The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 115

Rosemary opened her mouth to argue, but Mr. Foster placed a firm hand on her arm. Sharing a loaded glance, the two of them sighed and walked out of the room.

The door shut firmly.

The hospital room descended into total silence.

Garrison slumped against his pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Outside the window, the capital's sky was a dreary gray, framing the distant, jagged silhouettes of skyscrapers. The heavy steel security bars bolted outside the glass made the sterile room feel less like a sanctuary and more like an inescapable cage.

*

The hour grew late.

The corridor was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. A slender silhouette stood outside the hospital room, her hand resting on the handle. The chilled metal pressed against her palm, yet it did nothing to cool the feverish anticipation burning in her chest.

Quinn quietly eased the door open.

Only a single bedside lamp was on, casting a warm, amber halo over the bed. The curtains hadn't been fully drawn, allowing a sliver of moonlight to spill across the pristine white sheets like a dusting of frost.

The heart monitor beeped with rhythmic precision. Beep. Beep. It sounded perfectly synced with the frantic thumping of her own heart.

Quinn's footsteps were feather-light, as if she were walking on clouds.

She crept to the edge of the mattress, gazing down at the sleeping man.

Garrison was lying on his side, facing her direction. His brows were slightly furrowed, suggesting his dreams were anything but peaceful. Freshly broken from his fever, his complexion remained pale, his lips a muted, ashen color with a faint layer of chapping. His incredibly long eyelashes cast soft shadows over his cheekbones, trembling slightly with every breath he took.

The top two buttons of his dress shirt had come undone, exposing the elegant line of his throat and the smooth skin above his collarbone. Glazed with a faint sheen of sweat, it gave this typically cold, authoritative man a sudden, intoxicating vulnerability.

Quinn's heart skipped a beat.

She had seen him in so many different lights—the decisive, brilliant surgeon in the operating room; the distant, unapproachable guardian at home; the eloquent, commanding professor in the lecture hall. But she had never seen him like this.

Fragile. Quiet. Completely defenseless.

He was all hers.

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