Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 9: The Surveillance Arrives

"Enough."

Cillian Grant strode over and grabbed her away from the door. "Why are you shouting in the middle of the night? Calm down."

"I’m not calm enough?" Eleanor yanked herself free. "How much calmer do you want me to be?"

The anger rattling her chest and the terror of checking surveillance footage twisted together into rampant, uncontrollable vines, quickly overtaking Eleanor and suffocating her.

"The baby mix-up all those years ago—was I, just an infant, the scheming one? Your sister’s innocent, but I’m not? You care about Phoebe Grant, protect her, love her, build her up to the skies if you want, but what do you have against me? What gives you the right to treat me like shit?"

Cillian Grant jerked her hard, no room for dispute, clamped his hand over her mouth. "When did I ever treat you like shit?"

Eleanor felt cold inside, didn’t even want to struggle anymore.

She’d imagined plenty of possible answers from Cillian Grant.

Because of Damian Sinclair, because he pretended to be restrained but secretly had desires.

Because The Grant Family raised her for twenty-two years, she owed them.

Never expected this one.

From the sound of it, he never thought it was mistreatment.

Eleanor trembled uncontrollably. She’d been naïve—heartless, ruthless people don’t have hearts.

"You don’t mistreat me." Eleanor’s back gave out, bending. "You just toy with me—in the hospital, in the car, always so aloof, and then sneakily digging up evidence when I’m off guard. All because Phoebe Grant thinks she’s pregnant? So much fuss, all for her—wow, you’re such a good person."

"Phoebe isn’t one to make things up." His voice was low. "You’re reacting so strongly—are you pregnant?"

"Yeah, I am."

Eleanor stared at him, slapped her stomach. "I’ve got tons of things in here—drainage tubes, stiff wires, the contrast agent you watched get shoved in me over and over. Wasn’t that all you, making sure I was ’pregnant’ every time?"

"Eleanor." The man was annoyed—a warning in his tone. "Am I too soft on you?"

After suffocating for so long, Eleanor suddenly let out a cold laugh. "Sorry, I messed up again. Didn’t appreciate the honor, huh? My bad."

Deep down, she didn’t dare truly anger Cillian Grant. After her words, she turned and left for the bathroom.

She didn’t come out even after bathing, forcing it out until the man finally left in anger.

That night, Eleanor kept her eyes open until dawn.

After seven, Phoebe Grant started shouting for her to come downstairs.

Cillian Grant sat upright in the living room, drinking tea, his assistant booting up a laptop.

Eleanor walked over.

On screen: footage of Elaine White holding her all the way up to the eighth floor, then into Exam Room 03.

The secretary played another video: her and Elaine White in the elevator, going down. The timestamp showed ten-oh-three.

Eleanor’s heart finally eased. She and Elaine White did go up to the eighth floor, but were downstairs by nine to prepare for blood work.

The footage had clearly been altered.

Guess it worked—her call to Elaine White last night to fix things paid off.

"Any more?" Phoebe Grant asked the secretary. "How about hallway cameras?"

The secretary glanced at Cillian Grant, cautious. "Yesterday a major celebrity made an OB appointment—surveillance was shut down early."

Phoebe Grant wasn’t reassured without the key footage. "What celebrity? Think they’re bigger than our family? I’ve been plenty of times, never heard surveillance gets shut off for anyone."

The secretary buttered her up. "The entertainment industry is messy—a lot of pregnancies have to be kept secret. Can’t compare to you, Miss. The Grant And Sinclair match is out in the open, everyone envies it."

Phoebe Grant liked the flattery and didn’t nitpick, turning to wait for Cillian Grant’s decision.

He turned slightly, gaze fixed on Eleanor.

There was a shadow in his eyes, not disgust or displeasure, more like something else.

Strangely clouded, hard to describe.

She didn’t know why, but her heart suddenly sank.

She looked over at Eleanor, who hung her head, face hidden, only her thick hair draped down over her shoulders, coldly graceful.

That same grace—that Eleanor carried in every movement—was what haunted Damian Sinclair late into the night, and what men found irresistible.

Phoebe Grant grew uneasy. "Brother, how is it such a coincidence? I bet she planned this. Make her give a blood sample."

Eleanor shot up, raised her head. "If a dog could talk, it still wouldn’t say crap like that. If you’re so capable, then keep what you have—stop blaming everyone and everything else."

"Eleanor." A voice barked from the stairs.

Mrs. Grant came down. "I raised you, and all you learned was how to insult people?"

Eleanor looked at her, vision clouded in a haze. "Mom, you heard it for yourself this time—Phoebe Grant started harassing and biting at me first. I only fought back."

Mrs. Grant walked right past her, and stood next to Phoebe Grant. "Where are your manners? You should call Phoebe ’Sister.’"

In an instant, Eleanor was silent.

If she had logic, she was wrong; if not, she was still wrong.

She couldn’t keep lying to herself.

In four years, Phoebe Grant had always picked fights. Mrs. Grant, as the family matriarch—could she really not know?

Truth was, she just thought Eleanor deserved it.

After dismissing Eleanor, Mrs. Grant turned and took Phoebe Grant’s hand. "Time to go to the Sterling Sinclair house. We’ll sort out the wedding plans today, and your rings with Damian have arrived. Try them on, and Mrs. Sinclair and I can pick out dresses and jewelry while we’re at it."

Eleanor stood rooted, watching Mrs. Grant’s back disappear.

Usually hard as nails, stubborn enough to stand up to anyone—but Mrs. Grant could defeat her with a few light words, leaving her shattered.

Cillian Grant took it all in, his face unreadable. "I’ll trust you one last time. No need for the blood draw."

Eleanor looked back at him.

She realized how skilled he was with words. Even skipping today’s blood test—she couldn’t dodge the physical coming up in four days, just buying time. If he put it like that, suddenly it’s an act of deep trust—believing her declaration there was nothing going on between her and Damian Sinclair in the car. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

"Well then—" Eleanor curved her lips. "Thanks?"

.....................

After heading upstairs, Eleanor quickly packed her things.

The weekend was a legal holiday; for an office worker like her, it meant time off.

Cillian Grant, as the CEO, was different. He’d just been transferred back a month ago to oversee expansion in The North, and was settling in to headquarters.

The last two days—the weekend—meant more work, meetings, drinking, busier than ever.

Eleanor hid behind the curtain, watching him walk to the garage with the butler trailing behind.

"If Eleanor goes out these days, make sure the driver follows," Cillian Grant said.

The butler checked. "Miss Eleanor’s private driver doesn’t start till Monday. For now, should Lewis keep driving?"

Cillian Grant looked up, glancing toward Eleanor’s room. He hesitated, but not enough to go back on his word.

"Get someone else," he repeated. "I said, Lewis is not to drive her."

Eleanor nearly got caught, steadied her heartbeat, and waited for the engine to fade downstairs.

She grabbed her bag and went downstairs, only to be stopped by the butler at the door. "Eleanor, Mr. Grant said you need a car arranged when you go out."

Eleanor squeezed her purse, feigning casualness. "Then Lewis, maybe?"

"Mr. Grant forbids Lewis to drive you." The butler actually cared for Eleanor. "I asked specifically—he was very firm."

Eleanor gritted her teeth. They monitored her, guarded against her, yet expected her to be grateful.