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

I move. Because fuck it—at this point,

you hurt?"

blink at her, sniffling hard, because what the fuck

here on a royal

mission?

(+68

throat closes up again. The tears start crawling out before I even know they're

press my palms to my face. There's no hiding how much of a wreck I am. Mascara smudged, lips trembling,

1. it.

she says gently, like it's not

hesitate, but she pats the side of her bed like it's

And you know what?

Fuck it.

well take a seat next to

she can hear me when I speak,

down. I don't get to

on the floor. "Like you knew they were going to wreck you. And you still signed the fuck up for

kind of sound only old people can get away with

fucking flirted with someone else. I told

yet here you are,"

huh? I had one glimpse of him and it's like my heart forgot the last few months even

like

he's back. Different. Cold. And sure I did

say anything cliché like "you poor thing." She just lets me sit there and

was doing the right thing. But I think I just made it easier for him to forget

a pause. Then her hand, paper-thin and warm, lands gently over mine. I flinch but she doesn't let go. And for once, I bathed in the

a stranger.

"He carried the weight of a kingdom on his back." she murmured, eyes on the window yet her hand is on mine. She's reminiscing. "While I... I carried the

me. Her eyes are on

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Chapter 92

what we both need

son. He inherited that same burden. Responsibility is a

I go quiet.

did her husband needed to carry for him to have

her here?

speaks again, softer now. "Sometimes love doesn't

you forget where you placed

Something inside me clenches.

why her words hurt like that. Maybe because they sound

of. What I

ever come back?" I

looks at me, and her smile is

"But he

I swallow. Hard.

just sit there. Two women

us, holding a silence that says

Maybe love isn't enough.

that's the

sat there for Goddess knows how long.

She should be my therapist for

She's really warm.

smells like lavender, mothballs, and expensive soap.

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

tape and spite

was wrong," I whisper, voice so thin

publish it, and he still threw

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

Maybe she's just used to broken things clinging

choke. "I fucking hate him, and I

keeps rubbing her hand over

to her chest, and her heartbeat is steady, grounding, a

to do with

don't know.

dumb," she says eventually,

the kind that tastes like salt

that is peaceful, but not

dead ends. Brooke. Enoch's

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Chapter 92

breath stutters.

Once,

Twice.

And stops.

My whole body jerks.

say, sitting up, heart flipping so violently it knocks the

"Hey-hey, are you okay?"

flutter. Her hand goes slack. Her lips part, and her

something tight and sharp.

Oh fuck.

Oh freaking fuck.

She clutches her chest.

11

the echo of Dr.

in Riverstone. She taught me this, I should know

this.

her shoulders, easing her back as she

Shit-Granny, can you

Sweat

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

heart hammering in

Breathing-shallow. "You're gonna be okay. I've

pillow and shove it under her knees. My hands are

someone," I mutter, snatching my phone

pocket.

even dial, her hand clamps around my wrist.

croaks, voice barely more

stare at her, mouth open. "Granny, no offense, but you're literally dying