Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Chapter 68

Chapter 68

I'm going to throw up.

Not the cute kind, where you get a little queasy and recover with a sip of water. No, this is the full-blown, holy-shit-l-might- die kind of nausea that sits deep in your gut and reminds you that you might just be the dumbest bitch alive.

Because here I am, sitting in a car outside the Imperial Palace, wearing a fucking mask and a dress that costs more than my rent, about to walk straight into the lion's den.

Liam exhales sharply from the passenger seat. "You're thinking too hard."

1 glare at him. "And you're breathing too loud."

Zoe bounces in the back seat, practically vibrating with excitement. "Are you guys seeing this? It's like something out of a fucking fairytale."

A fairytale where the big bad wolf actually eats you, but sure.

The grand palace looms before us, all marble and gold, its high archways illuminated by chandeliers so massive they could crush a man if they fell. Beyond the entrance, masked figures glide through the open doors, the scent of expensive perfume and power thick in the night air.

I grip the hem of my dress, my pulse hammering.

This is it. My way in.

This is how I see him.

My fingers tighten around the edges of my mask as the driver pulls up to the entrance. A valet opens the door, and I step out into a world that doesn't belong to

me.

Masked guests sweep past, their laughter soft, their voices tinged with arrogance. Every inch of this place screams excess. Gilded staircases, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, men in tailored suits with sharp smiles, women in gowns that cling to their bodies like second skin.

I feel the stares before I hear the whispers.

"She doesn't belong here."

"Who is she?"

"Oh, look-it's her."

Her.

I don't have to look to know who that voice belongs to.

Lady Celeste fucking Vaelor.

I barely turn before she steps into my path, her lips curling in amusement. "Didn't realize they were letting in beggars tonight."

I smile sweetly. "Didn't realize royalty was so desperate for attention."

Celeste's expression flickers. Just for a second. Then she leans in, her heavily jeweled hand brushing my shoulder like I'm something she accidentally touched in a sewer. "You must be lost, darling," she purrs. "This isn't the kind of event where..... what do you call it? Rats are welcome."

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I tilt my head. "That's funny, because I was just about to say the same thing to you."

Zoe makes a choking sound beside me, barely containing her laughter. Liam mutters something under his breath, but I don't take my eyes off Celeste.

She's beautiful, in the way venomous things are-dripping in rubies and wealth, her blood–red gown scandalously fitted, her golden mask catching the glow of the chandeliers. Every inch of her screams privilege, power, and pure, unfiltered bitch.

But it's the way she smirks, the way her chin tilts in quiet amusement, that sets me on edge.

She's planning something.

realize it too late..

One second, I'm standing there, smug and victorious. The next, cold liquid splashes down my front.

I freeze.

Gasps echo around us, the music momentarily faltering.

The scent of wine-rich, expensive, staining-fills my nose. It drips down my dress, pooling at my feet.

Celeste blinks innocently. "Oops."

Oh, she's dead.

Before I can rip her apart in front of high society, a hand clamps around my wrist.

"Come with me. A low voice murmurs. I turn to see the same exact man that keep saving me against this girl. I'm honestly beginning to feel annoyed at him. Beta Jacob.

His grip is firm, unyielding, dragging me away before I can make a public murder

scene.

I yank against him, but he doesn't budge. "Let me go."

His jaw is tight. "Shut up and move."

He leads me through an empty corridor, away from the watchful eyes of the ballroom, until we reach a small room lit only by a dim lamp. A velvet box sits waiting on a table.

Jacob releases me and nods toward it. "Wear this."

1 frown. "What?"

He doesn't explain. Just crosses his arms, waiting.

With a glare, I step forward and lift the lid.

My breath catches.

Inside is the most breathtaking gown I have ever seen-a midnight-blue creation laced with silver thread, adorned with tiny shimmering stars that seem to glow under the light. The fabric is impossibly soft, impossibly perfect, impossibly... Imperial.

The moment my fingers graze the gown, a shiver runs down my spine.

Midnight blue. Silver threading. Celestial embroidery that seems to move under the light.

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just a dress-it's a fucking statement. A Royal Family exclusive.

something

life on

of it far heavier than the silk and thread should allow. I should rip

orders

at Jacob, my throat tight. "Why do you

answer. Just turns toward

without

sharply, my fingers

about this feels...

I'm walking straight into

But it doesn't matter.

Because Enoch is here.

I'm not leaving

The material slinks into place like a second skin, molding to my curves in a way that feels almost inappropriate. The

Goddamn it.

myself

trap. I know it

if they think I'm walking into it meekly, they're in for a

*

ballroom is a predator's

and polished boots. The air hums with murmurs, the press of nobility and power suffocating in its extravagance. The women are elegant statues, draped in wealth, their eyes trained on the figure standing at the top of the grand

Enoch.

slams against my ribs, the impact so sudden it nearly

stumbling.

there like a goddamn phantom, taller, broader,

and gold suit tailored to perfection. A mask intricately carved,

face, obscuring the

know it's

I feel it.

around him, like

fucking look at

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Bastard.

my nose, willing my hands

my steps light,

A cat-and-mouse game.

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the crowd, keeping just out of reach, my

he turns, I'm already gone, slipping between

ghost in the sea

A game of near-misses.

flicker of movement-my pulse spikes.

Gone.

closer-my skin prickles. I

Empty air.

between us, this invisible threads

And then-

gaze locks onto

catches. My lips curve into a

if you

The ballroom stills.

in the air,

to ask

when the Alpha King

women gather, standing still,

beside me. He leans in, his

tradition dictates you

Like hell I will.

my mind catches up to my body,

step into

shut up

and wait."

beat of silence.

start, growing into a hum, spreading like wildfire. A

Omega-defying centuries of tradition.

heart pounds so hard I swear it's trying to claw its way out of my chest,

stay planted. My chin lifts. My arm extends-palm up, wrist bent elegantly. I'm commanding him to dance with me, not

every gaze in the room bears down on

Including his.

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tension stretches. The air

And then-

He moves.

ripple through the crowd as Enoch descends the

through the space between

footstep is deliberate.

I don't breathe.

don't move.

his gloved fingers brush against mine, sending a

veins.

pressing a slow,

A brand. A warning.

pulls me into

bodies align, the world tilts. Every step

follow.

fingers are cold. It's the first thing

my hand into snow and left it there,

the burn that

it's not snow. It's

is tight, his fingers burning

he wears. The back

brushed it,

bones.