Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 26: Sell Her to an Old Man as a Mistress

Chapter 26: Chapter 26: Sell Her to an Old Man as a Mistress

Elaine slapped her forehead. "But you don’t have to run, I mean... this..."

"Forget it. If I stay, I’ll be dead even faster. He’s all satisfied, got the marriage alliance set up, the benefits divided out. Then he finds out I’m pregnant with his kid—what future marriage prospect would stand for that? He loses everything, including his reputation. Do you really think he’d let me go? Or that the Grant Family would?"

Neither would.

Elaine shut her mouth.

After a while, Elaine couldn’t help herself. "But you could... you could just not have the baby..."

Eleanor thought she was so naïve. "The only reason Cillian Grant wants to marry me is to prove I’m not infertile. If I abort the child now, even if I can hide it from the Grant Family, you think the old Chinese doctor won’t figure it out later?"

Elaine shook her head.

Eleanor decided to lay it all out. "Let’s say, just by some miracle, Cillian Grant covers it up for me, protects his reputation. But you know how he is—a businessman at heart. He ponied up a hundred million, he’s expecting payback."

"If I miscarry for real and end up infertile, marriage into any elite family is out of the question. At best, I’d be shoved into some rich old guy’s house as his backup wife. Worst case? Delivered straight as a mistress to some government official."

Backup wife, mistress.

Elaine wanted to argue—the Grant Family’s reputation is too high for that. But then her mind flashed to the hospital hallway, all that hysterical fighting from Phoebe Grant, and Cillian Grant’s ruthless, relentless questions.

She was speechless.

Eleanor saw right through her. "Elaine, I’ve thought of every way out. But the truth is there’s nowhere to go—except disappearing, the kind of disappearing Cillian Grant can’t track."

Elaine came here worried, and left shell-shocked.

......

Eleanor returned to her workstation. Next door, Moon Lord came by to tally up nicknames.

Eleanor flipped through Investiture of the Gods, not a single name fit her. She could only give a deadpan look. "Mole Man."

Moon Lord’s real name was Tilly—a middling height, on the round side, obsessed with beauty. If it weren’t for Jolly God thinking Moon Fairy was too blunt, she’d never have picked the subtle title of Moon Lord for herself.

So she really didn’t get it—Eleanor had this ethereal face, graceful figure, and killer charisma. Why pick a nickname like Mole Man, the stubby, ugly, loser guy?

"Come on, you sure? Moon Fairy would suit you—Jolly God definitely wouldn’t mind."

"No thanks. Mole Man’s luckier."

Tilly froze.

Their company, Stonewell, was in construction. Their group was bidding on the Grant Botanical Gardens expansion. All numbers ended up tied to dirt, in one way or another.

Mole Man—a.k.a. Earth Warden—a master of Earth Walking Technique. Picking this nickname was basically inviting the ancestor’s spirit to possess her. All kinds of lucky energy.

"But you really don’t wanna sacrifice that much—"

Eleanor blinked, then realized Tilly’d got the wrong idea.

This wasn’t for good luck for the company—it was for herself, praying for the skill to run away.

"No big deal. Laborers gotta have the laborer spirit. Boss ups my pay, maybe then I’ll ascend to godhood."

Tilly sucked in her breath, wanted to say something, but she barely knew Eleanor yet, so she just tossed out, "Stay late tonight for overtime."

Which was exactly what Eleanor wanted, so she was totally on board.

The project team’s knowledge of the Grant Botanical Gardens expansion was all just on paper. Eleanor, remembering Phoebe Grant showing off, was able to add a few extra personal details.

And just like that, three days of coming in early and leaving late.

Not only had she perfectly dodged Cillian Grant the first two days, she was scheduled for Saturday overtime too—no need to stay at the Grant Family home.

And the special project team had mostly accepted Eleanor; work communication and handover went smoothly and painlessly.

Add to that—Jolly God was so touched by Eleanor’s nickname choice, for the company, for the project, for her sincere devotion, that he decided to throw her an official newbie welcome party.

