Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 131: Mrs. Grant’s Choice

Mr. Grant also found it utterly absurd.

In a wealthy family, luxury, drama, sensational tales—battling through the Spider’s Lair overnight, extravagant feasts at the sea and sky, Russian roulette, or perhaps an unexpected bastard child appearing.

Spread this around, the internet will be ablaze with public opinion, though in the inner circles it’s merely gossip. A man’s vigor, robust physique, deep skills, in the field of fame and fortune, are never considered bad. Some bold ones even regard this as a topic of boastful pride.

As times progress, the family concepts of ordinary households have moved from ancient family clan systems towards nuclear families.

As long as it doesn’t harm the interests of the nuclear family, ordinary people don’t really mind.

But prestigious wealthy families in the field of fame and fortune are interest groups formed by kinship ties under the same surname. Family concept, both shelter and rope, if one day this rope is cut by oneself, the interest group will either fall apart or the rope will be handed to others.

This latter scenario has already been clearly demonstrated by The Xavier Family.

Mr. Grant did not wish to repeat the past, and definitely needed to tighten the rope before Cillian Grant cuts it, keeping it in his own hands. By then, if Cillian shows remorse, the rope will be returned to him; if he doesn’t, it will tighten until he regrets.

"I absolutely forbid Cillian from marrying her."

Mrs. Grant fiercely grabbed Mr. Grant’s collar, her gaze was like nails sinking deep into flesh, irreversible.

"He has worked tirelessly over the past few years. I watched him bear the pressure day by day, growing more profound and reticent, all of his current glory achieved through painstaking effort. How ridiculously he is willing to sacrifice his brilliant future for Eleanor."

Mrs. Grant viewed the issue differently from Mr. Grant.

Cillian had always been her immaculate son. Every glorious achievement of his in the past four years was shared with pride among the elite women’s circles.

No matter what, Mrs. Grant wouldn’t accept seeing him falling into disgrace. Just imagining Cillian as a laughing stock circulating for even a second among the gossip mongers made Mrs. Grant’s blood boil with the need to tear the culprit apart.

"I am handling this matter." At this point, Mr. Grant lost his unfathomable depth, his calculated gleam, and in a low tone, sincerely comforted Mrs. Grant.

"Grace, trust me, have I ever disappointed you? Cillian is your son, my son, and the heir of The Grant Family. Both publicly and privately, I must stop him. My methods might be forceful, but they won’t cause family strife. Will you be hurt by outward whispers causing you to doubt me?"

Mrs. Grant was convinced, "I won’t force you to come back anymore, but I have a request."

Mr. Grant gently stroked her hair, revealing a slight smile, "Tell me."

"Whatever steps you plan next, however you do it, don’t keep me in the dark like before. I want you to be upfront with me."

Mr. Grant’s hand paused.

Within Grant Group, his conflict with Cillian had already become heated, tense, and hostile. Mrs. Grant wasn’t versed in the treacherous dealings of business battles, and if he disclosed the plan to her, she could easily relay it to Cillian.

Ah, women become mother wolves when they have children. In times of peril, the male wolf stands aside despite their usual nestling.

Mr. Grant felt a bitter sting in his heart, "Eleanor. Her relationship with Cillian wasn’t her desire, yet now Cillian remains unwavering. We can only approach her. If she voluntarily aborts the child, Cillian will undoubtedly be unable to accept the emotional rupture. Coupled with external pressure, hostility and resentment will cause him to turn back."

Mrs. Grant might not understand business affairs well, easily led away, but she was astutely perceptive in private matters. After all, Cillian and Eleanor grew up under her gaze, as had her long-time husband.

"If resentment made him turn back, you wouldn’t be so fiercely engaged at Grant Group." Mrs. Grant looked at Mr. Grant, "You know Cillian’s nature well; at this point, you won’t tolerate Eleanor."

Mr. Grant seldom avoided her eyes, "Grace—"

Mrs. Grant felt her guts being twisted inside her, but this was how it is. She had nurtured Eleanor with her own hands, deeply attached—but after four years of her biological daughter’s endearment, her void was filled.

Understanding the truth, she indeed felt reluctance.

Yet the reluctance, hindered by four years, couldn’t match her son’s importance or the heirship of Grant Group, leaving Eleanor the only one to be sacrificed.

"Induction surgery, right?" Not particularly honorable, Mrs. Grant also veiled it, "Eleanor’s congenital uterine malformation makes such surgery risky, unexpected events are not uncommon."

Mr. Grant squeezed out a smile, "Grace, I kept this from you to avoid burdening you."

The voices inside grew faint, Phoebe Grant listening at the door attentively for several minutes. Mr. Grant soothingly comforted Mrs. Grant without further issue.

For the first time, she didn’t impulsively intrude, choosing to tiptoe away, descend, and drive from The Grant Family residence.

Recently, the weather in Soldane Province was unpredictable—downpours one day, sunny skies the next, with temperature fluctuations, but overall cold.

The chilly wind seeped through the open car window, damply.

Phoebe Grant’s blood had boiled outside the drawing-room door, but now it solidified amid whistling cold winds, leaving only sweat mingling with cold, moist air on her skin, a clingy layer suffocating her.

The car accelerated, as if stalling a second would lead to collapse of conviction.

She returned to The Grant Family; her brother accepted her first. At that time, their parents still cradled Eleanor and disapproved of her attraction to Damian Sinclair, though they didn’t openly criticize her.

Her brother helped her, drugging Damian Sinclair and then cleaning up. He staunchly demanded Damian take responsibility, yet Eleanor misunderstood him as the orchestrator—he didn’t mind.

From there, Phoebe quickly integrated into The Grant Family; their mother began distancing from Eleanor, their father absorbed in business, heeding his wife’s wishes. Eleanor remained an unnecessary presence in The Grant Family, yet never expelled.

Phoebe’s eyes reddened in frustration, throat painfully tight—as now, everything was revealed; her brother’s favoritism was solely for Eleanor, separating her from Damian Sinclair to gain her affection.

Phoebe looped from Westborough back to the city center, parking in front of Sinclair Tower, as wailing police sirens approached.

Damian Sinclair’s executive assistant happened to be escorting a client in the lobby, startled by the commotion.

Realizing, she hurriedly opened Phoebe Grant’s car door, "Why are you driving yourself today? It’s too risky." Noticing the police with flashing lights, "Did something happen on the road?"

Phoebe Grant exited the car, her face pallid yet stormy, not sparing a glance at the traffic police behind, "Where’s Damian Sinclair?"