Mr. Voss’s hands on his knees couldn’t stop trembling, and Mrs. Voss covered her mouth and let out a sob.
Mrs. Grant heavily patted the sofa armrest, "Give a reason, is it for—her."
Considering the outsiders of The Voss Family were present, and it involved family scandals, Mrs. Grant refrained from pointing it out.
Cillian Grant raised his eyes, with seventy percent indifference and thirty percent smile, yet not too deep nor shallow, making it difficult to grasp his intentions, "Who?"
"Eleanor."
Mrs. Grant spoke.
Cillian Grant’s smile remained unchanged, leaning back casually, his arms leisurely resting on the back of the sofa, sitting with legs wide open.
"Didn’t you hear mother calling you, hurry over."
Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat, she had been facing away from the door, even holding her breath she could sense, truly vigilant and chilling.
And Mrs. Grant’s voice was unusual, as if calling her, or as if using her na to probe Cillian’s intentions.
Eleanor gathered her thoughts, approached slowly, taking a covert glance at the man when others weren’t noticing.
On the way back, Phoebe Grant told her, since the private room incident, Cillian started rcilessly targeting The Voss Family, and within just a week, he already struck at their roots.
This level of action, used to punish Theodore Voss for her reputation, didn’t make any sense.
Moreover, Phoebe herself had made several appeals, yet Cillian remained relentless.
Due to Theodore Voss’s presence, Phoebe didn’t continue the conversation, but the way she stared at her with suspicion in the corners of her eyes revealed she suspected a connection to her.
"Eleanor, Theodore speaks without filter, you are the involved party." Mrs. Grant enunciated each word with a deep and subtle tone, "Now, mother asks you, do you forgive him?"
Forgive my ass.
Eleanor was not a broad-minded and great woman, she held grudges right down to the number of strokes in each character.
If she had the ability, and the police didn’t catch her, every definition of personal injury under our penal code, from minor to major, she would inflict all upon Theodore Voss.
But indulging in temporary satisfaction would only worsen her plight, bringing no benefit to the freedom that was within reach.
Besides, she had enough self-awareness now, unless she’s completely foolish, to delude herself that Cillian would vent his anger for her.
"Forgive," Eleanor’s expression was sincere, while simultaneously seeking more for herself, "I also made inappropriate remarks that day, has mother forgiven ?"
Mrs. Grant ignored her, fully concentrated on discerning every bit of expression on Cillian’s face.
His expression turned calm and unwavering, emotions seemingly receding like the tide, disappearing from his face, fading from his presence.
His posture unchanged, as if frozen, veins on his arms prominently like blue-purple little snakes.
Yet upon closer examination, these seed ordinary, as if she was rely imagining things.
At this mont Mrs. Grant truly experienced why the outside world claims he is difficult, his mind boundless, unfathomable.
She could only take the initiative to confront, "Eleanor also forgave, Cillian, about The Voss Family’s affairs—"
"Unceasing," Cillian’s attitude was assertive, his gaze didn’t specifically linger on any individual from The Voss Family, whichever reacted significantly, he imdiately focused on that one.
Sharp, cold, intimidating in the intangible.
Under his gaze, one felt their soul locked in place, numb from head to toe, even internal organs constricting into a tight ball.
Theodore Voss couldn’t withstand, abruptly jumped up.
Earlier he and Phoebe were following Eleanor, Eleanor was standing, they were seated.
When Eleanor bowed her head submissively, he felt satisfaction.
Cillian stood up for Eleanor, making Eleanor a useless Dunce, retaliating against him, making him realize his good intentions were considered rubbish.
Unexpectedly, the man’s attitude remained unchanged, their hell unchanged.
Watching Theodore dragging his parents away in panic.
Eleanor followed wanting to leave.
Phoebe sharply shouted at her, "Stop, don’t think you can run."
She called the guards at the door, ca in to keep an eye on Eleanor, turning her gaze to the man on the sofa.
"Brother, The Voss Family left, now I can speak openly."
Cillian casually responded, "Speak."
"I always considered you the best brother in this world, but since my engagent date with Damian was set, I can’t see clearly anymore."
Phoebe stood up, walked to the man in front of him. "Mother loves , prepared my dowry ticulously, brother dotes on so much, yet gave nothing. Your secretary informs that you previously purchased a jadeite raw stone from Jade while on a business trip to The Southwest, as a wedding gift for , yet brother isn’t planning to give it to now?"
Cillian unbuttoned his suit, "Mother gave you three percent of the group’s shares, what else do you want? Should I give you The Grant Family in its entirety?"
Mrs. Grant couldn’t bear seeing the dispute between her children, "Cillian, your sister doesn’t an that, she’s feeling aggrieved that such a major event like her wedding received no gift from you."
"Wasn’t Damian Sinclair’s grand gift enough?"
Mrs. Grant choked, uncontrollably looking at Eleanor, recalling past sches with full awareness, habitually avoiding the topic, but unexpectedly Cillian revealed it publicly.
Eleanor smiled.
Ti had passed, she had let go yet persisted, now rely watching dogs biting dogs, absolutely interesting.
Mrs. Grant and Phoebe still didn’t understand Cillian, he’s a man of ninety percent ambition, one percent emotion, with that one percent emotion, wealth and honor, Cillian acquiesces to all requests.
Even aiding in suppressing her, for their happiness.
But seeking to pry open his cake of power.
Truly, a delusion.
This word applied to herself, painful.
Manifested through others, profoundly delightful.
Eleanor watched with interest.
Unexpectedly t Cillian’s eyes, an unfathomable abyss of darkness.
Eleanor’s scalp tingled.
The next mont, Phoebe’s accusation targeted directly, "Brother is vigorously taking over The Xavier Family, the funds and shares can’t afford fluctuation, I understand. But what about Eleanor’s bag?"
The atmosphere in the living room abruptly stagnated.
Eleanor’s back also felt numb, "That bag isn’t mine."
Mrs. Grant furrowed her brows into creases, "What bag?"
Phoebe glanced at Eleanor, giving a sinister smile, "This year’s globally limited edition milkshake white crocodile skin Birkin bag from The M Family, only three exist in Soldane Province, two are in mine and your possession, the third is underneath her office seat."
Mrs. Grant’s expression shifted, a blend of shock, sink, ruthless, vivid and unmistakable.
Finally, she locked her gaze on Cillian, "I’m one of The M Family’s top three clients dostically, investigating the whereabouts of a bag, Cillian, do you think it’s difficult?"
"Mother’s intervention, naturally not difficult." Cillian’s suit jacket casually open, his chest and abdon outline solid, an unspoken ferocious masculine vigor, imposing yet unruly.
Mrs. Grant took out her phone, finding The M Family manager, "Cillian, do you wish for to dial?"
Eleanor’s pupils constricted.
Her neck stiffly tilted, gazing at the man.
Once this call goes through, all will be irreparable.
She wouldn’t be foolish enough to pin hope on the man’s slightest pity for her.
Eleanor wagered on his insatiable ambition, Liam Xavier’s wife pregnant, their internal disagreents, Cillian must stabilize himself for now.
But she miscalculated.
Cillian even laughingly made a gesture of invitation, with an air of composed gentlemanly deanor, assuredly indifferent and strong.
Eleanor felt a chill surge from foot to the top, attempting to speak was already too late.
Mrs. Grant dialed out.
"Hello, Mrs. Grant, how may I assist you?"
Mrs. Grant grasping the phone, her voice warm with a tinge of humor, her eyes pitch-black, icy, "That limited edition milkshake white platinum bag, who took the third one in Soldane Province?"
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