The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 372

The moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating its mottled fur—

Black and brown intertwined like a carelessly spilled palette. A tortoiseshell cat. It lay there, its tail hanging off the edge of the sill, the tip slightly curled and twitching. Its eyes were amber, glowing eerily in the moonlight like a phantom, watching her unblinkingly.

It was it again.

Quinn recognized those eyes.

It was this exact cat that had been curled up in Sloane's arms that night, staring at her with those same unnatural eyes.

Then it had pounced down, landing right in front of her, making her stumble backward—only to slip and crash hard onto the floor.

The root of all this misery lay in those amber eyes!

A scorching rage erupted from the depths of her chest, burning her throat dry and making her fingertips tingle.

She had nothing left—her health, her love, her glamorous future—all gone. Yet this beast, this filthy animal, dared to show up in front of her, looking at her as if she were some kind of sick joke!

She wanted to strangle it.

Quinn walked toward the cat. Her steps were slow and deliberate, as if trying not to startle a bird. Her hands were already raised, fingers curled into claws. She could even imagine the sensation of crushing that soft fur in her grip, picturing those amber eyes bulging from asphyxiation—

The tortoiseshell cat stood up.

It stretched lazily, extending its front paws while arching its back into a graceful curve, before leaping gracefully off the sill and landing on the stairs. It glanced back at her and let out a sound.

"Meow."

The sound was soft and light, carrying an almost mocking affection.

Then it darted down the stairs.

It was waiting for her.

That realization fueled the fire in Quinn's chest even more. It was waiting for her—a cat, an animal, waiting with this condescending posture, treating her like a toy being lured step by step into a trap like a moth to a flame!

She was furious. Ignoring the sharp gravel piercing her soles and the warm liquid trickling down her spine as the wounds on her arm tore open from running, she lunged.

She lunged forward.

"Bang."

The next second, a dull, short sound came from behind her, like someone punching a bag of cotton.

Quinn froze for a second.