Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 89

Chapter 89

Chapter 89

I wake up on the goddamn floor

Shit, I fell asleep in here? Did someone find out I broke in?

Not my bed. Not my couch. Not even a fucking chair. No, my ass is spread–eagle on the cold–ass, dusty floor of Liam’s office, check stuck to a file folder, spine screaming in protest, and there’s a pair of black dress shoes in my face.

Then there’s a voice.

“Holy shit, Sinclair. You actually did it.”

The words are muffled through my groggy haze, but I recognize that smug, too–pleased tone anywhere. Liam Calloway. My boss. My personal tyrant. The man I thought would fire me any day now for breathing wrong.

I blink, and he’s crouching next to me, that rare smile of his stretching ear to ear like it’s physically painful. Behind him, F see blurry shapes–people crowding into the room, some I recognize from the office, some I don’t. All of them are fucking beaming at me like I just discovered the goddamn cure to death.

What the hell is going on?

“Get up, superstar,” Liam says, grabbing my arm and hauling me upright before I can even say anything. “You’re trending. Like, everywhere. The company’s crashing from traffic. You blew the lid off the whole fucking thing.”

“What-?”

But I can’t even finish the question before someone pats me on the back. Then another. Then I’m getting a weird little applause circle. Laughter. Shouts. Somebody yells, “That’s our girl!” and I blink again, heart rate still catching up to reality.

And then I see her.

Zoe.

She’s not clapping. She’s not laughing. She’s just standing near the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her face unreadable except for one thing: disappointment.

A pit opens in my stomach.

“Wait, what did I-” I start, still half–asleep, panic starting to crawl in. “What happened? What blew up?”

Liam’s already gone, barking something to an assistant. Everyone’s celebrating like we just won the goddamn World Cup. I barely register any of it because-

Fuck.

Last night.

The file.

The truth.

My legs are moving before my brain catches up. I shove through the crowd of bodies like a lunatic, searching the desk, the floor, the scattered papers. Where the fuck is it? The file from last night–my mother’s name, my father’s face, the match…the match to Enoch’s story.

I’m the girl.

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Chapter 89

The one he’s been looking for. The one he forgot. The one he loved.

1 grab the folder off the floor where I collapsed with it and clutch it to my chest like it’s the only thing anchoring me to the damn planet. My heart is jackhammering now, and it has nothing to do with whatever viral shitstorm I apparently started.

Zoe steps forward.

“Tarya” she says, soft, but not friendly. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna run that piece.”

1–what piece?” 1 croak. “Zoe, 1-1 don’t have time-”

“Yeah, you never do, right?” she bites back, stepping aside as I sprint out.

I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with that right now.

I need to see him.

I have to see him.

+50

I’m already out the door, ignoring the shouted questions, the people trying to grab my sleeve, my name echoing behind me. 1 don’t answer. I don’t stop.

I’ve got tunnel vision.

Because if what I read is true–if I’m her–then he has to know. Maybe it changes everything. Maybe he remembers. Maybe…

God, maybe he already knows.

My stomach turns.

The air is cold when I reach the Imperial Pack gates. My lungs burn as I double over, wheezing. Jason’s standing there, like some kind of decorative, suit–wearing bouncer from hell. He doesn’t look surprised to see me.

“You can’t go in,” he says.

“Bullshit,” I growl, shoving past him. He doesn’t budge.

“Taryn-”

“He’s in there, right?” I shout, pointing toward the building like a maniac. “You just said he’s here! Let me the fuck in, Jason!”

He moves to block me again, and I lose it. My hand connects with his arm, then his chest, then I’m thrashing like a rabid animal. My voice cracks from screaming, my throat raw as I yell his name.

“ENOCH!”

Jason grabs my arms. “You need to calm down—”

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

I twist. Claw. Bite. I actually bite him. Like a feral Omega who’s lost her damn mind.

His hand recoils, and I sprint toward the doors.

My heart pounds with each step. I crash through the office hallway, slamming into furniture, slipping on the polished tile, not even giving a shit. My hands slam against the heavy door at the end.

I throw it open.

12:51 Sat, 5 Apr

Chapter 89

And there he is.

Enoch Blackwell.

The Lycan King.

My mate.

Alive. Whole. Standing tall in his goddamn suit like a marble statue carved by wrath itself.

His back is to me, facing the floor–to–ceiling window behind his desk, hands clasped behind him, the light pouring over his shoulders like some divine punishment.

