The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 86

The morning light peeked through the slit in the curtains, casting a thin golden line across the pillow.

Garrison woke up first.

He opened his eyes to see Sloane still fast asleep. Her face was half-buried in the pillow, her lashes resting gently against her cheeks. Her breathing was slow and steady, though the blooming marks along her neck were a stark reminder of their passionate night.

The memories of last night rushed back like a tidal wave—how he had taken her with such feral intensity until she finally drifted off, utterly exhausted, in his arms.

Garrison watched her for a long time.

Carefully, he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was feather-light as he leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead.

Sloane's eyelashes fluttered, but she didn't wake.

Just then, a harsh buzzing vibrated against the nightstand. Garrison turned over and grabbed his phone.

An unknown number.

The noise stirred Sloane. She slowly opened her eyes, staying under the covers, still half-asleep.

"Hello," Garrison answered.

"Dr. Foster," a voice rasped. It was clearly disguised—cold, robotic, like metal scraping against glass. "Enjoy your night? Ms. Taylor must be... quite exhausted."

Garrison's pupils contracted.

He shot a paranoid glance at Sloane, who was propping herself up, her eyes wide with unasked questions.

"Who the hell is this?"

The line went dead silent for a second.

Then, the terrified, sobbing voice of a child echoed through the speaker.

"Daddy! Daddy, save me!"

The blood instantly drained from Garrison's face.

"Archie—!"

The robotic voice returned. "Dr. Foster, your son is in my hands. If you want him to live... trade him for The Vitas Strain. You know exactly what I'm talking about—the only Active Culture left in your lab. Tonight at eight o'clock. The location will be sent to your phone. If you even think about calling the cops—"

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