Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 126: How to Completely Leave Cillian Grant

Chapter 126: Chapter 126: How to Completely Leave Cillian Grant

"Eleanor doesn’t want to go; she’s appointed me to represent her."

Her eyes showed ninety-nine percent distrust, with only a hint of probing curiosity that she couldn’t contain.

Cillian Grant’s lips curled into a smile, but his eyes were devoid of warmth, merely urging her to wash up, "As long as you can get up tomorrow."

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

Going whale watching in Iceland doesn’t guarantee seeing whales every time. The weather, time, and location all affect the likelihood of their appearance.

The best time for whale watching is from April to October each year, though they can still be seen in December, but with different species appearing.

Eleanor woke up early, and Cillian wasn’t in the room.

After washing up, she went downstairs. The courtyard was bustling with mercenaries loading things onto cars. Cillian was wearing a down jacket over a parka as he bent to put on his shoes at the door.

The night outside was cold and dark, the light in the hallway white and bright. He stood between darkness and light, Eleanor could only see the half of him bathed in light.

His jaw was newly shaved, though not well, with a faint scratch on the left cheek. His eyes showed dark circles heavy enough to suggest he hadn’t slept all night, an indescribable fatigue mingled with mature yet indifferent charm on him.

Eleanor quickly went downstairs and stood beside him, "Leaving now? No breakfast?"

Cillian straightened up; he was tall and sturdy, with the inside down jacket puffing out, accentuating the parka’s rugged outline, casting shadows that fell imposing and intimidating.

"We’ll eat on the road."

Eleanor was taken aback, "In such a rush?"

"It’s not the best month for whale watching now; to maximize the chance of seeing whales, we need to go to the best spot in the north, Húsavík." Cillian turned and opened the hall cabinet, taking out Eleanor’s full set of travel gear, "Leaving at seven-thirty, arriving at one in the afternoon, going out to sea for two hours, back before ten at night."

Eleanor cooperatively stretched her arms and legs, observing his expression without blinking.

Yesterday’s pregnancy check showed the gestational age was slightly small, and the female doctor specifically advised to take rest. Today, Cillian not only took her out but also arranged such an urgent, packed schedule.

All these changes happened after that phone call from Mr. Grant.

But she only heard Cillian say a few words; what Mr. Grant said was impossible to deduce.

Eleanor was restless; the changes were imminent, opportunities right in front of her, yet she couldn’t grasp or feel them, a truly agonizing situation.

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

Back in their country, it was three in the morning.

Secretary Rhodes hurriedly pushed open the chairman’s office door, walking past a full wall of redwood bookshelves. At the end of the shelves was a small door, hard to spot, leading into the chairman’s resting room, an independent suite with living room, bedroom, and bathroom.

The decor was Mrs. Grant’s handiwork, all arranged according to her preferences. However, since its establishment, Mr. Grant’s use of it could be counted on one’s fingers, rarely even taking afternoon naps, with its most significant use being the washroom.

Secretary Rhodes didn’t look around, raised his hand to gently knock on the door, "Director Grant, there’s news back from Iceland."

He paused for half a minute; no response came from inside. Just as he was about to knock again, Mr. Grant opened the door.

He was wearing beige Tang-style sleepwear, bleary-eyed, his complexion appearing sullen, and his demeanor was imposing, "Speak."

Mr. Grant, having aged, found it difficult to fall asleep and woke early; three o’clock in the morning was his only period of deep sleep, so Secretary Rhodes dared not waste words. "Seven-thirty Iceland time, the eldest son took Miss Eleanor to the northern Húsavík City for whale watching, where the docks are chaotic and terrain complex. If we make a move, there’s at least an eighty percent chance."

Mr. Grant stepped past him to wash his face with cold water in the bathroom.

Secretary Rhodes offered a towel, "But don’t rule out that this is yet another attempt by the eldest son to lure us out. Húsavík is Iceland’s most famous scenic spot, a tourist town, its security may not match ours domestically but is not far off. If the eldest son prepares in advance, leveraging the police force, our people might incur losses."

Secretary Rhodes had been overseeing all Iceland matters lately. The people hired by the eldest son he utilized, from immigration to background, were all clean; if the police got involved, they could use any excuse to get out.

He initially made a mistake in employing local forces from Iceland, regulars at the local police station. In this situation, should a conflict occur between the two groups, the police would inevitably detain the local gang with a known record first.

Mr. Grant exited the bathroom, "Where are those new people I told you to find?"

Secretary Rhodes followed behind him; if the eldest son could find cleaned operatives, so could they, "Currently reaching out, able to land in Iceland within three days."

Mr. Grant gestured for Secretary Rhodes to cut a cigar, "Then just put up a show this time; avoid real conflict. Cillian isn’t as simple as you think. He knows that if he stops this batch of people, I can send out another. Without coming back to compete head-to-head with me, he’ll never find peace."

Secretary Rhodes looked surprised as he finished cutting the cigar, "Then what’s the point of the eldest son’s frantic efforts this time?"

Mr. Grant took the lit cigar, the glowing embers flickering, his aged eyes alternately bright and dark, "Indeed, what is he trying to do?"

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

Once again, Cillian drove; Eleanor sat in the passenger seat, the chair reclined to a semi-lying position.

The car was sealed, its atmosphere filled entirely with Cillian’s scent, deep and solid, devoid of the aroma of cedar or ebony. Such a subtle yet profoundly present scent was indescribable, yet it matched him perfectly, distinct, exclusive, piercing into one’s heart.

Eleanor held her breath, but she’d suffocate.

Opening the window, Iceland’s subzero wind would freeze her.

She could only turn her head to look out the window. In the rearview mirror, the mercenaries’ cars formed a line, headlights connecting one after another. Winding through the dark snowstorm, not one car fell behind; her heart sank even more.

Simply closing her eyes.

Yesterday, Mr. Grant’s call asked Cillian what lay behind his show-off act. Later, he asked if there was an increased deployment of Icelandic personnel.

She already knew this information, and Cillian did too, which was why he didn’t go to the hospital, didn’t go outside, firmly guarding the villa.

Abroad, strangers invading private residences amidst criminal intentions could legally justify self-defense, even shooting.

At present, suddenly going out was only him confirming staying in the villa was no longer effective.

Mr. Grant was cunning and experienced. With wealth and status, he wouldn’t launch a full-scale attack on the villa, giving himself a rose gold bracelet adorned, as an international criminal.

If the issue isn’t with the villa, could it be Cillian?

As if a current surged through her mind, lightning illuminated it; Eleanor suddenly realized, if she were Mr. Grant, with Cillian’s protection rendering action impossible, what would be the simplest approach?

To lure Cillian away, forcing him back home.

Eleanor struggled to maintain her pose, avoiding any signs of excitement that Cillian might notice.

What could she do?

Falling into Mr. Grant’s hands, the child wouldn’t be safe, nor could she assure her own fate.

Even if fortune smiled amidst the turmoil, connecting her with Mr. Ghost for rescue.

How different would it be from the previous two escapes? Her pregnancy was already exposed; Cillian wouldn’t back down, nor would Mr. Grant stop.

Running to the ends of the earth wouldn’t ensure peace.

Unless—

A sudden flash of insight struck Eleanor, the thought was perilous yet exceptionally captivating.

If realized, she’d be completely severed from Cillian, no longer fearing his relentless pursuit, nor fear The Grant Family’s pressure again.