Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 71: Mr. Grant Sends Someone to Inspect the Residence

Chapter 71: Chapter 71: Mr. Grant Sends Someone to Inspect the Residence

Mr. Grant’s study.

He hadn’t finished his cigar, gray-white smoke curling and stretching through the room. Cillian Grant stopped at the fringe of the dissipating haze; once he’d halted, he took a step back.

Mr. Grant noticed his movement, stubbed out the cigar. "I remember you used to smoke, too."

"As you said, that was before."

Mr. Grant waved away the smoke and stood to open a window. "When you’re under a lot of pressure, it’s hard to quit—your mother kept after me for years before I could restrain myself. But you, it seems, quit smoking all of a sudden, without a word."

"Mother doesn’t like the smell." Cillian waited for the air to clear before approaching. "You should have quit long ago."

"Oh?" Mr. Grant suddenly retorted. "So does that mean you quit for someone who doesn’t like it?"

Cillian’s face was expressionless. "Are you doubting me?"

"Just father and son chatting." Mr. Grant sat down on the sofa, spreading his hands. "Your mother can’t hurry you about marriage, so she sent me, her soon-to-retire old general, to take the lead. I’ve never been able to manage your mother my whole life—of course I need to show her something."

"That you can’t handle Mother is your problem." Cillian sat across from him. "I won’t be the pawn you use to please her."

"Then what will you be?" Mr. Grant wore a faint smile. "A rebellious son who deliberately upsets your mother?"

Cillian lifted his eyelids and shot Mr. Grant a glance. "Since you’re so slick with words, go find Sinclair. He majored in Chinese literature—it should suit him just fine. I’m very busy lately, but I wouldn’t mind giving you a ride on the way."

This time Mr. Grant truly laughed. "Your mother says you inherited all my cunning, and I think it’s more than that—you’ve surpassed me. Your old man’s getting on in years."

"You should grow stronger as you age." Cillian stood up. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going."

"About the Xavier Family—I’ve seen the financial reports."

With one sentence, Cillian sat back down. "You have advice?"

"You’ve done very well." Mr. Grant’s gaze contained pride. "I have nothing to criticize you for. But, Cillian, there’s a billion-dollar gap on those reports. That puzzles me. Why aren’t you worried?"

"Worry is the most superfluous emotional reaction for anyone—it only leads to internal friction and is useless." Cillian offered Mr. Grant reassurance. "At most three months. I’ll deliver you a satisfactory answer."

Mr. Grant pondered, then: "What’s your opinion of Liam Xavier?"

So that was the true intention, after circling around.

Cillian replied lightly, "He and I are partners at present. What’s your opinion?"

"I hear his wife went abroad, pregnant?"

Cillian neither confirmed nor denied it, refusing to take the bait.

Mr. Grant continued, "Liam Xavier’s third uncle came to see me. You privately proposed to back Liam Xavier yesterday, and he panicked a bit. He asked me to pass on a message: whatever Liam Xavier offers, he’s willing to concede another three percent, so your and the Xavier Family’s shares are equal."

Cillian narrowed his eyes.

Mr. Grant went on, "And in the long run, Liam Xavier isn’t an ideal partner. His wife leaving the country pregnant means their celebrated love couldn’t withstand the tests. Liam now seems ready to bow to convention."

"But after his act of rebellion and subsequent ruin of reputation, cracks have appeared in what was once a secure position. In the future, those in the Xavier Family who challenge his succession will only become more numerous."

"By propping him up, you’re supporting a rotten tree that cannot stand firm. And one day, this rotten tree will, because you backed him too strongly, begin to envy your success, and dump all his failures, and even emotional setbacks, onto you."

"Intimacy breeds presumption; proximity breeds disrespect. That’s human nature—no exceptions."

Cillian responded coolly and offhand, "Noted."

Noted, but not taught.

Mr. Grant savored the moment, then suddenly smiled. "Just now, Secretary Rhodes ran into you on the way out?"

