Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 93

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Chapter 93

Chapter 93

I’m already halfway down the damn hallway before I realize I’m walking like someone just shoved a broken wine bottle through my chest.

Which, in a way, they kinda did.

That really was… Enoch’s grandmother.

I just vented everything out to the freaking Dowager Queen?!

My footsteps are sharp, fast, uneven.

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I’m pretty sure one of my shoes is slipping off but I don’t give a shit. The scent of eucalyptus and burning wood still clings to my skin like a scar I can’t scrub off, and my throat feels as s though I swallowed glass.

Brooke’s voice is still in my head even after ranting it all out to that grandma.

“She made her choice.”

She didn’t even fucking whisper it. She said it as a fact. As though I’m just another dumb Omega who fumbled the bag and thought she could keep a King.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

I still wonder who posted the article. Who is it…

I push through the hallway doors, ignoring the two guards who blink like I’m the plot twist they didn’t train for.

They’re probably shocked how I got in here. It was the Beta who gave me access after all.

I don’t stop until I hit the corridor that leads to the main entrance of the palace. The air’s cooler here, windier.

“Leaving already?” a low voice says.

I stop short. Beta Jacob.

Great. Just what I need. A front–row witness to my public humiliation. Love that for me.

He’s leaning against the wall. His expression doesn’t change when he sees the state I’m in, but I see the slight twitch in his jaw. His eyes scan me–puffy eyes, blotchy cheeks, lips chewed raw.

“So,” he says slowly, voice even, “I’m guessing that didn’t go well.”

I laugh. It’s dry and bitter and absolutely useless. “Didn’t know I signed up for a fucking circus,” I mutter, dragging my fingers through my hair. “But hey, at least I was the main act.”

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t tease me like usual either. He just stares at me with this… quiet understanding that pisses me off even more. As if he knows what I heard. What I saw. What it meant.

“I’ll try to talk to him,” Jacob offers. “When he’s… clearer.”

“No,” I say immediately, the word ripping out of me. “Don’t. Don’t bother. He’s made his choice too.”

Maybe he’s trying to move on now. I mean, were only mates right?

Damn it. This is so complicated.

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Chapter 93

He frowns. “Taryn-”

“I said don’t” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “It’s not his fault. It’s mine”

His brows shoot up. “You seriously believe that?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat like it’s poison I deserve. “I wrote the damn article, Jacob. Maybe I didn’t publish it, but I wrote it. I sold him out in words and then acted shocked when he didn’t choose me”

His silence is damning. He doesn’t argue.

Exactly,

“Tell him…” I start, then stop, No. What’s the point? “Never mind.”

I walk past him and this time, he doesn’t stop me.

The air outside is freezing, but my chest is hotter than hell. I take a taxi back to the apartment. I don’t think Eris has the same amount of energy as she did when we came here on all fours.

I don’t say a single word but stare out the window the whole way.

When we pull up to the apartment, the city’s already alive. Horns blaring. People shouting. Lights blinking like drunk fireflies.

My heart already misses the palace.

I climb out, slam the car door shut, and freeze.

Ugh, I really don’t need this drama right now.

Liam is leaning against my apartment door.

Of course.

He straightens up when he sees me, but doesn’t move closer. His usual scowl is gone, replaced by something I can’t read— soft? Guilty? Nervous?

I look away. My chest tightens. All I can think about is Enoch’s fucking office and Brooke’s hand on his shoulder and that damn sentence replaying in my head like a fucked–up lullaby.

I don’t have time for anything–anyone else.

“Taryn,” Liam says carefully. “Can I talk to you?”

I don’t answer. I walk past him and unlock the door, ready to shove it open, but he keeps going.

“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. For the other night. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

I don’t turn around. My fingers shake against the door handle. “It won’t happen again,” I murmur. It’s not a question. It’s not even an invitation.

“I won’t let it,” he says.

Finally, I glance over my shoulder. And I see it. The sincerity. The guilt. But it’s not enough.

Nothing’s enough right now.

His

eyes search my face. “Are you gonna quit the company?”

