Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 11: Absolutely Refusing to Acknowledge Her

Chapter 11: Chapter 11: Absolutely Refusing to Acknowledge Her

Eleanor couldn’t help but let out a muffled groan.

The man’s expression changed slightly, his large hand covering her forehead, rubbing slowly, with a force that was strong, and his calloused palm was rough and hot. To Eleanor, it felt more like scrubbing than rubbing.

The pain made her pull away.

Cillian Grant’s hand hung in the air, and his voice turned cold, "Leaving me, who do you want to find?"

Eleanor carefully observed his expression. As soon as their eyes met, she was sucked into the whirlpool swirling in his eyes, so turbulent, sharp, and unfathomable.

She shivered, and recalling last time, immediately sensed the danger of the situation.

"I’m not looking for anyone," Eleanor retorted, "It was you who said you’d cure my infertility and asked me to get married."

"When did I—" With the alcohol affecting him, Cillian Grant’s reaction wasn’t as quick as usual, and he only thought of it after he spoke.

He pinched his brow, trying hard to stay clear-headed, "Do you want to get married?"

Eleanor was slightly stunned. On a normal day, Cillian Grant would never say such a thing; he would only half-close his eyes, calmly and silently assessing the situation.

After all, words are spoken after considering them in the mind, which can mask insincerity, but minor facial expressions are physiological responses that an untrained person cannot conceal.

He really was drunk!

Eleanor was overjoyed, "I don’t want to."

Then she coaxed him, "I’ve been treating this condition for three or four years and haven’t seen any hope. Even the highly skilled traditional Chinese doctor from the capital might not be effective for me, so I haven’t thought about getting married."

Eleanor knew her logic was somewhat forced, but right now, Cillian Grant’s thinking wasn’t as precise and sharp as usual.

She continued, "Also, acupuncture is like Nanny Grimm needling Violet. Nanny Grimm grimaces as she stabs, and Violet screams, which is a childhood trauma that I don’t want to relive."

In the past, Eleanor would act coquettishly and obediently, using her little temper with great skill.

At that time, Cillian Grant spoiled her the most and often gave in to Eleanor’s pestering.

She genuinely drew close to him again, acting coy and playful.

A gentle smile surfaced in Cillian Grant’s eyes, and he lightly scolded, "Nonsense, how could Mr. Bolton be like Nanny Grimm? He’s a top gynecologist in the country, and I’ve asked about your condition; it’s not hard to treat."

It was the indulgent tone she hadn’t heard in a long time, and Eleanor was momentarily stunned before she quickly reacted.

He mentioned it’s not hard to treat.

Not hard to treat, which means in his mind, she still has a condition and isn’t pregnant.

Eleanor was taken aback by joy, clutching his sleeve, asking, "So, do you not think I’m pregnant?"

Never did she expect him to hear the word "pregnant" from her mouth; Cillian Grant suddenly came to his senses, a subtle and dangerous something flickering in his eyes, "Whether you’re pregnant or not, there are medical examinations."

Eleanor didn’t dare make a sound anymore and obediently lay on his chest.

Cillian Grant’s frame was large, his muscles firm, exuding strength, and the warmth from his body seeped through his shirt, hotly transferring to her.

Eleanor felt like she was enveloped by a sturdy furnace, and only when his eyes became dazed with the effects of alcohol again did she hoarsely pursue, "Mr. Bolton? What’s his full name? Why haven’t I heard of him?"

After what just happened, Cillian Grant ignored her.

He reached up to pull his collar, exposing a broad, muscular chest.

Under the light, his honey-toned skin glistened with a layer of sweat, gathering in the grooves of his muscles, gliding with his breaths.

He exuded the booming male vitality of a mature man, combined with a noble and handsome sense of security that could easily capture any woman’s heart.

Yet Eleanor’s nose stung, seeing only the person who wouldn’t give her the stars or moon in the past, her heart muddied.

She wanted to call out that sound syllable.

But Cillian Grant’s expression suddenly changed, and he slapped her waist. He didn’t hold back; the sound was as loud as the sting was sharp, "Call my name; I’m not your brother."

