Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 23: Don’t Delude Yourself Into Being Accepted By Me

Chapter 23: Chapter 23: Don’t Delude Yourself Into Being Accepted By Me

Eleanor didn’t go into the flower hall; she wandered around downstairs.

The Grant Family always hosted guests separately. Mrs. Grant would entertain Mrs. Sinclair in the flower hall, while Mr. Grant would take Mr. Sinclair to the study. Eleanor wasn’t looking for any of them. Yet, after finishing her round, she hadn’t seen even a shadow of Cillian Grant—or Damian Sinclair, for that matter.

She frowned deeply and went into the kitchen to ask Auntie King.

As Eleanor’s figure disappeared at the kitchen door, the window of the billiard room on the second floor, which faced the double-height living room, also shut.

The pool table light in the room was glaring, outlining the two men holding long cues.

One looked gentle and refined, but glared fiercely from under his brows.

The other was cold and inscrutable, impossible to read.

Cillian Grant lowered his gaze as he chalked the cue tip, then tossed the chalk onto the table foot. He bent down, set up his cue, and from among a packed field of blocked balls, picked out a single one with pinpoint accuracy. His arm tensed as he struck; the black ball dropped into the pocket. The stalemate on the table broke instantly.

"You aren’t my match."

"Of course not," Damian Sinclair surveyed the table, sarcasm written on every inch of his eyes and brow. "Compared to Cillian Grant and the Grant Heiress, my morals—and Eleanor’s—don’t even measure up to your shamelessness."

Cillian Grant stood at a diagonal from him. "When did you find out?"

No hedging, no pretending to be innocent, he came straight out with it.

Damian Sinclair froze, then hate and anger boiled in his chest and exploded like a bomb.

He flung the cue away—bang—its tip hit the wall and snapped with a crack.

"Just learned what a master you are, Vice Director Grant. No wonder you’re praised as the world’s best older brother."

The cue, now in two pieces, rolled over to Damian. He kicked it aside and braced both hands on the pool table; the bright light carved every detail of the disgust and loathing on his face.

"Everyone in our circle gushes about how the Grant Family is all about loyalty, kindness, humility, and charity. Hearing it now is just sickening, a fucking joke. Are you even human? The Grant Family’s worse than snakes and scorpions." 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

"Finished yet?" Cillian Grant seemed utterly unmoved. He stepped back a few paces and sat down on the sofa. "Now it’s my turn to ask you."

Damian looked as if he could laugh. "Ask me? What gives you the right? Just your shamelessness, your filth, and your malice?"

His insults barely touched Cillian Grant, whose years in business had made him immune to childish taunts. Cillian always knew exactly what he wanted—he acted, not talked.

"The Nimbus Tea House on Rendar Road. Did she go to see Elaine White that day, or did she go to see you?"

Damian’s face darkened. Of course Eleanor went to see Elaine White; he’d just happened to be next door. And Eleanor’s purpose in seeing Elaine was to conceal her pregnancy. Clearly, Cillian already knew about Eleanor’s trip that day.

Did he already know Eleanor was pregnant?

Damian didn’t think so. That day, Eleanor had looked so scared and lost; he could hear every word she said. When she left, he’d even made sure to tell the tea house’s owner and waiters to keep quiet, and had the surveillance deleted.

And Eleanor had passed her physical today. The way Cillian was acting—it didn’t seem like he knew.

Cillian rocked back with one leg up, eyes narrowed, catching even the slightest flicker in Damian’s expression. "You sent someone to approach the chief of the White Family Hospital’s physical exam department two days ago. Why?"

Damian abruptly stepped back, his face swallowed by the shadows. "No reason. Am I not allowed?"

"You’re allowed," Cillian’s gaze was sharp. "If you’re asking after Phoebe, concerned about her, I’d say nothing. But what you asked about was Eleanor’s pregnancy. Don’t you owe me an explanation?"

