Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 66: The Green Tea Girl Accuses Eleanor of Assault

Chapter 66: Chapter 66: The Green Tea Girl Accuses Eleanor of Assault

Liam Xavier, filled with resentment, said, "It’s easy for you to say. The promises Lucas Xavier made to the board members, I don’t dare to blow. How can we unite?"

Cillian Grant succinctly responded, "I’ll back it."

Liam Xavier looked up, surprised, and even the tea artist met his gaze with astonishment.

The man’s expression was bland, lacking any seriousness or confident arrogance, nor a sense of carrying a heavy burden with tenacity.

He was completely indifferent, as if the nearly billion-dollar matter in his hand was as unremarkable as commenting on the fine weather today, the good tea, or the pleasant scenery outside.

This indifference to what is usually deemed weighty matters was even more striking and thrilling than his cold, noble handsomeness.

The tea artist’s hands, resting on her lower abdomen, suddenly clenched before lifting again to pour tea, her gaze wholly fixed on Cillian Grant, exuding a shy and faint longing.

Liam Xavier noticed this and suddenly asked, perhaps with some motive, "We’ve been talking for a while, but I haven’t asked your name yet."

The tea artist’s face turned red, like a graceful flower growing in the Southern Water Towns, "My surname is Lancaster, and my name is a repeated character, Yvonne."

Cillian Grant glanced over, "Lancaster?"

"Yes."

Liam Xavier laughed with intrigue, "Then you have a serendipity with Vice Director Grant. He has a pretend sister, Eleanor, and his real sister also makes excellent tea, taught by him personally. You must have a lot in common."

Cillian Grant cast an appraising look at Yvonne Lancaster.

About the same age as Eleanor, with long, silky black hair, a small, sweet heart-shaped face, and a soft, sweet voice that was as gentle and clingy as the sound of butterflies trembling.

Liam Xavier commented, "You mentioned earlier that you’ve never been in a relationship, not even once since you were young?"

Yvonne Lancaster’s ears turned red, and she lowered her gaze, her long, thick eyelashes fluttering like the frightened wings of a butterfly, gently trembling as she answered, a blush of embarrassment filling the air.

Generally speaking, men who have weathered storms and achieved fame and fortune greatly appreciate such manageable, emotionally gratifying blushes.

Cillian Grant observed but seemed uninterested, his gaze shifting from her to the tea, lost in thought.

"Vice Director Grant’s hand—" Yvonne Lancaster started to say, then softly swallowed the remaining words. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Displaying the simple concern a girl might have, yet adhering strictly to her duties as a tea artist, refraining from prying into guests’ private matters.

A glimpse of a girl’s pure heart retracted silently, knowing what’s appropriate, creating an excellent impression.

Cillian Grant chuckled but said nothing further.

He possessed a sharp coldness, a sense of aloofness from a high vantage point.

Sitting upright and still, his silence was intimidating, creating tension.

Liam Xavier remarked, "Miss Lancaster kindly asked after your well-being. What’s with you?" His gaze shifted to Yvonne Lancaster, "The story behind his hand injury could fill a Chapter—"

The man placed the teacup down, the porcelain clinking crisply against the table.

Without uttering a word, Liam Xavier fell silent.

The room plunged into quietude, the atmosphere freezing in place.

Yvonne Lancaster’s eyes gradually turned red, a rosy hue lingering behind her dark pupils, fixating on Cillian Grant with tender attachment.

Any man would feel stirred by such a scene.

Liam Xavier, deeply empathetic, tripled her salary, instructing the butler to personally escort her safely home.

The graceful hem of the woman’s qipao lingered as it disappeared down the corridor.

Liam Xavier’s roguish charm was like a mask, now entirely removed, "Sarah is abroad alone."

With the act over, Cillian Grant was disinterested in Liam’s winding romantic tales and prepared to leave.

