The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 29

Garrison woke up first the next morning.

His disciplined internal clock woke him up at exactly six-thirty. The heavy blackout curtains kept the room dim, with only slivers of golden morning light leaking in. He shifted slightly, feeling a soft warmth against his arm.

Sloane was still asleep.

She lay on her side facing away from him, her body curled up defensively.

Garrison's arm was still draped across her waist, pulling her loosely against him—a possessive hold from last night's coerced intimacy. Somehow, he had actually fallen asleep like this.

He didn't get up right away. He lay there, his gaze lingering on her. Her robe had slipped off her shoulder, revealing pale skin marred by glaringly obvious finger marks that stood out in the morning light.

A complicated wave of guilt and regret washed over him.

He was never a violent man—especially not with her. He always prided himself on maintaining basic respect and boundaries. But last night's explosive rage and predatory dominance... it wasn't him.

Garrison slowly retracted his arm. Sloane seemed to sense the shift in temperature; her eyelashes fluttered and she frowned in her sleep, but she didn't wake up.

He slipped out of bed silently, walked into the living room, and made a call.

It was to Dorothy, the housekeeper at the Foster Estate.

"Dorothy, it's me. Make some nutritious but light soup today, and some easy-to-digest pastries. Bring them to my apartment before noon."

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