Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 42: Another Scheme Against Her

On the second day, Eleanor didn’t get up early.

Cillian Grant was busy with the Xavier Family matters and didn’t come back last night. Mrs. Grant’s matchmaking session had come to an end, allowing her to relax a bit.

She went downstairs, walked to the kitchen, and was greeted by the aroma of corn all over the house. She was peering over Auntie King’s shoulder, predictably, the pot was boiling with a tender yellow.

"Why cook so much?" Eleanor helped Auntie King take a plate, "Is there a reason for this?"

Auntie King fished out the corn cobs, glanced at the doorway, and whispered to her, "I don’t know. The young master instructed it; once cooked, shell the kernels and store them in bags in the refrigerator."

Eleanor’s heart tightened, "He’s home?"

"Yes." Auntie King’s voice got even quieter, "Chase at the gate said he returned at three in the morning."

Eleanor frowned tightly, "Isn’t it usually after midnight? Doesn’t he stay out and not come back?"

Auntie King was familiar and unguarded with her, exceedingly close, "That’s what I thought too. Last night, Chase was dozing off during his shift when Aaron Chase woke him up with the horn, and he saw the young master’s car. Almost scared him to death."

Eleanor stayed silent, pondering for a few seconds then bid farewell to Auntie King, "I suddenly have something to do, I won’t be having breakfast. I’m leaving now."

She walked out of the dining room, ready to slip away.

Yet she unexpectedly ran into Cillian Grant coming downstairs.

With the cold air sweeping south these days, he was dressed in a gray-blue sweater instead of a shirt under his suit, with a half-high collar, appearing dignified yet mature. His brows were broodingly sharp, exerting considerable pressure.

Eleanor pretended not to see him, turning briskly to walk out.

"Stop." Cillian Grant stood on the third step of the stairs from the bottom, scanning her from top to bottom.

The charming outfit from yesterday was nowhere in sight, reverting to the usual long black coat, black high-neck cashmere top, and black wide-legged trousers, not a patch of skin exposed, with curves thoroughly concealed.

At first glance, she seemed like a tall, slender black column spirit, save for her long hair draping down, almost indistinguishable as a woman.

Cillian Grant took another step down, about to continue but halted, "Where’s your bag?"

Eleanor stuffed her hands into her pockets, with a phone on the left and a charger on the right, bulging her fists within, "Not much stuff, no need for a bag."

"And you needed those worn-out bags before?"

Eleanor acted as though she didn’t understand his implication, "Those weren’t worn-out bags; that was a CK satchel."

"Eleanor." Cillian Grant was out of patience for her circuitous talk, speaking flatly yet undeniably, "Go get it."

Eleanor lowered her head obediently, "I’ll go now."

She stepped towards the door and started to run.

Cillian Grant’s expression darkened, "Where are you getting it from?"

Eleanor didn’t stop her steps, "From the company."

Before her words fell, she vanished at the doorway.

Cillian Grant’s face turned yet another degree grim, as he slowly descended and walked into the kitchen.

Once he was presentably out of the villa, he leisurely got into the car.

Eleanor stood by the main gate, her face turned blue by the morning chill wind, her hair a tangled mess.

Cillian Grant’s car approached the gate, no matter how she tried she couldn’t get it open, making a faint electronic lock clicking sound.

The two large doors slowly opened, Eleanor wrapped her coat tightly, squeezing through the barely opened person-width gap without expression.

Without turning her head, she disappeared along the road into the bend.

Aaron Chase turned to seek instructions from Cillian Grant.

The man’s lips pressed into a line, fixating on the empty road at the entrance, dark and grim.

"Drive."

Aaron Chase stepped on the gas, unsure whether to drive directly to the company or catch up with Eleanor.

He kept the other foot poised over the brake.

Luckily, the time from the gate opening to their departure wasn’t long, just enough for Eleanor to turn around that short corner beyond the entrance.

As the rear-view mirror lost sight of the gate, Eleanor’s silhouette appeared ahead.

Aaron Chase frequently glanced at the rear-view mirror, observing the man’s expressions and actions.

Upon hearing the car approaching from behind, Eleanor paused and stepped to the roadside, waiting for them to pass.

Aaron Chase immediately decelerated, unable to hide his surprise, "Miss Eleanor is waiting for you."