"My wife is pregnant, and I can’t be by her side; you bear some responsibility as well." Liam Xavier blocked him, "In a deal involving tens of billions, as partners, with my huge sacrifices, shouldn’t you also make some moves, seducing a couple of witnesses?"

"Your sacrifice is due to your repeated mistakes, rendering you unfit for major tasks." Cillian Grant flicked the edge of his cup and glanced at him, "I saved your life, not aiming to compare grievances with you."

Liam Xavier choked on his words, "I refuse to believe you’ll never suffer from love’s pains in your lifetime."

Cillian Grant started walking out, "With sufficient ability, there are only sweet fruits that naturally fall in place, not ordeals arising from obstacles."

Liam Xavier defiantly replied, "You’ll see. One day, a woman will torment you to the point of begging for mercy."

Unfortunately, the man had already walked far away, having heard none of it.

Eleanor didn’t perceive herself as a caged bird; she believed she was a trapped beast.

A trapped beast fighting back.

Cillian Grant would not let her out, severing her communication with the outside, but she wasn’t alone in the house.

Eleanor borrowed Auntie King’s phone, deciding not to directly make calls or send texts.

First, she logged into Elaine White’s account, scrolling through a dozen private videos.

She watched from start to finish, as if being doused with cold water during the bitter cold days, icing over from head to toe.

She had no choice but to risk making a phone call she originally decided against.

Elaine White might have just finished surgery, with the faint sounds of circulating nurses inventorying instruments.

As Eleanor’s voice emerged, an immediate silence fell over there.

Following the sound of a door being closed and locked, Elaine White’s astonished voice echoed, "Why are you using Auntie King’s phone number? Where are you now? Were you really caught by those three eyes?"

Eleanor hadn’t the chance to answer.

Elaine White asked again, "Was it the other day? Damian Sinclair called me, saying Cillian Grant has gone insane. He has a hunting ground in Afreia, toyed with long-range sniping, even holding a gun to Damian Sinclair’s head. In the tensest moment, he took a call and left Damian Sinclair to return home. He didn’t even explain to Phoebe Grant when he left."

Eleanor, having browsed the videos, already knew, "It was that day."

"Damn," Elaine White wanted to curse, "Where are you now? Has he done anything to you? Has he hit you? Shouldn’t we just call the police?"

Eleanor replied, "Do you think I haven’t tried reporting? Two years ago, local police were useless, even out-of-town attempts didn’t help, with my household registration with The Grant Family. Ultimately, they concluded it as a family matter."

"And what about my daughter?"

Elaine White was at a loss for words, knowing that once exposed, even if they could overcome difficulties and imprison Cillian Grant, Mr. and Mrs. Grant wouldn’t let their bloodline get lost outside, nor let Eleanor, who ruined Cillian Grant, live comfortably.

Even if they survived Mr. and Mrs. Grant, Cillian’s actions wouldn’t warrant the death penalty, and after his release, how he would treat Eleanor.

The mere thought was terrifying.

"Are you okay now?" Elaine White calmed down, "If you managed to give me a call, you must’ve seen the videos. Regarding the child, my family will help, ensuring everything’s secure."

"But one thing, the people Cillian Grant previously sent to investigate me have been withdrawn. However, he’s still investigating Damian Sinclair, and the secretary who contacted me, if not for Damian Sinclair’s father’s protection, Cillian Grant could unravel everything about him."

Eleanor was about to ask about this point, "The clinic, was there—"

Elaine White responded, "I’m not sure, I went to that clinic; your consultation records from that day, the surveillance footage doesn’t exist. I offered money to the owner, who said they were over fifty, couldn’t recall clearly. But my family believes Cillian Grant’s men are as thorough as historical secret police; fifty-fifty chance he can make the owner remember."

Eleanor asked, "Have you confirmed whether his people went there—"

A sudden cough erupted from Auntie King outside.

Eleanor hung up the call, deleted the record, took out the charging cord, plugged it into the power.

The lock clicked crisply, a face slowly came into clarity.

Cillian Grant’s eyes were filled with chilling indifference.