Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Chapter 90

Chapter 90

The palace gates slam shut behind me.

0

Not metaphorically. Not in a poetic, symbolic way. No, they literally fucking slam. Cold iron. Loud clang. And me, standing outside as some kicked-out groupie who dared to dream too high.

Fuck.

My ears are ringing too loud from how hard I was sobbing just seconds ago. My knees are shaking, gravel biting into my skin. as I finally stand. I don't even brush myself off. What's the fucking point?

Sobbing on the palace steps though a goddamn idiot while two oversized wolves watched with blank expressions. One of them finally tells me, "Your things will be sent to your company. You should leave before you draw more attention."

Right. Because getting thrown out as a piece of trash wasn't humiliating enough-I should also worry about how I look.

I wipe my nose on the back of my hand. I taste blood in my mouth-I must've bitten my lip when I hit the ground. My throat's raw, as if I swallowed glass, and there's still that lump in there that won't go away no matter how many times I swallow.

I push myself up. My palms are dirty. Dress wrinkled. I'm trembling, but I smile like I'm not dying inside. Because that's what we do, right? We perform. We survive. We fake it.

Inside my head, something shifts.

I hear her.

Eris.

My wolf, the only one who's ever stood by me, the one who let me cling to her when I had no one else. She's quiet for a beat, and I stupidly think maybe she's gonna comfort me or say something vaguely helpful.

She doesn't.

"I can't believe you did that to him."

Her voice is laced with disappointment so sharp I flinch.

"Eris-"

"He was right,” she says bitterly. "Mates don't do that shit to each other."

And just like that, she's gone. Her presence flickers and disappears as someone

shut off a switch. Nothing. Not even static. She's blocked me out.

I'm alone.

Again.

More alone than I've ever been.

I swallow the lump in my throat so hard it burns.

I take a taxi back. Not even sure how I remembered to call one or where I found

the goddamn strength to climb in. I must look like shit because the driver doesn't talk. Good. I'm not in the mood to pretend I'm holding it together.

"WolfNet Media HQ," I whisper.

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God, I should run. Hide. Dig a hole and rot in it. But I don't. Because I'm a journalist. And journalists show up-even when their world is burning.

The moment the automatic doors to the company building slide open, I get hit with-

Confetti.

Fucking confetti.

“YOU GUYS! SHE'S HERE!” someone yells from the other side of the lobby. I blink, confused, as a bunch of my coworkers flood toward me as though I'm some war hero returning from battle.

There's champagne being poured, cupcakes on desks, and a big-ass sign that says CONGRATS ON GOING VIRAL, QUEEN!

My blood runs cold.

No. No fucking way.

Liam appears in the middle of it all, his tie loose around his neck, blazer half-on like he got dragged into the celebration five minutes before I arrived. He spots me

and smiles, the first genuine grin I've ever seen on that man's face.

"Well, well," he says, raising a glass in my direction. "The star of the show arrives."

I don't move.

I can't.

Liam's voice cuts through the chaos. "The genius behind the most talked-about exposé of the year." His smile is smug, arms wide like he's about to hand me an Oscar. "Taryn fucking Sinclair. Holy shit, you've made us a fortune."

I'm frozen there on the welcome mat while coworkers I barely know start crowding around, clapping me on the back, handing me drinks, spewing praise as though I didn't just burn down my whole life.

I barely catch the glass of champagne someone pushes into my hand. I don't drink it.

My fingers are numb.

"That article," one guy gushes-Josh, I think? From finance? "It's fucking everywhere! Front page on three national werewolf outlets. Hell, even some

got interviews lined up, brand deals sniffing around, ad revenue tripled overnight. You basically made this

I can't breathe.

King's camera trauma? His media blackout? The meltdown at the Maldives hotel? All of it. You gave the world

dry. Like sandpaper

I nod.

what else am I supposed

you're all dragging is the man I love, and

and I

Yeah. Didn't think so.

glance across the room and

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arms crossed tight over her chest, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. Her eyes seet mine, and at feels as though someone just shoved me down a

sanile. She

just shudes her bead-slow, disappointed-and looks

it guts t

Because she knows

a damn puppy. When he pressed kisses to my jaw and trand to build me a damn blanket

she thinks 1 betrayed him. Maybe

Maybe I did

the article

Beast Behind the Crown: The Lycan

By Taryn Sinclair.

name is burned into the front like a fucking signature on a

should've deleted this

should've never written it in the

their viral metrics and champagne up their asses. But my voice is trapped under

you even get that info?" another coworker asks, awe in her

I don't answer.

I can't

better than anyone. I knew he flinched at camera flashes because they reminded him of the explosion that wiped out his family. I knew he couldn't sleep unless he heard my heartbeat. I knew the sound he made when he laughed too hard and how he clenched his fists

And I used it.

didn't mean to-even if the version I

words to destroy him.

tablet. The

want to

set the

air.

Fuck.

think I need

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how fucking quiet the city can be until

apartment.

yet. I'm just standing in front of the damn door like a loser,

not to cry in front of Liam fucking Calloway, who is currently juggling my

My luggage. My boxes. My sad, thrown-out-of-the- palace belongings. The final nail in the "Taryn, go fuck yourself" coffin. "Here," Liam says, not even winded, as he drops the last duffel bag on the welcome mat of my tiny apartment unit. His sleeves are rolled up, his hair messy from the wind, and his shirt clings to his chest from the three shots he definitely should not have taken before offering to drive me home. But hey-this is the Free City. It runs on caffeine,

trauma.

good?" he asks, watching me like I might

lie through my teeth.

like you're about

worst

up and get inside

daddy."

lock clicks under my palm, and I push the door open. Same peeling

walls. Same creaky floorboard by the kitchen counter. My welcome mat still says Bite Me, which is both ironic and tragically

here, I was still stupid. Still hopeful. Still wanting to

to Enoch with his stupid bed hair and his warm hands on my waist,

like it was the

except how to not fucking

of the bags inside, ignoring how my throat closes

sweater of his at the top-black, oversized, the one he used to wrap

like a

God, I'm pathetic.

up fast, refusing to

everyone spent the day smiling at me like I didn't

snap

want to talk either. Just sat there

me the promotion of a lifetime like it was

voice

that hurt more than it

now, stepping in behind me and

"Don't tell me you didn't pay your bill while you were

laugh. "I was busy being emotionally

the lights with

his neck. He looks too casual for someone I once thought was an absolute dick when we first

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Chapter 90

bags and staying late

why I'm

sarcasm and critique and brooding glares

version of him- quiet, helpful,

off.

the couch and stumble to the fridge, opening it just to

Of course. Just

"Wine?" Liam asks.

like I need

the bottle. "Too bad. Wine