Damian felt a wave of relief. The questions he’d asked the chief were all about Eleanor’s health records from previous years.

The topic was just about her difficulty getting pregnant—not about how she was hiding a pregnancy now.

"Shouldn’t you be the one explaining? Eleanor’s always been healthy. Ever since you helped Phoebe Grant bully her, she became infertile overnight—isn’t that a little convenient?"

He reached up and twisted the light above the pool table, so the harsh glare shone directly at Cillian Grant.

The light hit his face, taut as wire, cold and sharp as ice.

"Let me remind you again: whether she’s healthy or not, whether she can have children or not—it’s none of your business." Cillian got to his feet, stepped forward, and grabbed the hanging lamp, forcibly yanking it around to face Damian. "If you’re not ready to give up, listen to this."

Cillian took out his phone. Eleanor’s sincere voice spilled out:

[When I heard the knock, I thought it was you, so I opened the door... I feel nothing for him as a man, not a shred, not a thought... He’s not the only man in the world; what’s past is in the past... He only brings trouble to me... Just hearing his name makes my scalp tingle; sharing the same air feels suffocating]

Damian twisted the lamp with all his strength, but he was no match; the fixture didn’t budge, and the light spilled on his face, showing the contorted hatred in all its force.

"Aren’t you the model brother? You’d do anything for Phoebe Grant; are those really her true feelings? Or did you just threaten her until she broke?"

"You can’t tell if she meant it?" Cillian’s mouth curled slightly as he leaned in. "With her temperament? If she says something like that, there’s no turning back."

Damian was breathing hard, veins bulging at his temples. "You think you’ve won? That you helped your despicable little sister win a man?"

Cillian raised his brow, nonchalant. "Didn’t I?"

"You’ve lost." Damian drew back his hand. "Phoebe Grant is about to marry into the Sinclair family. Her life—her future—will be in my hands, not yours. And you? You’re a joke. You tossed away a diamond for a pebble. You don’t treat Eleanor as your sister, and she doesn’t see you as her brother. Trust me—you’ll regret it someday."

Cillian suddenly laughed. "That’s what you think? Some little fantasy win in your head?"

He was brutally direct. "Eleanor had better not waste her time hoping I’ll be her brother. I’ll never regret denying her that for as long as I live. As for Phoebe’s future, what you say doesn’t matter—but if I say so, you’d better listen."

Damian stared at him, his anger at its limit. "Sure, the Grant Group is powerful, but the Sterling Sinclair family is no slouch either."

"Sterling Sinclair’s not bad. But you? You’re not even close," Cillian sneered. "My advice: mind your manners as a brother-in-law. If not, I won’t hesitate to turn this marriage alliance into your own humiliation."

Damian’s eyes burned. He wanted to talk back, but Cillian could really do it—Grant Group was already planning to go international. Maybe taking over the Sinclair family would be hard, but breaking them down or rallying others against them would just take time and resources.

Damian turned to open the door. His foot had barely lifted when he stopped midair, surprised and uneasy. "Eleanor? When did you get here?"

Eleanor looked past him into the room, and when her eyes met Cillian’s, she immediately dropped them. "Just now."

"Heard it all?"

Eleanor’s fingers trembled for a second, but she didn’t deny it.

Damian glanced at Cillian, as if searching his face for a flicker of nerves at having his threats overheard. Unfortunately, the man stood bathed in shadow behind the light—cold, showing nothing but indifference.

"As long as you heard." Damian’s words carried weight. "You’re a person. Some people are not. What’s in your blood doesn’t change."

Eleanor’s hand at her side clenched tight. She looked up at him, searching his face.

Damian’s skin was fair as porcelain, his lashes thick and long by nature, his irises near coffee-brown—so when he looked at someone, it was all sincerity, all clarity. But now there was something deeper.

Eleanor understood he wasn’t talking broadly about the Grant Family anymore—he meant the child inside her.