The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 377

She reacted instantly: shifting her body to the other side of the bed, pulling her knees toward her chest, acting like a cat sensing danger. Under the guise of a casual adjustment, she effectively rebuilt the physical distance between them.

Garrison's arm stopped mid-air.

He froze. The hesitation was brief, so brief that most people wouldn't have noticed, but Sloane did—the light in his eyes flickered, then extinguished, like a candle snuffed out by a sudden breeze.

Garrison pulled his arm back.

Instead, he raised his right hand toward the top of her head, his fingers relaxed and palm facing down—he wanted to ruffle her hair.

The gesture was light and restrained. Compared to his previous attempt at a hug, this was far more subtle, looking more like an elder comforting a younger relative, or a doctor encouraging his patient.

But Sloane dodged it anyway.

She tilted her head slightly to the left, just enough.

Just enough for his hand to grab nothing but air.

Garrison's hand hovered in the space just inches above her head. Those few inches suddenly transformed into an insurmountable chasm, more solid than any physical barrier.

His hand hung there for three seconds before slowly closing, finger by finger, into a fist that fell back to his side.

"Dr. Foster," Sloane looked at him, her voice calm, her gaze carrying a shallow but undeniable detachment. "Please maintain professional boundaries."

Garrison stood there, the morning sun casting a shadow over his face from behind, masking his expression...

"...I apologize."

He said those two words.

His voice wasn't loud, his tone was steady, almost impressively composed.

"Then please get some rest, Ms. Taylor. I'll be going now."

Things like that made the news all the time!

The more Sloane thought about it, the more disturbed and terrified she became. Was Dr. Foster really an animal in a white coat?

As the night deepened, Sloane's mind was a tangled mess; sleep was impossible.

Through the window, she could see the light was still on in the top floor across the courtyard. She knew that was Garrison's office.

Sloane took a deep breath, threw on a jacket, and pushed open her door...

Then, step by step, as if guided by some unseen force, she found herself standing outside Garrison's office.

The door wasn't locked; it was slightly ajar, leaking a faint sliver of light. Sloane carefully grasped the handle and nudged the door open just a crack.

But the next second, her pupils shrank in pure horror!