Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 16: He Found Out

The night breeze brushed against the window drapes, covering the lampshade, dimming the room. She, too, was dim, downhearted and dispirited, her voice weak and languid.

Cillian Grant’s gaze was gloomy as he lifted her chin. Her eyes showed no tears, her cheeks dry, unlike someone who had cried.

She was indeed stronger than others, open-minded, resilient.

He was silent for a moment, then finally softened his tone, "I’m not interrogating you. Say whatever you want."

Eleanor looked into his deep, sincere black eyes.

For almost her entire twenty-two and a half years, he had been part of her life; he understood her, and she understood him. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

A cold and indifferent man, extremely deep-minded, rational to the extreme.

The more rational he was, the less Eleanor could find any reason for his actions.

He hurt and oppressed her rationally and calmly, purely for Phoebe Grant.

Just like now, he ignored her locked door, barging in simply because Phoebe had doubts about what happened with Damian Sinclair earlier, calling him in as her support.

Eleanor trembled all over, straightening her back under his gaze, counting fingers, "Was it because I was rude and went upstairs early? Or that Damian Sinclair came to find me, or that I didn’t make way for Phoebe, causing your dear sister to be upset?"

"Damian Sinclair came to find you?" The man stood with his back to the window, his black shirt merging with the dark night outside, equally deep, equally cold.

Cold enough to make her heart spasm. Speculating he came for this reason, and confirming with him verbally were two different experiences.

"Yes."

Damian Sinclair had visited The Grant Family numerous times but never came upstairs.

Resolute denial to Eleanor would not quash his suspicions; checking the surveillance would be the end of it.

Only mixing truth with lies, following their suspicions, fulfilling their guesses, and then telling lies would appear credible.

"He knocked on my door, and I didn’t open it."

"Why didn’t you open it?"

Why didn’t you open it?

Eleanor sneered, "Do I dare open it? Can I open it? It’s just a shadow of suspicion, yet your sister wants to cut my hand, peel my skin. If I had opened it, I’d never wash off the dirty water. By then, if your sister takes action, who would save me, stand up for me, or allow me to resist?"

Cillian suddenly pulled her into his arms, holding her, caressing her cheek, "With Sterling Sinclair here, she won’t hit you."

Eleanor brushed his hand away, "And if Sterling Sinclair leaves?"

Cillian’s hand paused in midair, frowning, "No, they won’t."

Eleanor didn’t believe it at all, trusting Phoebe not to act was less believable than trusting Sterling Sinclair wouldn’t leave.

The man’s hand pressed against her cheek again, continuing to ask, "Not opening the door, is it just out of fear of being hit?"

Eleanor didn’t avoid it this time, her chest heaving intensely for a few seconds before calming down.

Taking a submissive stance, she bowed her head, "I’m afraid of getting involved with Damian Sinclair. The moment I open the door, I could jump into The Quellon River and still won’t wash it off. Unless I die by then—"

The moment the word "die" was spoken, the man’s outline was cold and hard, grabbing Eleanor forcefully, his lips sealing hers the next second.

Cillian Grant was never gentle.

The kissing became more and more intense.

Eleanor did not struggle, an unusual compliance that softened the man’s heart. The softer his heart got, the fiercer the fire burned.

He gradually lost control, but Eleanor couldn’t let him.

Feeling his muscles tensing, increasingly heated, Eleanor pushed him away.

But it couldn’t be too resolute, as that would anger him.

She had a task tonight, needing to probe the time Mr. Bolton would arrive in Soldane Province.

"What are you doing?" Eleanor mixed a sob into her voice. Cillian Grant couldn’t stand women’s tears and would be impatient not to touch her, even if he had no pity for her.

"You clearly dislike me, don’t trust me, play me for a fool, and don’t admit me. Don’t you feel disgusted touching me?"

"When did I ever feel you’re disgusting?" The man’s gaze held her reflection, infatuated, with a dark fire burning, "But indeed, I don’t acknowledge you as my sister."

Eleanor painfully closed her eyes.

Cillian suddenly pulled her, catching her off guard, and she crashed back into his embrace, her lips pressed against his Adam’s apple.

Feeling the vibrations when he spoke hoarsely, a rasp, "As for being deceitful, the times you’ve lied to me are too many to count."

Eleanor faced the dressing table, the man’s strong figure entirely covering her, in the mirror only her eyes showed, fearful, flustered, lacking the pure beauty of a woman, only rusty stains of red strands filled with blood.

Her voice was also hoarse, "When have I lied to you? You know my schedule like the back of your hand, what I do, with whom I speak, you know it all."

"You took a leave without me knowing to go to the hospital. Was it to see Elaine White or Damian Sinclair?" Cillian looked down, his eyes deep and dark, like a bottomless pit, full of desire yet without warmth.

Eleanor’s expression froze.

She had nearly forgotten that Cillian Grant was more suspicious than Phoebe and far more meticulous and sophisticated.

When Damian Sinclair appeared at the hospital at such a coincidental time, intervening at the most critical moment, taking Phoebe away.

Cillian must have been suspicious by then and had privately investigated thoroughly these past days.

Her hasty leave for the hospital couldn’t withstand careful scrutiny. If investigated, her pregnancy might be discovered.

Eleanor’s eyes reddened with fear. "Elaine, I’d rather see anyone but Damian Sinclair. I truly have no feelings for him. Back then, the engagement was just because I had reached adolescence. As childhood sweethearts, everything came naturally."

"Later, when he and your sister got together, I realized my feelings for him weren’t love, there was no lingering affection, and certainly no rekindling of old flames."

She didn’t cry over past insults, but now her eyes were red, Cillian’s chest suppressed with irritation, and he still asked, "Is that the truth?"

"The truth." Eleanor nodded firmly.

Cillian suddenly tightened his arms, binding Eleanor in a tight embrace, the heat of his chest seeped through two layers of clothing into her skin, the warmth invading her ears.

Eleanor was terrified.

"Cillian Grant." She stammeringly pushed against his chest, "I really have nothing to do with Damian Sinclair. If a medical examination tomorrow proves my innocence, can I avoid the pulse check?"

"Why?"

Sweat formed on Eleanor’s palms; she clutched the sleeve, "I’ve resigned myself. Acupuncture hurts; I don’t want to suffer in vain anymore."

She knew Cillian Grant paid a high price to avoid her from undergoing acupuncture, but Cillian didn’t know she was aware, and Eleanor couldn’t reveal any hint of knowledge.

Cillian paused, something flickered across his face, yet he said nothing.

Eleanor looked at him, "Will you agree?"

"Are you really afraid of the pain?" Cillian pursed his lips.

Eleanor wasn’t a delicate girl; she could win over Mrs. Grant but not him.

But as impossible as it was to win, after saying it enough times, it would enter his ears.

His heart softened.

An expression of reluctance appeared on Eleanor’s face, "I truly am afraid."

"Five months ago at the school sports meet, you injured your knee and washed it with alcohol without hesitation, without even flinching." Cillian reminded her.

Eleanor instantly tensed, guardedly looking at him.

What did he mean?

Had he discovered her?