are you reassured now?" Eleanor stepped up, snatched her own report, and rolled it up in her hand. "Not only am I not pregnant, but I can hardly conceive. You should sincerely apologize to me now."

Phoebe didn’t say a word, couldn’t swallow her pride.

"What, did a foreigner possess you? Suddenly you can’t speak English?"

Phoebe gritted her teeth. "There’s one more test—the Chinese doctor your brother hired hasn’t checked your pulse yet."

Eleanor took the chance to glance at the man’s expression.

He was standing there, eyes gray and cold, no warmth at all.

Eleanor had no idea what he was thinking.

Couldn’t tell if he was relieved now or still suspicious.

Best if he relaxed. Only if he let his guard down would she get the chance to see Mr. Bolton alone, and gamble everything. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

But betting everything might not work. Before she died, there was one thing she had to get off her chest. "You know why Damian Sinclair always kept his distance from you?"

Right on the sore spot, Phoebe went crazy. "It’s all because of you, you bitch."

"The fault is never with someone else."

Eleanor looked down on her, words flying fast, afraid of Cillian Grant.

"You’re suspicious to your core, like lice growing in your bones—nothing can scald them off. When someone wants to take you out in the moonlight, you’d rather pay for proof of cheating. When someone says, ’What a beautiful moon tonight,’ you ask him which old flame he’s remembering. Most people love romantically till the end, but you? You’ll keep doubting till you die."

"Went all the way to the feast of the world just to catch a green hat getting put on your head. If gods had feelings, even the heavens would age. Anyone you fall in love with, dies early."

Phoebe’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, turning to Cillian Grant. "Brother."

The sarcasm faded from Eleanor’s face, all nerves and defense.

Cillian Grant stared at her—maybe it was an illusion, maybe she saw wrong—but Eleanor could’ve sworn his gaze seemed lost and lonely.

But those moods had nothing in common with the high and mighty position Cillian Grant was in at that very moment.

"Phoebe, apologize."

His voice was flat, neither cold nor harsh.

Eleanor’s hair stood on end. She was sure his temper was about to explode.

Or maybe it was something else, and thinking of her earlier bad feeling, Eleanor instantly felt like facing a formidable enemy.

"Brother—"

"Apologize." He was forceful.

Phoebe stared at him stubbornly.

Earlier, she had told Mrs. Grant her suspicions, but Mrs. Grant didn’t believe her, thought it was just wedding nerves and the usual heiress drama. Her brother was only scolding her coldly so the Sterling Sinclair family wouldn’t think badly of her.

It wasn’t about protecting Eleanor.

But she felt more and more uneasy.

"Sorry." Phoebe’s eyes turned red, but there was malice hidden in her look.

Eleanor didn’t feel even a bit of relief. Cillian Grant’s gaze locked completely onto her.

With his back to the light, high nose and deep eyes shrouded in thick shadows, he looked all the more forbidding, his gaze delving into the darkness.

Once you made eye contact, he’d swallow you whole.

From far away, Mrs. Grant suddenly called out, "Cillian, come here for a second."

Cillian didn’t budge.

Eleanor stared back at him, feeling like her insides were ripped open a hundred ways, mind racing—did she expose one of her tricks, or all of them?

When the man brushed past her, and Phoebe hurried after, Eleanor’s spine nearly folded in half.

She slumped onto a corridor bench.

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

"Why were you so reckless today?" Elaine White helped Eleanor up, hugging her as she sat. "Forcing an apology, provoking them with your mouth—that’s not like you at all."

"Elaine White." Eleanor buried her face in her lab coat. "From here on out, I have no confidence."

For a two-hundred-million-worth Mr. Bolton, let alone a stuck-in-a-corner fake heiress like Eleanor—even Elaine White, with doting parents and a booming career, wouldn’t know what to do.

In fact, every second-generation under thirty is at a loss.

Except Cillian Grant. When it comes to family power and authority, he’s untouchable—five years older than us, but it’s like he’s fifty years ahead.

So Elaine White understood the pressure Eleanor faced.

"It’s not like you have zero cards to play." Elaine White lowered her voice. "Mr. Bolton loves his wife like crazy—they grew up together, confirmed feelings at fifteen, engaged at eighteen, through storms and turbulence, now he’s totally henpecked. Plus, you have something in common..."

"You want me to pull a Mrs. Bolton, sell the Damian Sinclair tragedy again?" Eleanor wasn’t sold.

"Just being pregnant is already like hugging a nuclear bomb. If I drag the tragic romance with Damian out too, and try to break them up with heartbreak, Phoebe will sniff it out in one second, turn into a rabid dog and call in Cillian the Three-Eyed Crow to flip the whole mess upside down."

Elaine White couldn’t help it—burst out laughing. "With that mouth, you’re the reincarnation of Lin Daiyu."

"Now you’re giving me too much credit." Eleanor’s face was flat. "I’m more like a frozen temple fish, pulling out willows in a blizzard—hardly a tragic beauty."

Elaine White giggled out loud. "Even if she does sniff something, at least you’ll have gotten through the first round. When the showdown comes, you can handle whatever comes next. I don’t believe you can’t beat them."

"I really can’t." Eleanor sat up straight. "Right now I’m only a month pregnant—no symptoms, no changes. Give it a few weeks, if I start puking, I won’t even make it through Phoebe Grant, let alone Cillian."

Elaine White’s smile vanished, turning serious. "Have you made up your mind?"

"About what?"

When Eleanor was busy picturing herself throwing up, Phoebe Grant suddenly kicked the door open and shouted, [See, brother! I told you she was having morning sickness!]

So when Elaine White’s topic changed, she was totally lost, couldn’t react. "What decision?"

"Are you keeping the baby?" Elaine White asked again.

Eleanor fell silent, eyes dropped to her belly. Her hand lifted, then fell. Last time she’d gotten caught by Phoebe Grant touching her stomach in the hospital, kicking off a whole disaster.

She gave a bitter laugh. "Still thinking."

The truth was, with Cillian Grant as airtight as a spiderweb, Phoebe always on alert, she was surrounded by ambushes every day. One look out her eyelids each morning, she’s already on a battlefield with nine chances to die out of ten.

On top of that, what she’s really thinking about is something else entirely. As for whether to keep the baby, she genuinely hasn’t thought about it yet.