Friday afternoon, as soon as work started, an announcement in the group chat: "No overtime tonight! For our new team warrior, Mole Man, let’s tear up The Alabaster City!"

No late shift, and a party at The Alabaster City—group chat was blowing up with cheers.

Eleanor frowned.

A night out at The Alabaster City could get pricey, plus Cillian Grant has shares in it, and Phoebe Grant is even the GM, swinging by every few days to flex.

If she has the bad luck to run into them... that’d be hell.

But she was just the new hire. Couldn’t exactly complain.

Luckily, the project team was short on cash, so even a big splurge meant just getting one small booth tucked away on the second floor.

Eleanor made it into the booth without a hitch.

The booths at The Alabaster City came in two flavors—traditional Chinese or international. Hers was the Chinese style.

Tilly wandered around, jaw practically on the floor, and started dragging people over to gush.

"I’d heard The Alabaster City was all luxury, but it’s still classy too. Famous for being legit—even the people coming and going are high-end. Not like the tiny towns back where I’m from. KTVs and bars decorated in tacky gold, nobody ever checks IDs, just a bunch of second-rate punks waltzing in."

Eleanor paused her escape attempt. "They don’t check IDs?"

Tilly’s ah became a whole lecture, more at ease now, words spilling out. "Nope. Down in our dinky little county in Soldane Province, it’s not just entertainment spots that ignore ID checks. You can take a cab, hop a bus—no ID needed. There are cheap little motels for twenty or thirty bucks, just show up and stay. Way easier."

Eleanor’s heart was pounding. She’d just been worrying about this for three days. Her ID was back in Cillian Grant’s hands, making escape a real pain—and now, like a miracle, this fell in her lap.

Eleanor was about to press for more info, but Tilly switched topics before she could.

The party in the booth was already raging—singing, games, Tilly diving into the crowd, Eleanor trying several times to get close, only to be interrupted by overly friendly coworkers.

Seeing now that she really couldn’t get any answers, Eleanor made an excuse and slipped out.

She whipped out her phone to look up the county Tilly’d mentioned—found out it was near Soldane Province, with a direct shuttle bus.

Eleanor hurriedly searched—do you need an ID? Official website said yes, but the comments underneath insisted that as long as no one checked, just pay and ride.

Eleanor’s heart hammered. In an instant, even the dim, suggestive hallway lights felt bright.

She kept scrolling.

Suddenly, a hand reached in from the side, snatching for her phone. Eleanor instinctively twisted away and covered it.

A mocking voice came from behind. "Well well, Miss Eleanor, what are you sneaking off to check? Looks pretty shady—are you cheating on someone?"

Eleanor locked her screen, tucked away her phone, and coolly glanced up.

A mess of mosquito-blood-colored hair, plastered makeup, tall—maybe 5’7—and dressed like a Japanese host boy.

It was Theodore Voss, the only son of the Voss Family this generation—five older sisters spoiled him rotten, turned him into a real Julian, obsessed with women’s secrets, and he treated Phoebe Grant like his own personal Delia Forrest.

She took a step back. "Relax—you’re so low, I wouldn’t even steal your dog."

Theodore’s face dropped, stared at Eleanor for a few seconds, then broke out in a sudden grin.

"You nailed it—right now, you’re only fit for stealing dogs. Word’s out in the circle: you’re twisted, you hate Phoebe, you tried to seduce Damian Sinclair, failed, so you used your viper tongue to stress Phoebe til she bled, trying to make her miscarry. Even at White Family Hospital you faked being pregnant just to torment Phoebe, wreck her reputation."

Eleanor’s face went blank.

So that little performance at the Sterling Sinclair estate wasn’t enough—they had to make sure everyone heard about it.

But this was so classic Cillian Grant—do things thoroughly, leave zero chance for anyone to hit back.

All for Phoebe Grant. He really was committed as a brother.

For the first time, Eleanor was speechless—Theodore’s contempt was ecstatic.