Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 38: Reduce Her to Ashes

Eleanor frowned, listening to the words, realizing the person confronting Mrs. Grant was her blind date.

In the world of the wealthy, face is crucial. Mrs. Grant would never arrange two blind dates for the same person; that would be too humiliating.

She questioned, "Are you sure the person you’re meeting is me?"

Simon paused, seemingly remembering something, somewhat annoyed, "Sorry, I’m not sure."

He did not elaborate any further.

A male voice suddenly heightened in the corridor, "Mrs. Grant, we both know the situation with this blind date. My reputation is bad, I can’t marry any respectable heiress, so you’re selling me something that can’t be displayed, in exchange for benefits from my dad."

"Since it’s a sale, you should adopt an attitude that matches selling. She’s under the Grant Family’s name; she doesn’t have to serve me, but she can’t pretend to flaunt it while using the identity of The Grant Heiress either."

Mrs. Grant’s voice followed angrily, "Watch your mouth, pay attention to your attitude."

The male voice responded, "You want attitude? Fine, if Mrs. Grant uses The Grant Heiress’s identity to marry her into my family, I’ll worship her. But Mrs. Grant, will you?"

Mrs. Grant remained silent.

Eleanor waited for two seconds.

This two-second pause was to determine the truthfulness of Mrs. Grant’s claim of choosing freely among her offspring, and it was also her last shred of hope for eighteen years of affection.

Mrs. Grant’s voice pierced through the door panel, giving an answer, "First, arrange to find her."

Eleanor lowered her eyes and suddenly opened the door, "No need to look."

Mrs. Grant turned her head at the words, seeing her standing at the door next door, eyes widened, "Why are you here?"

"I entered the wrong room," Eleanor replied.

Her voice was gentle and her tone detached, carrying the soft accent of southern Wu dialect but mixed with the articulate pronunciation from The North.

Distinctly discernible and captivating.

The blind date turned around, eyes lighting up as he looked at her, surveying her from head to toe.

Curvaceous figure, long legs, bright face, dressed innocently yet with a cold temperament.

The contradictions highlighted her unique charm, unlike the provocative and pretentious women outside.

She was a type he’d never encountered before.

The blind date swallowed nervously, his demeanor becoming eager, "Eleanor."

He squeezed over, familiarly grabbing Eleanor’s hand, "Quincy Lewis, my dad is Jim Lewis."

Eleanor originally avoided his hand, and upon hearing his introduction, instinctively retreated several steps.

Quincy Lewis was notorious among the second-generation circles; even if she was not accepted there, she’d heard rumors about him.

At fourteen he humiliated classmates, at eighteen seduced a married woman, studied abroad using drugs, hosted nude parties, got syphilis treated, then was diagnosed with AIDS.

"Eleanor, why are you dodging?" Mrs. Grant urged from behind, "Say hello."

Eleanor stared at Mrs. Grant incredulously, she couldn’t believe Mrs. Grant, being well-informed, didn’t know about Quincy Lewis’s background.

Turns out it wasn’t forgetting to tell her who the blind date was, but fearing she wouldn’t cooperate knowing who he is and causing trouble.

Eleanor couldn’t bear such scheming even if she didn’t want to openly oppose.

She turned to leave, Quincy Lewis briskly grabbed her, "Why run? You look nice, pleasing to me. I have a few questions, let’s talk in the private room."

At the moment of skin contact, his palm was cold and clammy, the sticky touch like countless bugs crawling onto Eleanor’s body.

Eleanor broke out in goosebumps, forcefully flinging him off, dashing towards the stairway.

Quincy Lewis, provoked by her avoidance like the plague and disgusted, pulled her hair and forced her back into his embrace, tilting her chin with his other hand.

"Tell me, The Grant Heiress said except for with Damian Sinclair, you haven’t been with any other men. Are you a virgin now?"

Eleanor’s eyes reddened, the implication of who The Grant Heiress was was clear. If she still couldn’t figure out the cause and effect, she’d be foolish.

She tolerated without revolt thinking Mrs. Grant’s character was proper, the first time exchanging her for benefits wouldn’t be too bad, and she could simply handle it on the surface.

But she forgot Phoebe Grant.

Suddenly, a figure flashed in her mind, her vision seemed to thread together with a silk line, illuminating day’s accumulation of absurdities.

Last night Mrs. Grant said she had business to discuss with Cillian Grant, and this morning, he was exceptionally unusual.

The gift was meant for consolation, the good attitude to avoid confrontation was unnecessary. After all, any punishment would pale in comparison to marrying her to someone with AIDS.

The sandwich represented pity, if Cillian Grant had any pity for her.

Eleanor’s jaw ached dully, Quincy Lewis tightened his five fingers, "Thinking about your other man? Then you’re not a virgin, right?"

Eleanor’s face turned pale from pain, unable to speak.

Quincy Lewis turned to look at Mrs. Grant, "Mrs. Grant, The Grant Heiress promised a clean person, now she’s a used slut. The previously negotiated collaboration should be renegotiated."

Such blatant bargaining, like a merciless iron grip, ripped through Eleanor’s seemingly glamorous persona.

She’s a chicken being weighed at the market, ready for transaction.

The Grant Family sold her claiming she was full weight; the buyer discounted for her perceived filth.

Whatever Mrs. Grant said, Eleanor couldn’t hear anymore, her blood felt like it was boiling, rushing to her head, yet freezing cold seeped into her bones.

What exactly did she do wrong to endure such endless humiliation?

Did she wish to be traded? Didn’t she wish to escape The Grant Family?

Was it true she shamelessly squeezed Phoebe Grant everywhere? Did she ever betray The Grant Family?

Evidently, she never coveted anything of The Grant Family.

All she wanted was to live as a person.

In a daze, Eleanor felt her restraint being pushed away, timely arms supporting her.

Though polite, they didn’t touch further.

Her blurry pupils gradually focused, fixing on a distinct face.

The moment their eyes met, a gentle, reassuring smile emanated from the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, "Don’t be afraid, I’m here."

Eleanor opened her mouth, sluggishly calling his name, "Simon?"

In the next second, his face swiftly faded, Eleanor’s waist constricted forcefully, her body pressed against another steely figure.

A chilling scent flooded her nostrils, piercing through the veil isolating her from the world.

Clear, icy voice penetrated her brain, awakening her, "This is The Grant Family’s private matter, Mr. Sherman doesn’t need to intervene." 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Eleanor’s sight had Simon in it, he hesitated for a second, looking serious, "I don’t intend to interfere with The Grant Family matters, but Miss Eleanor is not well, she doesn’t want to—"

"Whether she wants or not, The Grant Family will handle it," Cillian Grant’s icy tone cuts like a blade, "Mr. Sherman acted out of line."

Beside them, Quincy Lewis snarled clutching his shoulder, "Did you hear that? This matter between me and The Grant Family is agreed upon, we don’t need your heroism, you Northern moron."

Simon ignored his insult, looking intently at Eleanor’s face, "Miss Eleanor, our Constitution protects the freedom of marriage. If anyone forces you against your will, you can call for help."

Cillian Grant’s cold gaze stirred, he lifted Eleanor’s chin, his face bore a smile yet more sinister than not smiling, "Tell him, do you want to?"

Eleanor stared straight into his eyes, cold fire burning within, as if her rebuttal would lead to her obliteration.

Reduced to ashes.