I freeze.

Just for a second.

Because he looks… impossibly still. Like if I breathe too loud, he’ll disappear again.

“Enoch,” I say, breathless, voice trembling with everything I’m trying to say all at once. I clutch the file against my chest, smiling despite myself.

“I found it,” I whisper. “I finally… it’s me. I’m the girl. From your-”

He turns.

His eyes are empty.

No–no, they’re worse. They’re cold.

He doesn’t speak.

Just tosses something to the floor.

It hits the ground with a flutter and lands at my feet. A folded newspaper.

I blink down at it, confused, then slowly crouch to pick it up. My fingers tremble as I unfold the front page.

My article.

In big, bold letters.

And underneath it… the byline.

By Taryn Sinclair.

My chest squeezes.

“I–I didn’t-” My voice fails me as I look up at him. “You read it?”

His eyes meet mine.

“You wrote it.”

His voice is flat. It’s not angry. Not accusing.

It’s just…empty.

He’s not yelling. I almost wish he would. I could handle yelling. I could handle fists in walls and shattered glass and broken

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Chapter 89

things.

But not this.

As if he already decided I did it.

He already made up his mind and now I’m just here to confirm it–to twist the knife through his bloody wound.

That’s exactly what I’m doing right now.

+50

I shake my head fast, my throat burning. “No–yes–I mean, I wrote the original but this–this isn’t what I submitted, hell I dind’t even submit it… it’s–someone changed it, I swear on the fucking Moon Goddess, Enoch-”

His fist slams down on the desk so hard it makes me jump. The entire mahogany slab trembles under the weight of it, a pen rolls off the edge and hits the floor with a tiny click that feels a fucking bomb going off in my skull.

Fuck. I hate this. I don’t like us this way.

“I trusted you.” His voice rips through the room, raw and cracked and venomous. It’s filled with hurt and God, I caused that. “I fucking trusted you.” he gritted his teeth.

“Let me explain-”

“Explain what? That you sat there every night in Maldives writing about me like I was some fucking freak in a zoo? While I- while I fucking worshipped the ground you walked on?” His eyes are bloodshot now as they stare right back at me.

I’ve

never seen him like this.

Not even when we were escaping the Imperial border. Not even when almost died.

This?

This is heartbreak breaking a man. My man..

…

“You think I’d…” My voice cracks. I take a shaky step forward, and he immediately steps back. Like I’m toxic. Like I’m dirty. “You think I’d betray you like that on purpose?”

“I think,” he says, voice low, “that I told you things no one else in this world knows. I gave you pieces of me that don’t even have words. I trusted you with every fucking part of myself.”

He gestures to the paper in my hand like it’s a knife.

“And now the world gets to read it in 12–point font.”

I feel like I’m drowning.

No. Worse.

Like I’m being held underwater by his hands.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know they’d publish it under my name. Enoch, I’m trying to tell you, I had no idea-”

He barks out a humorless laugh. Cold. Ugly. His jaw clenches so tight I’m scared it might snap. Please, please listen to me, baby.

“You had no idea?” He sneers. “You’re a journalist, Taryn. Isn’t that your whole fucking thing? To know things?”

He’s right…

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Chapter 89

My lips part, but nothing comes out. My body’s too busy shaking. My knees feel like they’re made of fucking mist.

“You documented every goddamn thing I said. Every word I told you in confidence-” He throws his hands up, pacing now, jerky and fast like he can’t stay still or else he’ll combust. “I gave you my heart. In Maldives. Remember that? When I told you shit I’ve never said out loud to anyone? I gave it to you on a fucking silver platter. And you just–fuck!”

His arm sweeps across the desk, everything crashing to the floor–papers, pens, the little figurine I gave him once when I thought he’d lost his wolf and needed something to hold on to.

Gone,

It all smashes to pieces,

Along with my heart, crushed to a million miniscule, I could feel the nausea on the edge of my throat as my eyes begin to

tear up.

Before I knew it, I start sobbing.

“You were supposed to be my safe place.” His voice breaks on the word safe, and it carves me open. “You were supposed to be mine,”

“I am yours, baby…“I cry, chest heaving. “I love you, Enoch, I fucking love you-”

“Stop,”

I freeze mid–sob, and he stares at me like I’m an abomination. Like I killed something sacred.

“You don’t love me,” he grits out. “You loved the broken thing you fix and write about.”