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

brand deals sniffing around, ad revenue tripled overnight. You

I can't breathe.

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

is dry. Like sandpaper

I nod.

else am

the

of the article, and I

Yeah. Didn't think so.

across the

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Chapter 90

disapproving line. Her eyes seet mine, and at feels as though someone just shoved me

does sanile. She doesn't

just shudes her

it guts t

Because she knows

saw us. In the Maldives. When Enoch danced around me like a damn puppy. When he pressed kisses to my jaw and trand to build me a

she thinks 1 betrayed him.

Maybe I did

passes me a tablet with the article

Crown: The Lycan King's

By Taryn Sinclair.

name is burned into the front like a

should've deleted this

should've never written it in the

Tell them all to shove their viral metrics and champagne up their asses. But my voice

that info?" another coworker asks, awe in her voice. "It's like you

I don't answer.

I can't

that wiped out his family. I knew he couldn't sleep unless he heard my heartbeat.

And I used it.

mean to-even if the

words to destroy him.

the tablet. The words blur. My vision

want to throw

set the

need air.

Fuck.

I need to

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ter 90

fucking quiet the city can be

apartment.

in it yet. I'm just standing in front of the damn door like

trying not to cry in front of Liam

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.

trauma.

watching me like I

lie through

like you're about to

worst

"Shut up and get inside before someone mistakes you for

daddy."

I push the door open. Same peeling paint

floorboard by the kitchen counter. My welcome mat still says Bite Me, which is

here, I was still stupid. Still hopeful. Still

bed hair and his warm hands on my waist,

name like it was the

he remembers everything except how

how my throat closes up when I

top-black,

like a

God, I'm pathetic.

and I blink up fast, refusing

smiling at me like I didn't

snap if she said the wrong word. Not that

to talk either. Just sat there like a mannequin, smiling

me the promotion of a lifetime like it was a

had said, voice too soft, too understanding, too not

more

freezing," he mutters now, stepping in

me you didn't pay your bill

busy being emotionally manipulated and borderline kidnapped. Give

lights with

too casual for someone I

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Chapter 90

bags and staying late and not saying I told

why

does sarcasm and critique and brooding glares

plants. This version of him- quiet, helpful,

off.

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

Empty. Of course. Just like

"Wine?" Liam asks.

look like I need

bottle. "Too bad.