The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 130

Garrison didn't immediately register the words.

"What do you mean, you?"

"The person who put the drugs in that glass of water... was me."

The cafe was so violently quiet they could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

Garrison stared at Jackson, his pupils shrinking.

"What did you just say?"

Jackson looked up, his eyes so bloodshot they looked ready to bleed. He opened his mouth, his voice so hoarse it was barely a whisper.

"Garrison, I wronged you, and I wronged Sloane. That gala years ago... I found out it wasn't just a regular party, but an elite graduation gala. Everyone there was either outrageously wealthy or a rising star. Sloane went as a guest performer, and I..."

He lowered his head, utterly incapable of meeting Garrison's eyes.

"I was obsessed with greed. I wanted her to latch onto someone powerful, to marry into a good family so she'd never have to struggle again. I... I spiked her water, hoping she would..."

He couldn't finish the sentence.

All the color drained from Garrison's face, inch by agonizing inch.

He thought back to that night.

He remembered taking a sip from the glass, collapsing into her arms, and the absolute panic written across the young girl's face.

He remembered pinning her against that massive bed, the sheer terror and desperate struggle in her eyes.

He remembered waking up the next morning to find her lying beside him, her gaze hollow, helpless, and drowning in a suffocating wave of despair she couldn't hide.

He had spent the last decade entirely convinced it was a trap she had set.

He believed it was all a perfectly calculated, flawlessly executed performance.

Because of that, every time the memory surfaced over the years, a sickening wave of disgust had washed over him—disgust for her, and disgust for that night.

But now...

Because even if she had told him, he never would have believed her.

So, for all these years, she had simply endured it. Endured him weaponizing the filthiest assumptions against her, endured the vicious rumors, and endured the sneers of everyone around her.

Garrison opened his eyes, staring at the cup of tea that had now gone completely cold.

"Get out," he said, his voice terrifyingly soft.

Jackson looked up at him, frantically trying again. "Garrison, I swear everything I said is the truth. Sloane loves you! I heard she even went to Antarctica just to find that White Microbe for you... Can you please just wait for her to come back, and then you guys can—"

"Get the hell out!"

Jackson slowly climbed to his feet, stumbling slightly before grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself. He looked at Garrison, hesitating as if he had more to say, but ultimately turned and began a slow, shuffling walk toward the door.

Just then, Garrison's icy, violently authoritative voice struck him in the back.

"Jackson."

He didn't call him 'Father,' and he didn't call him 'Mr. Taylor.' Hearing Garrison address him by his first name sent a violent shudder down Jackson's spine.