Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 29: Looking at Her Like Trash

Cillian Grant saw Eleanor looking dejected, her expression unreadable, her back slouched—it was clear she was unhappy.

He glanced at her a few more times, she remained immobile, lacking any of the sharp wits needed to verbally spar with ministers.

A surge of frustration welled up in his chest, making him restless.

Cillian Grant squinted at Damian Sinclair, his voice cold and brimming with hostility, "You think you understand me?"

"I wouldn’t dare," Damian replied with a light smile.

Inside, his heart was hanging by a thread.

He knew Phoebe Grant was suspicious of the relationship between Cillian Grant and Eleanor.

He had just barely managed to explain things away.

Seeing Cillian Grant now, however, it didn’t seem like he had shed any suspicion, instead, there was an inexplicable resentment.

Is he really standing up for Eleanor?

But if he had any tenderness towards Eleanor, he wouldn’t knowingly expose her to Phoebe Grant’s suspicions.

Completely ignoring what kind of outcome Eleanor might face.

Damian Sinclair gripped the armrest tightly, meaningfully reminding him, "After all, Vice Director Grant has always been discreet. Like this time with The Xavier Family of the Southwest, where a stepdaughter from a remarriage climbed into the bed of the family’s heir. Such a scandal exposed, the Xavier Family’s stock plummeted, and the younger uncle’s status was jeopardized."

"Unexpectedly, Vice Director Grant supported the younger uncle, gave him every understanding and support. At this point, everyone might misunderstand and think Vice Director Grant is broad-minded enough to tolerate such filth."

"But in reality, Vice Director Grant invested a large sum, facilitating the heir’s marriage to that stepdaughter. After marriage, the heir, acting on impulse, became isolated within the Xavier Family and could only rely on Vice Director Grant to maintain his position. In my opinion, the Xavier Family bearing the Grant surname is just a matter of time."

The crowd was enlightened, looking at Cillian Grant with admiration and a bit of fear.

Phoebe Grant, however, was completely relieved. A brother so cunning and skilled, she was proud to have him, "My brother detests the filth between men and women, when it comes to the Xavier Family—"

"I don’t detest it," Cillian immediately denied.

He was always calm and composed in front of others, but this time, his demeanor was harsh, his hands hanging by his sides unconsciously clenched into fists, knuckles white, veins bulging, almost breaking through the skin.

All the second-generation heirs present felt a collective jolt, exchanging glances. They were trained from a young age in family matters and had keen insight.

Now, though Eleanor and Cillian Grant openly had a "sibling" relationship, they weren’t blood-related; essentially, they were man and woman.

With Cillian now so vehemently denying it, without a second thought, perhaps even excessively.

Could there be some underlying secret?

Seeing many eyes fixate on Eleanor, Damian Sinclair couldn’t help his eyelids from twitching wildly, "Vice Director Grant indeed doesn’t detest it."

He raised his voice purposefully, drawing attention back, "I spoke out of turn today, lacking discretion concerning Vice Director Grant’s strategic plans for the Xavier Family. I ask you all not to speak of this outside."

The crowd felt as if given a wake-up call.

Their earlier scandalous suspicions vanished in an instant.

Indeed.

The Xavier Family had been entrenched in The Southwest for decades, with assets valued near a billion. If Cillian Grant didn’t deny it outright, and alerted the younger uncle of the Xavier Family, the cake poised at their mouths would have flown away.

The atmosphere turned solemn, everyone maintained a careful silence.

Eleanor couldn’t stop trembling, a wave of sympathetic terror freezing her very blood, thoroughly chilling her limbs.

Cillian Grant’s cold-blooded and ruthless approach towards the Xavier Family, using the chance to peel and dissect, would her own fate be a hundred times worse than what she had analyzed with Elaine White?

She couldn’t stay any longer; seizing the moment while everyone was still in shock, she quickly slipped out the door.

.........

Eleanor returned to the small private room downstairs.

By now, her friends who had been singing all night had hoarse voices, drunken, sprawled on sofas and the floor, chatting freely.

