Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

CHAPTER 125

"What are you guys still standing there for?" The CEO who informed Jacob walks over in his Italian accent, shooing us away. My eyes widen as I turned towards him. That means I am not the one Jacob meant when he said he has found a lead? It wasn't me?

Itum to Ser and my breathing became ragged as we both turned around after a small bow of courtesy. Shit. Holy fucking shit. He actually hasn't caught on. I turn to Seraphina who is walking straight ahead looking like she doesn't have anything to hide. She's amazing at this, wow.

The name on the office door isn't mine.

Teresa Savelli. Temporary associate. Boring-ass desk, Squeaky clean company. I walk over to the bathroom, ready to puke my guts out from what just happened back there. That is not something I expected to be in my Bingo card.

I press my back against the bathroom wall and breathe through my nose.

Cold tiles. Cold floor. Cold sweat.

"Fuck."

Seraphina leans against the sink like she owns it-arms crossed, Louboutin heels locked, lips pursed like she's about to spit out something nasty but expensive.

"You good?" she asks. Not gentle, not warm. Just impatient.

"No," I mutter. "I'm about three seconds away from vomiting my soul into the sink. So, y'know, peachy"

She doesn't laugh. She never laughs. She sighs and tosses me a mini Evian from her handbag like I'm a damn stray.

"You're Teresa Savelli," she snaps. "Temp secretary. Milan. No pack. No wolf. No history."

She walks up, closes the distance like we're about to make out or kill each other, and hisses, "And you definitely don't know what a fucking Lycan is, got it?"

I nod slowly. My heart thuds like it's trying to crawl out of my ribs. There's a baby inside me. A tiny little heartbeat under mine, echoing like a ghost every time I stop long enough to listen. Ser leaves to guard the office door outside, just in case another thing comes up.

I'm a bit unlucky so I wouldn't even argue with her about that.

I splash cold water on my face again. The marble sink looks like a damn museum piece-clean, white, perfect. As if it doesn't belong to someone who ran from a King.

I stare at my reflection. My hair's tied up in a low bun. I'm wearing pencil skirts now. Nude lipstick. Fucking kitten heels. No one would believe I used to stitch open wounds while a half-dead Lycan king growled in my ear.

"Taryn Sinclair is dead,” I whisper to my reflection. "She died the night he looked me in the eyes as he told me I... wasn't worth anything any longer."

The mirror doesn't argue.

I place both hands on my stomach. Still flat. Still invisible. But it's there. I feel it. Something alive, something mine. Something his.

Fuck, it's still baffling how I'm carrying his baby right now. Inside me.

"I swear to God, I'm trying," I whisper to it. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but I'm trying to keep you safe."

Seraphina knocks on the stall door like she's over it. "Clock's ticking, Mother Teresa. You've got a whole-ass executive suite waiting to see if you can alphabetize without crying."

I flip her off through the mirror and grab my ID badge from the sink.

It reads Teresa Savelli - Temp Marketing Assistant.

The lie fits like a noose.

My office is small but stupidly pretty. Modern glass desk. Fresh orchids. A view of

a canal where a couple argues in rapid Italian as if it's foreplay.

On the desk is a welcome card.

Benvenuta, Teresa! It's got a damn smiley face. Kill me.

My tasks for the day are even worse: transcribe a finance report, update press kits, and edit a newsletter that sounds like it was written by a caffeinated robot. No scandal. No danger. Just quarterly projections and marketing fluff.

My brain short-circuits ten minutes in.

I used to chase leads like they were lifelines. Now I'm proofreading a bullet-point

list about tax incentives and trying not to

throw up.

1/5

CHAPTER 125

But the quiet? The normalcy?

God, it's almost addictive.

No screaming. No blood. No Enoch.

I can pretend, for just a second, that I'm a regular twenty-something trying to pay

not the fucking

and force myself to focus on a sentence about eco-sustainable investments. If

how it felt when Enoch's

His fucking curse.

My phone buzzes.

It's Seraphina.

on the executive floor.

from

Pretend you're nobody.

stomach drops. My

Jacob.

be far behind. I close the finance report and shut

like it just confessed

I am nobody.

a mate. Not a

with shaky Italian and an increasingly loud

of my desk, my breath

he finds me, I don't know what I'll

as hell won't let him take this baby from me. Not again. Not

am not sure when exactly Enoch would be arriving and honestly, just

catch a bit of myself in the mirror and my heart drops to my

this cream silk blouse Seraphina swore

pin that screams I have my shit together even though I cried in the

Fake. All of it.

his entire tray of espressos, splattering

desk with a wink. "Still don't sound Italian. What's

school," I answer, not missing a beat.

Or mysterious. Or some weird mix of

can feel it-the crack forming. Someone jokes in the break room about how

Ha. Smooth.

whisper? The one that slinks across my spine like a

foreign guys this morning... I really

girl they're looking for

a second. Then keep typing like my fingers aren't shaking under

him.

Jacob passes by

Twice.

floor.

time, he pauses outside the glass partition like he's sniffing out something familiar. I duck my head, forcing a soft smile toward my monitor and muttering something about deadlines.

scent-

CHAPTER 125

covered the smell

He doesn't say anything.

Just walks.

feel it–his suspicion.

lunchtime when

minding my own business, running a job that Seraphina should've assigned to literally anyone else, when a wide-eyed intern bolts

clutching a folder like it's a life raft.

get these contracts signed by three-please-I don't know how

it."

me. Why does he

take a look," and follow her

quiet. Warm.

crouch beside the printer, pop

the

Fuck.

My heart stutters. Slams.

Jacob.

the doorway like he walked into

the doorknob as his eyes lock on me -and

feel

drags over my profile like he's matching

just enough. Just enough

steps inside, closes the door softly

stand slowly before I look right

light and fake as a Hallmark card.

finally paying

off.

tilts his head like a

Shit.

awkward-and wave it

Allergies."

He doesn't fucking

grab the intern's folder, mumble something

He lets me go.