The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 564

"Recently, Vitas-1, the highly anticipated new cancer drug that hit the market just a month ago, has been linked to severe adverse reactions."

From the television, the female news anchor's voice was heavy and restrained.

"Over seventy percent of patients nationwide have experienced varying degrees of liver damage and bone marrow suppression. Several patients have already been admitted to the ICU due to intracranial hemorrhaging and severe infections. Today, deeply emotional families gathered at the Riverdale University research labs to confront the development team."

On the screen, a female reporter stood outside The Haven Medical Center. Behind her, a surging crowd of distraught families held up banners. Some were crying, while others holding signs that read 'Give Us Back Our Loved Ones' tried to storm the hospital gates. Security guards linked arms to form a human barricade, but the scene was pure chaos.

Gripping her microphone, the reporter spoke with rapid clarity:

"The Drug Safety & Enforcement Administration has dispatched a special investigative task force. However, according to insiders, the investigation has stalled—no regulatory violations have been found in the raw materials, production process, or packaging procedures."

"Meanwhile, a coalition of patients' families and medical professionals has begun calling for the release of Vitas-1's core developer, Garrison Foster, urging him to step forward and resolve this crisis. As you may recall, Foster is currently being held at the Riverside Detention Center for illegal human testing related to the 'Long Night' project..."

The television was violently switched off.

Lawrence Sterling hurled his teacup at the floor. White porcelain shattered under the fluorescent lights, sending shards flying. Tea splashed across the tiles, slowly seeping into the grout lines and creeping toward the edge of his polished leather shoes.

He leaned back in his office chair, chest heaving violently. A vein throbbed at his temple, and his white hair seemed to tremble under the glare of the lights. He had spent his entire life projecting an image of calm, gentle composure—a man always in control. He had never lost it like this before.

Outside the window, the newly budding branches looked like the arms of those protesters, reaching out for him one by one.

Just then, a knock came at the door.

Sterling didn't turn around.