Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 55: Renewal Against All Odds

Eleanor’s palms were sweaty with cold sweat, and her first thought was about pregnancy.

But she was experienced in dealing with Cillian Grant.

It was like playing cards; at the beginning of the game, knowing nothing about the opponent’s cards, naturally, you’d start with the smallest, least impactful moves, and through back-and-forth reactions, you could estimate the range of their cards.

She lowered her head and first admitted that she had been exposed, both of them secretly aware but silent.

"Your sister assaulted me in public at the White Family Hospital, knowing well that I have difficulty getting pregnant, yet she still smeared my name, even mother—indeed, I’ve had thoughts of leaving."

"That’s because you and Damian Sinclair have an unclear relationship, making it hard for her to distinguish," Cillian Grant stared at her, "even mother couldn’t see clearly."

She seemed easy to understand, yet never revealed her true feelings, and he couldn’t see through her, couldn’t guess, unable to determine... whether she still harbored feelings for Damian Sinclair in her heart.

"What is unclear, how can it be considered clear?" Eleanor could no longer hold back, having reached the end of her patience.

She and Damian grew up together, playing every day before they could even walk, babbling at each other, their toothless smiles captured in the photos.

Her adolescence, his voice-changing period, each youthful secret unspeakable to outsiders, naive, budding, bittersweet.

Even that night, when Damian’s ears were red, his face flushed, nervously hooking his little finger to hers, not daring to look at her, yet emboldened, "Could you... kiss the paper crane you gave me?"

Under the clear moonlight and gentle breeze, the blue hyacinths swayed, obscuring the kiss she gave him, but revealing the lip print left on the gifted paper crane.

Wet and cherished, he protected it carefully in his palm.

But it was all taken away, by the most despised and shameless means, leaving her unable to even say a formal goodbye.

After four years, only in a scant 700-word letter hidden in a paper crane, could she silently acknowledge it.

The vile perpetrator even tried to shift the blame of their malicious error onto her, as if she had been clinging relentlessly.

The outrage knew no bounds.

Eleanor shivered all over, "Do you think I’m some professionally trained spy? Able to develop a clandestine affair with Damian Sinclair under the paranoid scrutiny of you and your sister while simultaneously being physically involved with you?"

Cillian Grant raised a hand and tossed a plate onto the coffee table, with a bang like a bucket of ice-cold water, calming Eleanor’s fury.

They fell silent, and the room was filled with stillness.

Outside the window, the skyline was tinted with the faint light of dawn, blending with the nearby night, from black to deep purple, then to light purple, where all darkness was dispelled by light.

All things eventually embrace the dawn.

No matter how difficult, rebirth will come.

Eleanor stared blankly at the sky.

Cillian Grant also watched her.

Looking at her sitting quietly, stripped of her resistance, her breathing shallow, within reach, a stretch of the hand would bring her into his embrace.

Soft, serene, in the silent night, it stretched out in a slow yet steady trickle, plain and safe.

Cillian Grant couldn’t help but soften, catching her hand, separating her fingers one by one, interlocking them, palm to palm.

Fingers entwined, her hands were always excessively pale, with long, slender fingers, accentuating his broad and rough hands, darker in complexion; his calluses and scars wore against her tender skin.

Just like before, day after day, year after year.

He looked down for a long time.

At the edge of the sky, the first glimpse of red sun reduced his candid territory, "Damian Sinclair is asking you to go abroad."

Eleanor turned her head, raising the hand he tightly clasped, "But I didn’t choose him. His arranged tickets, new identity, I didn’t use any of it. In these four years, the one I faced day and night was you; would I have the time to think of anyone else?"

Just dealing with him, trying to distance herself from him, exhausted all her strength and energy.

The deep chill in Cillian Grant’s eyes began to dissolve, lifting his other hand to gently stroke her hair, "Since you proactively avoided it, let’s leave it at that this time."

Implying he wasn’t planning to pursue her escape or administer any punishment.

Eleanor found it hard to believe; since when was Cillian Grant so easygoing, just because she didn’t go to Damian Sinclair, did he lightly let it go?

As if in a dream, relief barely surfaced.

The man unbuttoned his shirt, pressing her into his embrace, "But while death may be pardoned, living sins cannot be avoided."

Eleanor felt the tightness of his chest against hers, muscles hard as iron, his arms closing around her like an iron gate, as though trying to confine her completely.

Each heartbeat sent waves of fervency, undisguised.

"Cillian Grant," Eleanor called out his name loudly. The man took the opportunity to kiss her. He didn’t smoke or drink heavily, he must have had strong tea before coming in, leaving a bitter tea taste in his mouth.

To be honest, it wasn’t unpleasant or foul.

Yet, Eleanor felt as if her stomach was turning, struggling hard, only to be pinned back down.

Cillian Grant’s fingers stroked her waistline, "Do you miss me?"

Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but as if he didn’t need an answer, he stopped her again.

Cillian Grant was lost in the moment, his voice husky and murmuring, "This time I’ll satisfy you completely, remember it well; if there’s a next time, it won’t be so simple."

Eleanor fought off the dizziness.

For the first three months, intimacy is prohibited.

She was now eight weeks pregnant, her baby girl’s heartbeat so strong and powerful, soon it would be time for the NT scan, Down syndrome screening, the big anomaly scan; in 16 more weeks, she would get to see her daughter’s face...

There were so many wonderful things to come, she couldn’t let it end here, she racked her brain for a way to escape.

"I need to shower—" there were traces of tears at the corners of Eleanor’s eyes, with not enough time, she couldn’t think of a better excuse, only to delay, "I haven’t showered in two days, the place I stayed was bad, the car was crowded, it stinks."

Before she finished speaking, an unexpected weightlessness, as the man hoisted her up, striding toward the hallway.

"You want a shower, I’ll help you," he added hoarsely, "when have I ever minded?"

Eleanor’s head felt like an overloaded CPU, about to burst with heat, not caring that his words were incoherent, only understanding he was eager to vent. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

She struggled more, making excuses, with nowhere to hide.

He kicked open the double doors of the master bedroom, Eleanor withdrew her hand, raised it.

If this slap landed, Cillian Grant’s male pride would surely be provoked, after a few harsh words, a fallout, the consequences notwithstanding, this matter would indeed be dodged.

A sudden knocking sound, urgent, intense, startled Eleanor, causing her gesturing hand to retract, her nails scratching along the man’s jawline, drawing a few droplets of blood.

Cillian Grant glanced at her, the knocking became even more alarming, accompanied by Damon Sharp’s anxious voice, slightly flustered, "Mr. Grant, Chairman Grant is back from The North and insists on seeing you now, we couldn’t hold him back any longer."

Eleanor reacted on instinct, drawing the man’s gaze.

Their eyes met, one with pupils constricted, the other tumultuous.

Eleanor prayed to all the deities and gods, not knowing which one answered her.