The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 276

The slanted sunlight spilled across Garrison's pale, striking, almost sculptural face as he slept.

His thick lashes cast small, fan-shaped shadows over his cheekbones.

Quinn stopped right in front of him. Holding the glass of water, she moved with excruciating care, her heels making barely more than a breathless whisper against the floorboards. She leaned over and set the glass on the coffee table, the bottom clicking softly against the wood with a sharp, suppressed sound.

She didn't stand back up. Instead, she crouched in front of him, her knees nearly brushing the tips of his shoes.

She tilted her head up to look at him, her gaze tracing from the space between his brows, down to his cheekbones, and settling on the scabbed wound at the corner of his mouth.

Her eyes moved agonizingly slow, tracking every detail as if physically tracing a priceless treasure she could never own.

Her usually elegant, composed expression shifted, stripping away all the dignified, proper masks that belonged to a "sister." What remained underneath was her truest face—a look of naked, consuming greed.

A second later, Garrison's eyes snapped open without warning.

His amber eyes quickly focused, and upon recognizing the person in front of him, his dark, sharp brows furrowed together.

"Quinn, what are you doing?"

Quinn startled. She had no idea what had woken him up; she had been so quiet, so incredibly careful...

"N-Nothing..." Quinn quickly grabbed the water glass from the table behind her. "Garrison, I brought you some water."

"You were sleeping, so I didn't want to wake you."

Garrison's gaze lingered on her undeniably flushed cheeks for a few seconds before he took the glass. His tone was noticeably distant.

"Right."

Quinn's hand froze in midair. She hadn't managed to pull it back, nor did she dare reach further forward. She just hovered there, the handkerchief suspended less than an inch from his throat.

"Quinn, what exactly are you trying to do?" Garrison's deep voice resonated, carrying a natural, heavy authority.

"I... I..." Quinn stammered, momentarily lost for words. She hadn't actually been plotting anything right then; she genuinely just wanted to wipe the water off his neck.

But hearing the accusation in his voice made a wave of inexplicable grievance well up in her chest.

"Garrison, what are you thinking? I was just trying to dry your shirt!"

"Don't think I don't know exactly what goes on in your head, Quinn," Garrison fired back without an ounce of hesitation.

He hadn't forgotten the last time in the hospital, when she had stolen a kiss from him while he was asleep. That was the moment he completely understood the warning Sloane had once given him—Quinn's feelings for him were not the feelings of a sister.