Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Chapter 92

The second I hear her voice-soft, velvety, and full of fucking pity-I'm gone.

I don't wait for confirmation. I don't need to see more than the back of Brooke's head practically glued to his chest.

That bitch could've been breathing his air and I still would've turned around.

I don't wait. I don't need to. My body does the thinking for me.,

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I take a step back and shit-my heel knocks into a vase, the goddamn thing wobbles, and I watch it in slow motion like that will stop it from crashing.

It doesn't.

Clatter. Shatter. Echo.

Fuck.

I bolt.

God. My lungs burn.

My chest-fuck, my chest aches like someone cracked me open and dumped acid inside.

My eyes are leaking even before I've stopped moving, hot and heavy tears blurring my vision as the corridor splits into two and I pick one on instinct. Or maybe on pure delusional hope that I can outrun this.

My legs don't ask for directions. They just run. Left, then right, then through a hallway I swear I've never seen before.

My boots slap against marble. I catch glimpses of stunned maids, confused guards. Someone shouts my name, maybe, but it's muffled behind the roaring in my head.

I don't know where I'm going. Don't care.

All I know is I need to get out.

Away from him. Away from the sound of her whispering things I was supposed to hear.

"She made her choice."

No, fuck you. I might have write the article, but I didn't write it and whoever published it better count her last days.

But Enoch... you lied, you let me fall, you fucking left me for... for her? And now you're back with... that?

My vision's tunneling, and everything stings. My throat's tight. My chest's worse. Like something's inside, thrashing against my ribs, trying to claw its way out.

I don't stop until I do.

My foot slips on one of the polished steps. I grab the railing, barely catching myself. My breath's coming in short gasps now, stupid, humiliating hiccups choking the sobs that won't stop clawing up my throat.

Goddess... tears begin to blur my vision again.

Shit. I can't do this.

I can't-

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My shoulder hits a door,

I don't even check if it's locked-1 shove it open and stumble inside, slamming it shut behind me with a final, satisfying thud.

Silence.

My hand's shaking as I turn the old-fashioned lock. I don't even know where the hell I am, but it's quiet. Dim.

I wipe at my face, but it does nothing. My cheeks are wet again ten seconds later. My breathing sounds too loud in here. Like the walls are listening.

Great. Now I'm going insane.

I look up.

Dusty, but not forgotten. There's a thick maroon carpet under my feet and the air smells faintly of roses and linen, like someone's actually been taking care of this place.

It's not abandoned. It just feels like it's been... waiting.

I wipe my face with the back of my sleeve, blinking through the wetness. My chest still feels like a collapsing lung, but at least I can breathe in here.

Sort of.

There's a bed at the end of the room. A real one. With a carved wooden frame, lace canopy, and a bunch of decorative pillows. The kind of bed that makes you feel like you're intruding just by looking at it.

And then-

Holy shit.

There's someone on it.

My hand shoots to my mouth as I take a cautious step back, immediately regretting busting into random-ass rooms in a palace full of secrets. But the figure isn't moving aggressively. She's just lying there, her back propped up against the pillows like she belongs here.

An old woman.

Like... really old.

White hair pulled back into a braid. Wrinkled hands folded over a pale-blue knit blanket. Her eyes are open, but not alarmed.

She looks at me like I'm a squirrel that wandered into the wrong tree.

"Why are you crying, sweetheart?"

Her voice is smooth. Raspy, worn down by decades, but not unkind.

I freeze. My lips press together like maybe if I stay silent long enough, she'll just... disappear.

But she doesn't.

"Come here," she says. "Come sit. There's no shame in a girl's heartbreak."

I almost laugh. Or sob. I'm not sure which one's clawing its way out first.

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Chapter 92

Because fuck it—at this point, what else do

hurt?" she asks

at her, sniffling hard, because what the fuck else am I

on a

mission?

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throat closes up again. The tears start crawling out before

no hiding how much of a wreck I am. Mascara smudged,

1. it.

says gently, like it's not an insult,

she pats the side of her bed like it's a goddamn invitation to cry

And you know what?

Fuck it.

bottom in the royal palace. Might as well take a seat next

can hear me when I speak,

dips slightly as it down. I don't

it makes you feel like an idiot?" I mutter, keeping my eyes on the floor. "Like you knew they were going to wreck you. And you

sound only old people can get

to a new city, got a new job, new apartment, even fucking flirted with someone else. I told myself he didn't want me. That he

yet here you are," she

glimpse of him and it's like my heart forgot

say, my voice cracking. "He disappeared like he never existed. No goodbye. No explanation. Just-poof." I wipe my nose on

I

"you poor thing." She just lets me sit there and let the pain leak out of me one shattered piece

right thing. But I

but she doesn't let go. And for once, I bathed in the

a stranger.

belonged to the world more than he ever belonged to me," she says, her voice low. "He carried the weight of a kingdom on his back." she murmured, eyes on the window yet her hand

glance at her. She's really not looking at me. Her eyes are on some invisible memory in the corner of

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Chapter 92

maybe that's what we both need right now. To

a son. He inherited that same burden. Responsibility is a curse, my dear. Especially

I go quiet.

kind of responsibility did her husband needed to

her here?

again, softer now. "Sometimes love doesn't die. It

Buried so deep, you forget where you

Something inside me clenches.

don't know why her words hurt like that. Maybe because they

of. What

come back?" I ask,

me, and her smile

"But he was never really there

I swallow. Hard.

we just sit there. Two

that

Maybe love isn't enough.

that's the cruelest

how long. I

should be my therapist for goodness'

She's really warm.

shawl smells like lavender, mothballs, and

crying like I've been split open down the middle. As if everything I've

duct tape

I did was wrong," I whisper, voice so thin

publish it, and he

of my head, slow, gentle, though she's

before. Maybe she has. Maybe she's just used

hate him, and I miss him. What kind

answer, but keeps rubbing her

is steady, grounding, a goddamn

be awkward to

don't know.

she says eventually, "You're

but it's the kind

but not

dead ends. Brooke. Enoch's face. That fucking

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Chapter 92

breath stutters. I immediately

Once,

Twice.

And stops.

My whole body jerks.

say, sitting up, heart flipping so violently it

"Hey-hey, are you okay?"

hand goes slack. Her lips

something tight and sharp.

Oh fuck.

Oh freaking fuck.

She clutches her chest.

11

the echo of Dr. Lisa's voice barking

hut back in Riverstone. She taught me this,

this.

are already on her shoulders, easing her back as she starts to slide

can

gasps, nods weakly, then winces. Sweat dots her

I've seen it before in Dr. Lisa's clinic. Heart attack. "Fuck,

rug, heart

-thready. Breathing-shallow. "You're gonna be okay.

under her knees. My hands are shaking but they know what to do, like

call someone," I mutter, snatching my phone out of

pocket.

before I can even dial, her hand clamps around my

croaks, voice barely more than a rasp. "Don't ...

open. "Granny, no offense,