Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 104: Cillian Grant’s Call

Cillian Grant slowly stood up, his hand pressing on the table, leaning in closely to look at him, "Damian Sinclair, your love is tainted with too many distractions. Any one of them can make you give up halfway. It’s truly thin, weak, worthless."

Damian Sinclair involuntarily stepped back, "How can you be sure that the person she finds for the rest of her life won’t be better than you?"

Cillian Grant spread his arms with an air of calm confidence, an imposing aura as if victory was assured, "Who is like me? You?"

He resembled a supreme hidden weapon, biding its time until this moment on a narrow path where he was at his most carefree and dominating, a solitary loftiness and lethal vibe erupting suddenly, fiercely, and vividly.

It was a force that shook the heavens and the earth.

Carrying immense power.

Crushing the enemies like obstacles in the throat.

"In front of me, what are you even worth?"

Damian Sinclair halted his retreat.

He looked down at the ground, a moment ago he was about tens of centimeters from the desk, after this backward step, the distance became one meter.

This one meter...

He slowly clenched his fist, turning blue, turning white, feeling his chest shatter, flesh and bones fragmenting and scattering, a bout of salty taste surging up his throat, almost unable to stand steadily.

"But feelings aren’t possessed by whoever is stronger." Damian Sinclair’s face pale, "Admiration for strength is human nature, most will submit under powerful rule, yet there are always a small few who, the more oppressed the more unyielding, blood is hot, spine is steel, I’m a worldly coward, Eleanor isn’t."

He turned around and walked to the door, grasping the doorknob, "You can never imprison her."

Cillian Grant sat down, the room engulfed in dark currents, his presence hidden among them, expression somewhat indistinct, contours silent, seemingly indifferent.

As time ticked away on the electronic screen at the corner of the table, Cillian Grant’s patience was almost exhausted when he received a call.

"Mr. Grant, Miss Eleanor’s trail has been found."

...

Eleanor followed the information left by Mr. Ghost, driving through an ice plain, passing through a red-roofed town, in the vast natural desolation of black, white, blue, and green, where the main structures of the houses were white and the roofs vivid red, uniquely lively, with an instant disappearance of that sense of solitude of distant travel amidst the world.

Eleanor felt an eagerness of returning from the primitive world to humanity.

She really shouldn’t have stopped, the dull pain in her lower abdomen had started from when she disembarked the ship, rippling outwards, increasingly persistent.

With a history of threatened miscarriage, Eleanor dared not be careless, drove around town searching for a clinic.

The navigation led her through a narrow alley, Eleanor hesitated for a few seconds, then reversed back to the main road.

Just after turning the steering wheel one circle, a fleet of Hummers came storming down the road she had previously driven on, faster than ordinary vehicles, engines roaring more wildly, gripping the snowy road better, closing in before her eyes in a flash, surrounding her in an orderly scatter.

Eleanor’s cautious reversing speed, in contrast, was like a ninety-year-old granny in a hundred-meter sprint, utterly leisurely.

This type of capturing, also extremely leisurely.

"Miss Eleanor."

The other party opened the car door, the burly leader beside him even equipped with a translator, "Don’t be afraid, we came to protect you."

Eleanor, "..."

"This is Joseph, our captain, next, he will personally protect you until you are safely escorted back to your country."

The translator was a tall, skinny, white youth, looking particularly weak and as if easy to handle among a group of muscular burly men, displaying some fragile elegance.

Eleanor’s gaze lingered on him too long, the translator gestured kindly, "Miss Eleanor, no need to feel moved, the group that pursued you before has been blocked by us now, you are very safe, you can undo the seatbelt and step out of the car, stretch the sore and numb limbs from long-distance driving."

Eleanor reluctantly squeezed out a smile, "Can I walk a few more steps after getting out of the car?"

"Certainly." The translator bowed politely, "The captain can drive his car further away, Miss Eleanor can walk as many steps as you like, ensuring you can rest once tired."

Eleanor felt the pain in her lower abdomen spread to her bones, bitterness and astringency at the root of her tongue, unwilling to circle this false pretense anymore, "Who hired you, Cillian Grant or Zane Grant?"

The translator’s posture unchanged, "There is a phone in the car, please get inside the vehicle."

Without revealing anything, Eleanor made no futile struggles, taking this chance to drive, couldn’t ram the Hummer, couldn’t kill people as she wasn’t a judicial fanatic.

In her heart, she had an unlikely optimism, hoping that this group was hired by Mr. Grant, whether reported by Leona Lewis or something else, as long as Mr. Grant’s goal was to block Cillian Grant, there might be a chance of turning enemies into friends.

If it was Cillian Grant, she broke into a shiver, her heart like the icebergs of The Frostfang Circle, layer by layer freezing without melting.

Once in the car, she was arranged in the back seat, the muscular captain blocked her left side, like a mountain, silent but his gaze unrelenting.

Eleanor noticed his muscles tensing, warily primed for action, suddenly recalling Mr. Ghost mentioning there was a group suspected of being armed, she couldn’t help but have her gaze fall on the man’s flank.

Before she could see clearly, a phone abruptly appeared before her, the green screen glowing softly, the number behind the area code piercing her eyes, shattering her tiny fragment of luck.

She slowly took it, placing it by her ear without a word.

The person on the other end seemed to hear her sluggish, blocked breathing, the man’s voice penetrating the speaker without emotion, "Is this the gift you have for me?"

Eleanor’s eyelashes quivered, she too heard the man’s breathing, steady and powerful, slightly altered by the electric current, still like a deep abyss she couldn’t climb out of.

She broke through the night sea’s devouring waves, soared across thousands of miles high in the sky, the air of the ice plains and snowy seas cold yet exceptionally fresh, brushwood gloomily black, the coast stretching to a place she could walk throughout her future.

Eleanor never thought of suicide, why punish herself for others’ mistakes by losing the opportunity to live vibrantly in the world.

In this moment, everything submerged in an abyss of futile struggle, fear yet expanding chaotically, all twisted, detached, shattering into a thousand pieces, melting before her eyes.

"Satisfied?" she asked hoarsely, "This is my most sincere, heartfelt gift I wish to give you." 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"Very satisfied." Cillian Grant even let out a laugh, that mastery sensation perfected on him, showing almost scornful attitude toward all provocation.

Eleanor always felt that without those four years, he was genuinely impeccable, but he insisted on being a shining madman in her ordinary life, shattering her remaining life with grandeur.

"Cillian Grant."

Eleanor felt utterly desolate, tortured to the brink of insanity, "Then every year hereafter I’ll send you, without missing a single time, sending until heaven strikes you, sending until you’re laid to rest."

Laughter suddenly erupted over the phone, spreading in Eleanor’s ears, hearty, magnetic, thoroughly delighted, "I’ll fully accompany you."

It was as if the icy seas of Froskar poured down, Eleanor submerged in it. Clearly with limbs chilled, suffocating, yet with a heart aflame, all inside burning fiercely.