Cillian Grant’s gaze settled on the slender figure by the roadside.

The winter morning mist was thick, occasionally wafting through with the wind, swirling like silk, shrouding her in an ethereal, elusive veil.

Cillian Grant couldn’t suppress his alarm, straightening his spine, readying to get out, just as she abruptly turned to face him.

White mist blew from her mouth and nose, with water droplets clinging to her eyelashes, her cheekbones and nose tinged red by the cold, appearing stark against her fair skin.

Cillian Grant couldn’t tell if she was crying or just cold.

Without the car fully stopped, he opened the door and got out.

Eleanor, seeing the car halt, wanted to flee, but with Cillian Grant’s long stride, he quickly reached her.

Unbuttoning his coat, he enveloped her in his embrace.

He was like a furnace, and she was a sculpture of ice.

The furnace had always been there, but the ice sculpture stubbornly refused to approach.

Cillian Grant’s chest heaved, as if about to erupt; once Eleanor was nestled into the back seat, she raised her head to find his expression frigid, like the bitterly cold weather outside.

"Why aren’t you wearing a down jacket?"

With the car’s interior warm, she was caught between extremes, sneezing, "The car has heat, and the company has underfloor heating, don’t need—"

She was caught off guard, sneezing again, with the scattered spray landing directly on Cillian Grant’s face.

Eleanor instinctively held her breath, tensing every muscle, as she saw his pupils constrict.

Cillian Grant’s chest surged with agitation, leaning forward to call her softly, "Eleanor."

Eleanor, noting he didn’t seem angry, relaxed, "Mhmm."

Her voice wasn’t soft and melodic; the sound got muffled in her throat, becoming soft and gentle.

Cillian Grant’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared her down for a moment, calling out to her again, this time his voice no longer cold, faintly hoarse and unclear, "Eleanor."

Eleanor had regained her composure, responding wearily, her head turned aside.

Cillian Grant remained silent for a few breaths, suddenly grasping her nape and kissing her. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Unexpectedly, the kiss wasn’t fierce; his lips and tongue were deprived of their usual aggressive warpath, tending more towards a gentle post-conflict soothing.

When he noticed her lack of oxygen, he relented, kissing her eyelids, nose tip, earlobes, carotid artery, softly pecking with lingering tenderness.

Eleanor couldn’t decipher his intent, trembling from the tickles but not dodging.

Her mind constantly churned over the squabble in the car yesterday and Mrs. Grant pushing off the matchmaking with Quincy Lewis.

Though she didn’t understand why Mrs. Grant canceled, Cillian Grant was certainly not the man to easily concede; his current demeanor appeared exceptionally enigmatic.

"Don’t you like the bag I gifted?" His lips lingered on her cheek, kissing the small mole on her nose.

Eleanor tightened, realizing the main affair was arriving, she braced herself cautiously, "I do like it; it’s just too valuable."

As a consolation gift for her supposedly receptive matchmaking with Quincy Lewis, thinking of it now made Eleanor nauseous.

"If it’s valuable, why abandon it at the office?"

Eleanor lowered her thick eyelashes, her voice betraying no guilt, "Yesterday, my mother was urging, I forgot."

Cillian Grant chuckled quietly, "Lies."

Eleanor’s scalp tingled, instinctively tensing again.

He reached gently to stroke her hair, capturing her gaze, "I’ll let this one slide, don’t wear it if you don’t like the bag."

Eleanor remained silent, sizing up his expression, not daring to relax.

"Hungry?" Cillian Grant allowed her scrutiny, his right hand retrieving a lunchbox from the central console of the rear seat. "Eat up."

Eleanor hesitated for a moment, received and opened it; still a corn and ham sandwich.

Unknown to him, Eleanor glanced at Cillian Grant, wondering how he never tired of corn even after four years.

Eleanor, the companion eater, had gotten sick of it, now the sight of corn made her want to vomit.

She swallowed it dryly, consecutive gulps wrenching her stomach, but outwardly maintained calmness, her demeanor compliant and refined.

Cillian Grant’s gaze deepened, roiling with unfathomable turmoil. "I won’t return home tonight; I have an apartment near your company, just renovated."

Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock.

She knew then, whatever unprecedented gentleness ultimately had ulterior motives.