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

fucking mate of the most dangerous

sentence about

Enoch's voice broke

His fucking curse.

My phone buzzes.

It's Seraphina.

is on the executive floor.

from

Pretend you're nobody.

drops. My

Jacob.

far behind.

just confessed

I am nobody.

a mate. Not a

Italian and an

grip the edge of my

me, I don't know what

him take this baby from me. Not again.

am not sure

my heart drops to

Seraphina swore by.

gold pin that screams I have my shit together even

Fake. All of it.

smiling through my teeth at an intern who just dropped his entire tray of espressos, splattering

on my desk with a wink. "Still don't sound

school," I answer, not missing a beat. "My

like that explains everything. He probably thinks I'm rich. Or mysterious. Or some weird mix of both. I let him think

about how that girl with the bounty

Ha. Smooth.

The one that slinks across

was in a meeting with another foreign guys this morning... I really

girl they're looking

keep typing like my fingers aren't shaking under

be him. Won't be

Jacob passes

Twice.

floor.

like he's sniffing out something familiar. I duck my head,

scent-

CHAPTER 125

it covered the smell

He doesn't say anything.

Just walks.

it–his suspicion. It's

lunchtime when

assigned to literally anyone else, when a wide-eyed intern

like it's a life raft. "It

get these contracts signed

it."

he

a “Sure, I'll take a look,"

down. It's quiet. Warm. Smells like toner

the printer, pop the lid, and

the

Fuck.

My heart stutters. Slams.

Jacob.

like he walked into a goddamn

as his eyes lock on

can feel his confusion.

over my profile like

turned just enough. Just enough to hide the

the door softly behind

stand slowly before I look right

light and fake as a Hallmark card. Seraphina's

finally paying

off.

his head like a wolf

Shit.

sneeze-loud, awkward-and wave it off like I'm

Allergies."

He doesn't fucking

mumble something about

He lets me go.