The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 409

"You never call unless you need a favor, my boy! Since you're asking, how could I refuse?"

Garrison let out a quiet breath of relief, his tone polite.

"Thank you, Professor. I'll see you at our usual spot tomorrow at three."

*

The next day.

The door of the teahouse swung open, the wind chimes above jingling a crisp melody.

A man and a woman walked in. The man wore a sharply tailored dark gray suit, his graying hair combed back flawlessly, his sharp, observant eyes framed by gold-rimmed glasses. The woman, around forty, wore a navy blue dress paired with a beige trench coat. Her short hair barely brushed her ears, and the fine laugh lines around her eyes only added to her commanding, approachable aura rather than making her look older.

Garrison stood up from the table, stepping forward to greet them with a slight, respectful bow.

"Lawrence, Vanessa. You made it."

Lawrence gave him a look, humming an acknowledgment as he walked straight to the table and sat down.

Vanessa Vaughan trailed behind, patting Garrison's shoulder casually as she passed. It was a familiar, affectionate gesture that spoke of their long history in the lab together.

The three of them settled around the table.

Garrison took the teapot, first rinsing the cups, then adding the tea leaves. He poured the boiling water in a slow, steady stream. The leaves unfurled in the heat, filling the private room with the delicate, soothing scent of orchids.

He picked up the serving pitcher, pouring a cup for Lawrence first, then Vanessa, and finally himself.

"It's hot out. Have some tea to cool down."

He looked up, staring into the golden, crystal-clear surface of the premium oolong tea. A few leaves rested quietly at the bottom, still as autumn leaves. He ran his finger slowly around the rim of the cup, as if trying to gather the courage for what he was about to say.

"I asked you here today because I need a massive favor..."

He paused, looking straight at Lawrence. His gaze was heavy with the weight of a secret he had guarded for years. "Lawrence, it's a long story, but the truth is... my wife, Sloane Taylor, didn't die."

The air in the teahouse instantly went dead.

Vanessa's teacup froze halfway to her mouth.

She turned to look at Garrison, her eyebrows shooting up, her lips parting in an expression of shock so perfectly executed it looked almost rehearsed.

"What? How is that possible? Didn't she... didn't she pass away during the Antarctic expedition five years ago?"