The smell of smoke and alcohol mixed with his rich scent, intense, distinctive, yet Eleanor felt hopelessly lost.

Even drunk to this extent, he still couldn’t forget Phoebe Grant, wouldn’t acknowledge her.

Discarding all the past feelings they shared.

Eleanor’s tongue felt bitter as she looked up at him, "Yes, you are Cillian Grant, not my brother."

Mrs. Grant wasn’t her mother either.

The Grant Family certainly wasn’t her family.

An idea suddenly clarified in her mind, one she had tried many times before but never succeeded.

The most dangerous idea.

"Mm," Cillian Grant’s palm pressed on the back of her head again, forcing her to lean against his chest, "Medical check-up proves you’re clean. I’ll ensure Mr. Bolton treats you fully, so your marriage and having kids won’t be delayed."

Eleanor’s focus was pulled away by the mention of marriage and kids, not noticing that this time Cillian Grant brought it up on his own.

Eleanor cautiously glanced at him; in such a short time, a man like Cillian Grant who never spoke without reason mentioned her getting married and having kids twice.

She suddenly recalled Mrs. Grant’s advice to expand her horizons, suggesting she could choose a match from the well-off families that fit their criteria.

An arranged marriage.

Her mind suddenly cleared. The upper-class society valued arranged marriages but not the marriage certificate itself. Without giving birth to descendants, the position remained unstable.

Only curing her condition and marrying her off could the relationship with The Grant Family remain stable, bringing benefits.

How laughable it was that she thought Mrs. Grant accepted her; in reality, the whole family had long planned this out.

Feeling choked up by her emotions, Eleanor pushed him away, "You should go back and rest."

The man didn’t let go.

Though drunk, his grip was strong, holding her waist like an iron cage, and his strong, tall physique effortlessly restrained her.

Eleanor didn’t dare struggle too much, wary of escalation. Fortunately, he was truly drunk, too drunk to fully open his eyes, and his hand caressing her back slowed down, with his heartbeat also becoming deep and steady.

In the silent depth of night, close to her ear, it felt like the eternal and unchanged wind over the wilderness, natural, ancient, peaceful, gently caressing her.

Eleanor fell asleep.

The man opened his eyes, watching her for a long time.

His cheek rested against her forehead, silent and still.

......

The next day.

When Eleanor woke up, she found herself alone in the room, her sleeping spot moved from the sofa to the bed.

A crack of the window was opened, airing out the room entirely of the alcohol scent.

Eleanor picked up her phone and saw one unread message upon unlocking it.

It was a reply from Elaine White, a simple period.

Meaning OK.

Eleanor deleted it, freshened up, and went downstairs to the dining room.

To her surprise, the dining room was empty and very quiet.

Mr. Grant was on a business trip, Cillian Grant often skipped breakfast at home, but Mrs. Grant, who disliked eating out, always dined in.

If Mrs. Grant was there, so would Phoebe Grant be.

At this time of day, it would never be so deserted.

Eleanor went into the kitchen to find Auntie King, "Is Mom busy today?"

Auntie King was making soup, steam bubbling from the pot, her voice muffled, "--Something happened at the house, early this morning, Madam and the eldest young master, Miss Phoebe all went."

Eleanor couldn’t hear clearly and moved closer to ask, "Which house had an issue?"

Auntie King put the lid on the pot, and her voice became clearer, "The Sterling Sinclair house. It seemed urgent; Madam was in a hurry, the eldest young master didn’t look well, and Miss Phoebe was even crying."

Eleanor was taken aback.

Coming to marriage at this step involves many urgent matters—wrong days, incompatible signs, dress, rings, venue, guests—things could fall apart over disagreements.

But things that could make Phoebe Grant cry were rare.

She had a bad feeling, thinking this time it couldn’t be her fault again, could it?

Just as the thought arose, she heard the sound of an engine from outside.

Eleanor went out and was suddenly confronted with Phoebe Grant rushing in. The moment Phoebe saw her, her expression turned sharply menacing.