The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 523

"*Cough, cough, cough!*"

Suddenly, a muffled cough wracked Garrison's frame.

The sudden movement triggered a sharp spike of pain from his broken ribs. His brow furrowed deeply, and a suppressed groan slipped from his lips.

Sloane jumped up in a panic. "Should I go get the doctor?!"

"No..." Garrison's breathing grew rapid and ragged, his voice trembling slightly. "It's just... my chest feels a bit tight... I'm fine..."

"Don't panic. I'm right here..."

"Just breathe... slowly..."

Sloane leaned over, placing her hand gently on his chest. She followed the rhythm of his breathing, softly smoothing her hand downward to help him catch his breath. Her touch was incredibly light and gentle.

"Slowly... just breathe..."

Her fingertips brushed the exposed skin just below his collarbone.

With her palm pressed against his chest, she could feel the vibration of his heartbeat through his skin. *Thump, thump.* The steady rhythm slowly began to synchronize with the painful, aching thud of her own heart.

"Don't be afraid... breathe slowly..."

Outside the glass window, Josh stood completely still.

His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly forward. He had no idea how long he had been standing there.

He had watched her dab his lips with the cotton swab. He had watched her lean over to soothe his chest. And he had seen the look in her eyes as her fingers rested against his skin—an overflowing, desperate kind of heartache.

That look... Josh recognized it all too well.

It was exactly the same look she had given Garrison all those years ago, sitting by his bed in the medical bay of that helicopter while he lay unconscious.

Josh lowered his gaze. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, slowly clenching them into tight fists at his sides.

"Grant Lennox is already dead, so they're pinning everything on him! When we investigated the offshore company, we scrubbed Grant's social circles, communication records, and bank statements. He had zero connections to Quinn Foster. Not even a mutual acquaintance."

"I thought the same thing. So I went back and re-checked the satellite communication logs from that ship."

The subordinate on the other end lowered his voice.

"Before we intercepted them, the encrypted satellite phone on board made three calls to an overseas number. The registered owner of that number has been dead for three years, but the billing account was still active. I had the tech team run traces all night, and we finally identified the person paying the bills. It's a woman."

Wyatt's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.

He stayed silent for a moment, his gaze drifting through the glass windows down the hall toward the ICU. He suddenly remembered that right before Quinn died, she had been seen meeting a woman at a coffee shop. A witness had seen the whole thing, but no security footage had ever been found.

"What's the woman's name?"

"Vanessa Vaughan."