Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 113: So Everything Was Within His Grasp

Chapter 113: Chapter 113: So Everything Was Within His Grasp

Cillian Grant’s fingertips tapped on the table in a nonchalant manner, "My father hasn’t given up, has he?"

"Director Grant is thorough in his work." Damon Sharp was deeply impressed by the power struggle between the father and son of the Grant Family, summed up in just four words: ’A battle of wits.’

"He believes in coincidences, but coincidences are merely human errors by nature. At the fundamental level, it’s just a matter of intent or unintentional. Director Grant believes it’s intentional but strangely hasn’t delved deeper; instead, he focuses on the black clinic."

Cillian leaned back in his chair, succinctly saying, "Ian White."

Damon understood clearly. To maintain a perfect facade, Elaine White doesn’t have the capability, only her father, Ian White. But this Mr. White is erratic and holds grudges. Once you dig deeper, revealing Miss Eleanor’s pregnancy to the world would lead to total chaos.

Damon asked, "Since you and Director Grant are so confident, why spend resources and effort to pursue it thoroughly?"

"My father needs solid evidence." Cillian leaned back in the chair, tilting his head, the camera couldn’t capture the dimness, just a silhouette, shrouded in darkness, with no further words.

Damon didn’t expect Cillian to suddenly open up and analyze himself. After a brief pause, he continued to report.

"Mr. Bolton in the capital has awakened. The doctors say his brain injury and prolonged coma require time to recover."

Cillian was indifferent, "Noted."

Outside the door, Eleanor’s legs felt like the veins were slowly and painstakingly pulled out with tweezers, leaving her muscles unsupported, unable to stretch or exert strength, only bones keeping her upright, inching away.

Sometimes, she would wonder.

Was she Brandon White in a past life, slaughtering hundreds of thousands, or perhaps Donovan, with the three Jia Ding massacres, countless wronged souls swirling, rivers of blood flowing, or was she Victoria, burying the country’s fate, nearly losing five thousand years of history?

In this life, there’s Cillian Grant, with unparalleled intelligence and unique methods, a deranged, abstract madman, a devil, relentlessly entangled.

An ordinary person, confused over something for a long time, would certainly want to verify it personally at the first opportunity, to uncover the truth, settle the dust.

Does Cillian need that?

He doesn’t.

She’s in his hand, forced to take a pregnancy test, it would only drive her to despair, drive her mad, like that night returning to The Grant Family, when resentment exploded, and the sharp attack tore their false peace to shreds.

Why even bother?

She’s pregnant, first, to avoid emotional agitation affecting the fetus, and second, the pregnancy would show in a month or two; no way to hide it. Her swollen, cumbersome body wouldn’t allow her to run.

Third, even if he wished for urgent confirmation, he can employ Mr. Grant to take the charge, presenting the truth to him, paving the way for relationships and the child.

In the end, he just needs to step in, preventing Mr. Grant’s ruthless final blow.

It’s time-saving, effortless, and easily controlled.

And such methods, he had displayed before her numerous times over four years, as enemies exerted all their energy, forming alliances, while he remained steady, watching, weaving a solid, comprehensive net at the bottom of their affairs.

At the critical point, tightening it suddenly, effortlessly winning the maximum, with no harm to himself.

It’s ridiculous. From a third-person perspective, she had resented those who failed to discover his hidden ambition in time. Now, it was her turn to realize that anyone facing him was a mere lamb.

Eleanor clutched her belly tightly, silently collapsing back onto the bed.

After four years of restlessness, should she surrender?

She didn’t want to.

But this entrapment, airtight on all sides, offered no light, no end in sight.

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

Mr. Ghost never expected Damian Sinclair would come looking for him personally.

At that time, he was teaching his kid roller skating in the park.

Near noon, the sun was bright, the weather warm, with evergreens growing throughout the park. Even in the chill of deep winter, the greenery appeared somewhat desolate. Damian Sinclair’s face, as white as jade, once it appeared, the desolation vanished, warm as a spring in March.

Mr. Ghost quickly briefed his kid and ran over, "President Sinclair, what brings you here?"

Damian politely motioned for him to sit on the park bench, "I’d like to ask you for a favor."

Mr. Ghost waved it off extravagantly, "Please don’t say favor; even if it’s ten tasks, a hundred tasks, they’re all doable. Your business is my business."

Damian let out a short laugh, an adult’s tacit bitterness, "Saving your wife and children was chance, not expecting anything in return. Yet now, seeking help once or twice, it seems I’m asking for something bigger than I’ve given."

Mr. Ghost understood the last sentence and eyed Damian for two minutes. His own education wasn’t high, only attending junior high school.

Seeing Damian for the first time, he thought of a genteel noble young man.

Now, seeing him like this, he thought of "even white jade has flaws." Not as criticism, but the worldly dirt untouched by children, as one grows and learns to shoulder responsibilities, the moment youthful ambition dissipates, the world settles into their eyes as dark undercurrents, making some numb, while others steady.

He himself was numb, but later, with a wife and kids, life blossomed, paving the way for today.

"There’s no bigger favor than you’ve given. To you, it was chance; to me, they were three lives, adding mine, and four years of good living." 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Mr. Ghost, glib and talkative, shared his true feelings in drink. But now, the cold wind rustles tree shadows, with people bustling through the park, he was clear-headed and spoken words felt scalding.

"I’m not educated, words often lose flavor when spoken. To sum up, you saved my wife and kids; my life is at your disposal, be it murder or arson? My only request is that seeing my decisiveness, you consider looking after them for the rest of their lives."

"..." Damian was momentarily speechless, never expecting Mr. Ghost to consider murder or arson.

"Not at all." He shook his head, amused, "Compared to murder and arson, this favor is more like a funded business trip."

Mr. Ghost, having been around for a long time, was filled with chivalric sentiment. He thought the boss called him for a life sentence, only to realize the boss just asked him out for cigarettes, and he instantly felt relieved.

Just then, at the end of a path, the secretary waved urgently.

Damian, catching it in the corner of his eye, turned serious. Without wasting more time, he said, "Remember Eleanor, right? She’s trapped in Froskar, and I want to ask you to rescue her. I won’t let you do it for nothing, twenty million—"

Mr. Ghost opened his mouth to shout.

Damian cut in, "An educational fund for your two kids, covering everything from elementary, junior high, senior high, college, or overseas at Harvard or MIT, full guidance throughout."

"Deal, deal, deal." Mr. Ghost nodded fervently.

Damian stood to leave.

Mr. Ghost suddenly asked, "President Sinclair, you and that Miss Eleanor—"

"She was my fiancée once, later—"

Damian was halfway through speaking when the secretary approached swiftly, whispered a few words, and the two hurried away.

Mr. Ghost was left dumbfounded.

Damian was soon to have a wife and kids. He’d previously thought of Eleanor as just a friend of Damian, never assuming anything else.

After getting her to safety and stopping by Froskar, he thought it was enough reciprocation for Damian’s trust.

But now, seeing Damian mention Eleanor. For an adult, forgetting is akin to still waters, not at all the tone of nostalgic affection, with emotions running deep.

For a moment, Mr. Ghost understood and regretted.

Wasn’t this roughly equivalent to dragging the wife someone’s cherished in their heart into a gunfight, high-speed chase, and left her stranded on the snowy plains of Froskar when in urgent need of backup?