Seeing her return, Jolly God led the laughter, lightly admonishing her for missing the team building.

Eleanor saw he wasn’t genuinely upset, more playful, and replied informally, "Wasn’t this supposed to be my welcome party?"

"You wicked soul," Jolly God pointed at her with a playful gesture, "How many plates, how many dishes to make such a jab at the leader?"

Jolly God’s hands were short and chubby, using a playful gesture, like a chubby radish with two little braids.

Eleanor was amused, her tense nerves from upstairs relaxed a bit, "I couldn’t help it, Mole Man used his Earth Escape Divine Power, obliterating physical constraints."

Jolly God felt her response hit the mark and was about to continue joking when Tilly couldn’t stand it and pushed him.

"My dear god, why not squeeze over there beside The Great Yellow-Horned Immortal, the moon won’t grow vegetables, why squash it?"

Jolly God obediently shifted over, "Alright, I’ll forgive your drunken misconduct, just respect your superiors at work, okay?"

Eleanor relaxed a bit more.

After chatting idly in the room for a while, people gradually said their goodbyes and headed home. Eleanor deliberately waited for Tilly.

After what happened upstairs, her resolve to escape became as solid as a weight, not only solid but also urgent.

As soon as Tilly mentioned leaving, Eleanor immediately followed.

On the way downstairs, she casually asked, "Is there an Eldon Academy in Trilliant County, do they charge for entry now?"

Tilly turned his head to look at Eleanor for a few seconds, then sighed.

Eleanor had managed to secure a transfer to a special task force as an intern, leading colleagues to privately speculate about her having connections.

But now, seeing her always trying to make conversation, eager to bond with veteran employees, she really didn’t seem like she had some family backing, appearing quite pitiable.

"No charge, as long as you can enter the main gate."

Eleanor was pleasantly surprised, "Do they check for ID? I’ve lost my ID card. Can I go play for a few days?"

Tilly knew she was just trying to build rapport, not actually planning a trip.

But he didn’t call her out, just patted her shoulder, "Yes, and you can take our county’s short-haul buses, they don’t check ID, nor do the small inns, but you won’t have the time since our project group will be working overtime until it’s disbanded."

Eleanor felt excited. She had already searched online about not needing an ID to travel and wanted to confirm if life was possible without one.

If she could manage, she could hide away.

Downstairs, she attentively saw Tilly into a cab, diligently noting the license plate, and told him to let her know when he got home safely.

Hearing this, the driver looked at them through the rear-view mirror, "Young lady, that sounds like it’s meant for me too. Don’t worry, my daughter’s your age, and I’m from a reputable company—no way am I a monster."

Tilly felt a little awkward, yet appreciated Eleanor’s attentiveness and goodwill, "Got it."

He decided to look out for her more at work, should the chance arise.

Eleanor watched the car’s tail lights disappear with a smile.

Walking back, her steps felt lighter and more cheerful.

Previously, she had tried to leave, believing subconsciously that without ID she’d be unable to move an inch, hence always maneuvering to get her ID before fleeing.

But often, she’d be fine without the ID; once she used it, Cillian Grant, like a bloodhound, would catch her right away.

This time, she learned from her experiences.

The bigger picture was in her hands indeed.

Passing a trash bin, she picked up a stray water bottle, feeling in a good mood.

Help the garbage find its home, don’t destroy its home, Mother Earth...

She stopped her mumbling abruptly.

A car slid up, the rear window rolled down.

From her crouched position, looking up, the gray-silver trash can lid framed a face—Cillian Grant’s.

Somber, oppressive, a face written with authority.

It looked nothing like trash—rather like a knife, a gun, a lethal poison, every deadly thing.

Eleanor retreated a few steps, her perspective shifting. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

The colorful lights on the exterior of The Alabaster City illuminated him, exalted.

Though it looked as if they were face-to-face, it felt like he was looking down on her, just like looking down on the trash can.

Looking down on the trash.