Cillian Grant didn’t look pleased.
Damian Sinclair’s emotions grew increasingly bitter, "She loved laughing the most, never hiding it. Her voice was loud, clear, her mouth wide open, showing a set of shining teeth, so dazzling, making everyone unconsciously happy along with her."
"She loved beauty. She liked pretty fairy dresses, dreamt of growing up overnight to eighteen, wearing high heels every day. She also liked lipstick, eyeshadow, anything that could make her beautiful. Mrs. Grant was strict, she didn’t dare defy her. I secretly gave her those things, and she secretly learned to put them on to show ."
"But now? She doesn’t smile anymore, she’s silent, dressed in dull and dim clothes, her long hair—" Damian Sinclair’s eyes turned red, his voice constantly trembling, choking.
"Before eighteen, it was dark and thick, every ti she bounced into my arms, like a piece of exquisite satin falling into my embrace. Now it’s as dry and withered as she is, under your repeated tornt—"
His voice abruptly ceased.
A cold, hard object shone brightly against his temple, the round hole pressed deeply into his brow, causing a chilling sensation that reached his soul, almost freezing the blood in Damian Sinclair’s veins.
"Finished?" Cillian Grant’s smile was unsettling, "Don’t say I didn’t warn you; what happened in the past is past, and whatever happens henceforth is of no concern to you."
"And this warning." Cillian Grant clicked the safety with a crisp sound that sent a shiver down the spine, "I’ve repeated it three tis for you."
Damian Sinclair was rigid.
A warning, simply put, is a demonstrative admonition to those who err.
Power is the qualification for resource allocation. When the two are combined, the extent of power determines the intimidation of the warning.
And Cillian Grant’s obsession with his business undoubtedly makes him an indisputable master, a strong-minded figure who doesn’t yield.
Dostically, Damian Sinclair still had so leeway with the backing of the Sterling Sinclair. But here, in this chaotic zone thousands of miles away, with this man’s revealed arrogance and wildness, he could truly do anything effortlessly.
The atmosphere dropped to freezing point, and the satellite phone equipped in the hunting vehicle rang, breaking the deadlock.
With the other hand, Cillian Grant answered, "Speak."
"B0SS, found out, the man nad Sinclair doesn’t have a woman around him, not even his close secretary is male. This past week he’s either been inspecting or eting, his accommodation is fixed at those central hotels in Lassan City. Oh, and the hotel waiters, he doesn’t want females, utterly peculiar..."
The unknown man continued to babble, and Cillian Grant hung up expressionlessly.
Eleanor didn’t co to Damian Sinclair’s side.
After a long silence, he suddenly put away the gun, mocking, "No matter how much you do, no matter how many mories, she didn’t choose you."
"It’s not a choice." Damian Sinclair’s gaze was calm, "I just wanted to help her one last ti. She didn’t get on the plane. That was her answer to . She let go."
Cillian Grant couldn’t bear this connection that was still in sync across miles, seemingly unbreakable, inseparable, with only their bodies apart, yet their spirits rging.
His anger was palpable even without Damian Sinclair having to look at his expression.
But Damian Sinclair was even angrier, a desolate, depressed, lonely anger, as if his heart was cold ash.
"Aren’t you just satisfying your sister’s selfish desires? I married her, treated her well, our child, Miss Eleanor and I... there won’t be anything else between us, you can rest assured, let her go."
Cillian Grant remained unmoved. "Whether I let her go or not is not up to you."
Damian Sinclair was about to ntion his funding gap issue, saying there’s no need for Eleanor to marry, the Sinclair Group would fill the gap, just a gamble.
Cillian Grant’s private phone, kept closest in his tactical attire, rang with a call from the dostic front.
Without putting it on speaker, whatever was said on the other end wasn’t clear to Damian Sinclair.
The next mont, Cillian Grant opened the car window, extended his arm outside, and made a gesture.
Soon, a car ca from the rear side, and without a word, Cillian Grant opened the door and drove off in the other car.
Leaving behind the original driver of the car, who bared his teeth in a grin at the bewildered Damian Sinclair, "BOSS instructed to ensure Mr. Sinclair experiences the most thrilling hunt, to leave a deep impression, so Mr. Sinclair can draw lessons daily from it."
............
Dostic.
Night grew deeper, nearing dawn, the stormy winds of the past few days concluded. The canopy of the camphor trees by the roadside shook loose, leaving a ground covered in scattered twigs and leaves.
A black Bentley crushed the fallen leaves as it drove out of the small city range, heading onto the highway.
Eleanor sat in the backseat, silently watching the dark, undulating mountains outside the window.
It was truly baffling where the oversight occurred, but she was captured before even leaving Soldane Province.
"Miss Eleanor." Damon Sharp handed over a packed lunch box from the front seat, "You didn’t have dinner, right? Have so to tide you over."
Eleanor didn’t refuse, and took it, "How did you find ?"
Damon Sharp, initially turning back his head, turned it again with a hint of polite amusent, "In modern society, caras are as dense as a net, finding soone is easy." He glanced at the lunch box in Eleanor’s hand, "It’s cold, the dishes chill easily."
Eleanor opened the lunch box, and the first thing eting her eyes was bright yellow corn kernels mixed with peas; she didn’t touch them but picked up two other dishes instead.
After swallowing a few bites, she casually joked, "But aren’t surveillance caras controlled by the state? How did you have the authority to check?"
"Public ones, cannot be checked, but private ones, you can check if you pay." With that, Damon Sharp frowned, "You don’t eat corn?"
A flash of realization, Eleanor suddenly understood.
Cillian Grant’s imnse power and wealth ant that once he had a target area, coupled with her lack of identification, she couldn’t take a train or plane, so they followed her from the bus station.
But this definitely required large manpower investnt behind it; in essence, she had underestimated the situation before, misjudging Cillian Grant’s determination to find her, and her hasty departure led to an inevitable defeat.
No matter what she calculated, even factoring in Phoebe, it was all in vain.
Eleanor’s chest was blocked with a breath as she unconsciously brought out so disgust in response to Damon Sharp’s question, "Don’t like it. Just seeing it makes sick."
Anything linked to Cillian Grant made her feel extrely repulsed.
Damon Sharp paused, exchanged a look with the driver, four eyes showing identical uncertainty.
Two seconds later, the driver changed the GPS destination, "We’ll take you to a rest area to have sothing else."
Eleanor didn’t say anything for the rest of the journey.
Back to the provincial city, Damon Sharp didn’t take Eleanor back to The Grant Family.
He drove around to a newly opened luxury residence near her company, The Erald Residence.
Eleanor didn’t move much, just glanced around the living room.
The main color was pale gray, supplented by off-white, with new Chinese style decoration, the lines and details tending towards softness, not the uniform orange light luxury style delivered by Grant Estates, seeming designed ticulously for won, elegant yet not losing warmth, withstanding tasteful consideration and examination.
She couldn’t help but find it peculiar.
Cillian Grant was lustful, indulgent, yet very cautious. As an aggressive figure with high standing in the circle, he must be impeccable personally, avoiding overturning.
This was also why their relationship could exist for four years.
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