Eleanor couldn’t help but twitch, her chest rotting into pus and blood at that mont.
She knew that Mrs. Grant was no longer her support.
Not even a cent.
Eleanor lowered her head and said nothing.
Cillian Grant stood still, while Phoebe Grant was holding Mrs. Grant’s arm, enjoying Eleanor’s defeated and despondent expression.
He glanced at Eleanor again; she’d lost all of her spirit, her eyes dim, standing there dejected, hopeless, and sorrowful.
Realizing she was completely abandoned, with no room left, so desperate and profoundly mournful.
"She will be grounded for three days," Cillian Grant suddenly spoke, "Until the dical check-up, the household servants will keep an eye on her; she won’t be able to leave."
A final decision.
A sudden turn of events, Eleanor looked up at Cillian Grant, his dark pupils, for once without hostility, nor were they sharp.
She montarily t his gaze, then turned her head aside and went upstairs.
Mrs. Grant was puzzled and ca over to ask Cillian Grant for a reason.
Cillian Grant casually brushed her off, not lingering downstairs, and straightaway stepped up onto the stairs.
Passing by Eleanor’s room, the door was tightly shut, silent.
Cillian Grant grasped the doorknob; the door was locked.
Eleanor knew he had a key, and if he truly wanted to co in, locking the door wouldn’t stop him.
Yet she still locked it; Cillian Grant recalled her hunched figure downstairs, his chest swelled with a sense of irritability, "Eleanor."
Eleanor stood behind the door, motionless.
"What else are you dissatisfied with?" He impatiently twisted the doorknob, "No blood draw, your goal is already achieved."
Cillian Grant was reminding her to let things go.
Eleanor spread her hands open, palm lined with three lines, each interrupted by crescent-shaped imprints from digging into her flesh, according to fate, broken palm lines an a troubled life.
But she was numb, didn’t feel the pain.
It’s Cillian Grant who brought her troubles, he wouldn’t feel her pain, stabbing her with a knife then telling her not to resist, to let things go.
Eleanor clenched her fist again, a thought quietly forming in her mind, growing clearer.
Fierce like a tidal wave, overwhelming her fear of sneaking out and being punished by Cillian Grant.
But no matter how rampant the thought was, she hadn’t yet passed the dical check-up.
There was silence from within, Cillian Grant with a dark face, turned back to his room, sat leaning on his chair for a while, then dialed a phone call.
"Mr. Bolton, did you receive the dical record I had soone send to you this morning?"
"Received, the uterine cavity issue is complex, it’s necessary to examine the pulse-face, but based on your request, it might not be very realistic."
Cillian Grant paused, "Must acupuncture be done?"
Mr. Bolton was attending guests, in the midst of soft conversation, he responded after acknowledging, "Acupuncture facilitates circulation, it’s more effective for certain conditions than dication. If you insist—"
Words left unsaid, Cillian Grant, seasoned in business, wouldn’t fail to understand. "No acupuncture, double the investnt."
The call ended.
Mr. Bolton suddenly chuckled, "The heir of the Grant Family is full of tenderness."
A guest joined in, "How so?"
"Invested a hundred million in my Chinese dicine research project, asking to ensure the safety of The Grant Heiress’ fetus, later added another patient with a rare uterine cavity condition, requesting no acupuncture, doubled the investnt, isn’t that tenderness?"
The guest’s eyes twitched, testing the waters: "But I heard this patient is his mistaken sister, the relationship has been bad these years, why suddenly care so much?"
Mr. Bolton waved his hand, "You can’t trust gossip in the elite circles. Hurry up and return my dical book; I need to study how to treat this condition."
Half an hour later, the guest left, and Elaine White approached from afar, "Teacher, is it feasible?"
The guest shook his head. "No."
"Ivan Bolton’s Chinese dicine project is his lifeline; the Grant Group invested two hundred million, can your friend give more than the Grant Group?"
"Besides, the heir of the Grant Family doesn’t seem to hate your friend as you claid. Among those two hundred million, one hundred million was invested just to spare your friend acupuncture agony. In this light, your friend doesn’t even need to hide her pregnancy, being pregnant would only make the Grant Family happy."
Elaine was astonished, stuttering, "One hundred million... spared from acupuncture agony?"
The guest nodded, "I was right beside Ivan Bolton when the heir of the Grant Family made the call; I heard it myself."
Elaine was greatly shaken; it was well known in the upper circles how Cillian Grant treated Eleanor these years; if not for Mrs. Grant keeping Eleanor, Cillian Grant would have driven Eleanor out long ago.
Moreover, he bullied Eleanor for Phoebe Grant to snatch Damian Sinclair.
Openly and secretly, he tornted Eleanor thoroughly, why would he spend a hundred million to spare her pain?
Could it be that he has developed feelings for Eleanor over ti?
She returned to Soldane Province and imdiately called Eleanor, but the phone was out of service, WeChat offline, took leave from the company, and directly until Wednesday.
The dical check-up is on Wednesday.
Elaine’s eyes twitched wildly, seeking out the Grant Family, but was declined at the door by a guard, excusing Eleanor from visitors.
This confird to Elaine that Eleanor was locked at ho.
Eleanor also knew Elaine had visited on Monday, seeing her turned away from the window.
But her phone was snatched away by Phoebe Grant, her internet cord cut, the computer only usable for minesweeping, every way to reach the outside world was severed.
Soone watched her twenty-four hours, she couldn’t step out of her room without being followed closely.
She beca a turtle in a jar, only able to wait dryly.
Tornted until Tuesday afternoon, Mr. Grant returned from a business trip.
Arriving ho dusty, Mr. Sinclair ca with Damian Sinclair imdiately after.
"Master’s prophecy is a prophecy, the Sterling Sinclair never intended to put the marriage on hold. Cillian could refrain from acting these past two days; the wedding date can be discussed by both families."
Mr. Grant was noncommittal.
Mr. Sinclair coughed, signaling Damian Sinclair to speak.
Damian Sinclair sat straight, his gaze sweeping over everyone, Mr. Grant, Cillian Grant was serious, Mrs. Grant and Phoebe Grant were expectant.
A pair of biased and unreasonable parents.
A shaless big brother-in-law, and a despicable fiancée.
He laughed, "I just encountered Miss White from the White Family at the door, she said Eleanor’s been grounded."
"She defied her mother, it’s a minor punishnt," Phoebe Grant’s expectation faded as she retorted aggressively, "Why are you so concerned about her?"
Damian Sinclair raised his brow, looking at Mr. Grant, "Uncle, it’s said that your marriage is blissful, not a scandal in decades. May I ask, is it the result of Auntie’s relentless safeguarding, chasing shadows, and fabricating out of nothing?"
The living room fell silent.
Damian Sinclair’s aning was clear, a simple question led to Phoebe Grant’s aggressive questioning; he was quite displeased.
Mr. Grant had often advised Phoebe Grant, won being jealous is natural, but paranoia should be avoided, no man wants to be monitored like a spy every day.
He raised his hand to call the butler, "Ask Eleanor to co down, anwhile invite Miss White in."
"Dad, Eleanor absolutely must not et outsiders."
Phoebe Grant was unwilling; she really suspected Eleanor and Damian Sinclair had so entanglent.
It’s not excessive suspicion.
Won have a natural sixth sense, in matters of love, n whether loved or not, where their heart lies, no matter how tight-lipped, will be revealed in their eyes.
Moreover, Damian Sinclair hadn’t just seen Eleanor once in the last six months; she had checked his schedule.
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