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That makes me stop.

I don’t blink. Don’t breathe.

And for the first time tonight, I meet his eyes. Really meet them.

I should say yes. That’s the easy way out. But the thing about me that I both love and hate is that I never take the easy way.

I throw myself into the fire and then act shocked when I get burned.

The only thing I even became a journalist for, my entire life, is to dig out my past. That was it. That was the dream. My dream.

But I know now. Everything.

I know who killed my parents.

I know who he is.

And I know who I am.

What am I gonna dream of now? Where do I go from here?

I look away, “I’ll… think about it,” I reply..

I push past him and into my apartment and Liam follows in. Of fucking course.

“Wait,” he says, and his hand grabs my wrist–not tight, not rough, just… there. And I pause. “Taryn.”

I raise a brow, blinking through my puffed eyes. “What is it, Liam? I really… don’t wanna hear this right now.”

He exhales, frustrated. Good. Join the club.

“What can I do?” he says, and the quiet in his voice throws me. “To make up for what I did?”

I blink at him. For once, I think he means it. Not because he wants to fix us–whatever us is—but because he’s not used to being the one who fucks up.

“Nothing,” I say. And I mean it. I’m not angry about the kiss. I’m angry about everything else. “I’m tired, Liam.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. He just stands in front of me as though he’s deciding between pushing his luck and backing off. I close the door in his face before he can decide.

Fuck it.

The second it clicks shut, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for a damn week. My fingers curl into my palm. I’m tired, yeah.

But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up.

Enoch left. Again. And yeah, he had his reasons–I was the reason, sure–but he also fucking threw me out like I meant nothing.

I lean against the door. My chest tightens. Not from sadness–this isn’t the kind of crying–on–the–bathroom–floor moment.

This is that razor–sharp clarity. The kind you only get when you’ve been torn down so fucking low, all that’s left to do is rise.

And right now? I’m fucking rising.

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Chapter 93

That’s it.

Brooke might have comforted the shit out of my man, but he’s still my mate. He’s ought to be mine in the end.

That bitch needs to be put down, and for that to happen, I need to be in the palace where I won’t be kicked out anytime Enoch wants.

I’ll take him back whether he likes it or now. I’ll take Grandma’s offer.

I’m going to work for her. As she said.

I pull out my phone and call the one person I know who never shuts the hell up and always has a contact or twelve.

Zoe picks up on the fourth ring. “Taryn, it’s two in the fucking morning. You better be dying or being held hostage by hot vampire twins.”

“I need Beta Jacob’s number,” I say.

A beat of silence. Then-

“Oh fuck no. What are you planning?”

“Nothing illegal.” Technically.

“You’re lying. Your lying voice is right there.”

“Zoe,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m gonna be the Dowager Queen’s caretaker.”

Another pause. Then she screams. “What the f–Taryn?!”

“Shhh! Shut up! Do you want the whole building to hear?”

“Girl. Babe. Sweetie. My emotionally tortured bestie. Are you insane? Aren’t you and His Majesty supposed to be on bad terms because of the article? How is he going to react if he finds you back there?”

“Good,” I mutter. “Maybe that’ll jog his goddamn memory.”

“Holy shit, you’re serious,” she whispers, voice dropping like she’s scared Enoch might be eavesdropping from the next room over. “You’re going in through his grandma?”

“Yeah. He can’t stop me if she wants me there.”

“And if he tries?”

“Then he can throw a tantrum while I spoon–feed his grandmother applesauce and remind her that I’m great with old people.”

There’s a snort on the other end of the line. “Okay, damn. I’ll send you Jacob’s contact.”

“Thanks, Zoe.”

“Get our King back, bitch. But also don’t die. Like, seriously. I’m not mentally stable enough to plan a funeral right now.”

The line ends.

And I stand there in the middle of my shitty apartment with cracked tile and broken dreams and the ghost of a mate who’s

still somehow mine.

I won’t let Brooke win.

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Chapter 93

I won’t let Enoch’s silence be the final word.

This time, I’m not walking away.

I’m fighting.

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