The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 501

He leaned closer, the distance between them so narrow that Sloane could smell the faint scent of cedarwood radiating from him. His nose almost brushed hers. Their breaths tangled together. Sloane frantically arched her head back, but with her skull pressed flat against the headboard, there was nowhere left to retreat.

"A woman like this,"

His voice dropped lower, like a secret meant only for her. His breath ghosted over the shell of her ear, carrying a sickening heat. "It really was worth all the trouble it took to get you."

Sloane's tears finally spilled over. The scalding liquid slid from the corners of her eyes and soaked into her hairline.

She began shaking her head violently. The chains clattered. The raw skin on her wrists dragged against the iron cuffs, tearing open. Fresh blood snaked down her forearms, blooming into dark red stains on the stark white sheets.

"I'm not Garrison's woman!" Her voice was a ragged, sobbing rasp. "You've got the wrong person! I'm just his patient. I have nothing to do with him—please, let me go."

She stared up at him through tear-blurred eyes, begging. Her lips trembled. Her entire body shook uncontrollably, like a bird caught in a freezing torrential downpour.

A bird too exhausted to flutter its wings, left to cower in a corner and wait for death.

Grant just stared at her.

The more terrified she became, the more the dark, twisted satisfaction in his gut swelled.

It didn't matter if she was telling the truth. What mattered was that she belonged to Garrison.

Garrison cared about her.

That cold, statuesque Garrison. The flawless Garrison who never left a single vulnerability exposed, had hidden this woman away for five entire years.

That was no doctor-patient relationship.

That was a weakness.

And now, Garrison's weakness was entirely in his grasp, chained to a bed, sobbing and shivering.

With that, he pressed a kiss to her neck.

It was feather-light, yet searingly hot, like a burning ember dropped onto her bare skin.

A suffocating wave of terror, unlike anything she had ever known, swallowed her whole. Thrashing wildly against the chains, she began screaming at the top of her lungs:

"Help! Help me!"

"Is anyone there?!"

Grant methodically undid the buttons of her blouse. One. Then another. He spoke with agonizingly slow precision.

"I'd save your breath. We're in international waters. Nobody is coming to save you."