The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 296

Garrison looked up and saw the person standing in the doorway.

The woman was in her thirties, her hair cut into a sharp, chin-length bob. A few loose strands were casually tucked behind her ear, framing her striking features.

Her lips had a sharp, confident curve. As she smiled, she revealed a set of perfectly straight teeth, exuding an effortless, outgoing charm.

Tall and striking, she wore a sharply tailored dark gray blazer and carried a leather briefcase embossed with the Department of Health crest.

Garrison frowned slightly in surprise. "Vanessa?"

Vanessa Vaughan had been a prominent figure back at the university, one of Professor Lawrence Sterling's most prized students. Technically, since she enrolled before Garrison, she had always been his senior.

After graduation, instead of heading into hospitals or research institutes like Garrison, she followed Lawrence into government work. She was now the Deputy Director of Science and Education at the Department of Health, while simultaneously serving as the Chief Medical Officer for the Emergency Response Office. Put simply, she was Lawrence's right hand.

"What, since when do you play the cello?" Vanessa's gaze drifted over him, landing on the snapped instrument behind his back. Her smirk deepened. "I had no idea."

Garrison didn't offer an explanation. He closed the cello case, latched it shut, and leaned it upright against the inside of his desk. Done, he stood up and turned to face her, his expression returning to its usual composed and polite state.

"Vanessa, what brings you all the way out here?"

Vanessa swept her eyes over the trashed office—the scattered files, the overturned chairs, the shattered ceramic pot, and the skewed desk. Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a flash of annoyance. "Looks like this place got turned upside down again?"

Garrison looked at her and offered a slight nod. "I'm sorry for troubling Mr. Sterling, then. And thank you, Vanessa."

"Don't mention it."

Vanessa waved a hand dismissively, giving him a look that said don't be a stranger. "You're still his favorite student! Back when you won the Nobel, he was so thrilled he told literally everyone who walked into his office, 'Garrison Foster is my student.' For weeks, the rest of us couldn't get him to shut up about it."

Hearing that, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Garrison's mouth. It might have been momentary comfort, or perhaps just self-deprecation.

"Let's chat outside, Vanessa," he said, looking at the disaster zone and shutting the door with a grimace. "There's... nowhere to sit in here."