Cillian raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"You moved out so abruptly, I haven’t given you a housewarming present yet. Secretary Rhodes is making a trip for me now, to give you a little surprise."

Cillian fixed his eyes on Mr. Grant. A moment later, his tone was calm and easy. "Thank you, Father."

But Mr. Grant’s gaze remained fixed on him. "I forgot to tell you—your sister is coming back."

Cillian frowned. "At this time, she should be with Damian Sinclair."

"You mean Phoebe?" Mr. Grant’s gaze grew increasingly strange. "Why not Eleanor?"

Impatience welled up in Cillian’s expression, layer after layer, compounding until it became utter disgust. "Father, these baseless, groundless suspicions—I hope this is the last time."

He turned and left.

The expression on Mr. Grant’s face froze.

.........

When Eleanor learned that Cillian had gone out wearing just a casual jacket, with no luggage, her heart began to sink uncontrollably.

She packed up simply and went downstairs with Auntie King.

Eleanor wanted to probe Cillian’s limits. In the past, her strategy had been to seize opportunities within boundaries that wouldn’t deeply offend him.

But now, Eleanor had a premonition—a storm was about to break, troubles within and without.

The Emerald Residence was last year’s signature project by Grant Estates—an estate that redefined the benchmark for luxury homes. The plot ratio was record-breaking for the country; the landscaping was manor-like and extravagantly designed.

Eleanor strolled in a leisurely fashion, ambling with Auntie King.

As they neared a waterside pavilion, a group suddenly emerged. The man in front looked grim; behind him, bodyguards in suits were tall and powerfully built. They hurried away with imposing momentum from another direction.

Eleanor averted her gaze, but halfway through, she halted.

Another man stepped out of the pavilion, features refined, temperament restrained—thick, dark hair meticulously groomed.

He wore a coffee-colored cashmere coat, stood straight-shouldered with a tall, slender build.

Auntie King noticed Eleanor had stopped, puzzled. "Eleanor, do you know him?"

Eleanor moved toward the man. "I do."

"Simon." She had just raised her voice.

A man in a black suit hurried out from the pavilion. "Mr. Fenton, I advise you to accept Director Fenton’s arrangement. You’re from a small city and may not quite understand the rules of family clans. Marriage is a reintegration of resources and power; it’s to your benefit, too."

The man’s smile was extremely polite—no more than polite. "Assistant Lewis, I’ll give it serious thought."

The black-suited man looked dissatisfied. "Mr. Fenton, as a professional lawyer, I sincerely suggest you comply. Director Fenton values this collaboration highly. If anything goes awry because of you, I think, well, none of us want to see those consequences."

Eleanor stopped in her tracks.

Simon noticed her and was obviously startled, but a split second later, nodded gentlemanly toward Eleanor, whispered a few words to the man in black, and walked over.

"Miss Grant, what a coincidence."

There was no trace of embarrassment over having his awkward private affairs witnessed. Eleanor returned the courtesy with a smile. "Mr. Fenton, thank you for last time."

"Simon." He walked in the direction Eleanor had come, intentionally slowing his pace—a gentle stroll, inviting casual conversation. "And don’t mention it."

Eleanor stood where she was, not inclined to follow.

Simon turned slightly to wait for her. Dapples of sunlight filtered through the leaves, just illuminating his face. His eyes were deep amber, caramel-brown—matching his calm, composed demeanor: a man of grace and quiet distinction.

"Miss Grant, did I cause you any trouble that day?"

Eleanor pressed her lips together, paused a second. "It’s Eleanor. And no—help isn’t trouble."

A few faint smile lines radiated from the corners of Simon’s eyes—deeper than the polite lines before, the warmth suffusing his gaze. "Miss Eleanor, are you headed this way?"

After enduring someone as aggressive and shameless as Cillian day after day, Eleanor could not help but feel a natural fondness for a gentleman of warmth and upright character.