The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 513

His breathing was shallow and erratic, as if his chest might stop rising at any second.

Sloane fell to her knees before him, her hands hovering in the air, terrified to even touch him.

"Garrison—look at me—open your eyes and look at me—"

She screamed for him hoarsely, her voice trembling violently as tears spilled out, splashing against the back of his hand. His fingers twitched—just slightly, the tip of his index finger lifting. It looked like an attempt to respond, but it could have just been an involuntary muscle spasm.

"Dr. Foster?! Hold on!"

"Boss? Boss!"

Seeing him in such a state, Cassandra and Wyatt felt their hearts shatter as they repeatedly called his name.

Just then, the wail of sirens echoed across the water.

The deep, blaring horn cut through the wind and crashing waves, growing louder by the second. Heavy footsteps and shouts soon thundered across the deck—the Coast Guard had boarded the ship.

Pinned to the wall in handcuffs, Grant looked through the small porthole and saw the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the dark water.

Dozens of Coast Guard speedboats had the vessel completely surrounded. Searchlights swept in from all directions, illuminating the deck as brightly as day.

Armed officers were climbing the boarding ladders, the reflective strips on their tactical vests flashing in the light.

Watching the scene outside, a small smirk curled on Grant's lips.

It was over.

The realization pierced his brain like a shard of ice.

He had lost.

And not just tonight—he had probably lost ten years ago. He just refused to accept it.

Only this time, there was no mockery, no madness, and no trace of the bitter jealousy he had harbored for ten years. There was only an empty, profound sense of relief.

Then, he raised the gun and pressed it firmly under his own jaw.

Bang.

Grant's body jerked backward, slamming against the wall before slowly sliding down, leaving a thick smear of blood on the metal panel.

He slumped on the floor, his head tilted to the side. His eyes remained open, staring at the flashing police lights through the small window as the life completely faded from his pupils.

Garrison was still shielding Sloane. Frozen in place, he held the protective stance with his arms wide, his body rigid as a battered shield.

Then, he let out a violent cough. A mouthful of warm blood spewed from his lips, splattering across Sloane's shirt. The heat of it burned through her clothes, leaving her utterly paralyzed.

He swayed once, then again, before slowly collapsing to the floor like a felled tree.