After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 22

After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 22

Killian spotted her, and his lips curved upward. Then his teammates swarmed him, tackling him to

the grass.

Live comments surged across the screen, mirroring the stadium’s eruption of streamers and

cheers.

[He saw her! He smiled right at her!]

[That look right before his teammates tackled him-he’s a total lovesick fool!]

[Look how long he searched for her. Through the whole celebration, his eyes kept drifting toward

her stand.]

Silas was shouting beside her, but his words were lost in the roar. She sank back into her seat, draping her scarf over her knees. Only when she looked down did she notice her hands trembling.

She was nervous.

The match ended 1-0. The moment the whistle blew, the stadium descended into wild celebration. Red and white streamers poured down from the roof, swirling everywhere.

Camille stood motionless in the stands, watching the figure in the center of the pitch being lifted and tossed into the air by his teammates.

She turned to Silas. “Let’s go. We’ll wait for him in the player tunnel.”

Silas nodded and followed.

The tunnel teemed with journalists and staff, camera flashes strobing relentlessly down the

corridor.

Camille waited around a bend at the far end. She watched Killian push through the crowd in the

distance.

A gold medal hung around his neck. His eyes were bloodshot, hair soaked with champagne, plastered to his face.

He caught sight of her and strode forward, stopping directly in front of her. “I won.”

“I saw,” Camille replied softly. “You played brilliantly.”

Killian stared at her. A storm of emotions churned in his eyes, all held firmly under control.

He took half a step forward, then stopped himself-a silent boundary drawn in the wake of that

night.

“Camille, I have a question to ask you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you… still hate me?”

Camille studied his soaked hair and reddened eyes, falling silent for several seconds.

Then she spoke. “I don’t hate you. I never have, not from the very start.”

The comment section blew up instantly.

[“I don’t hate you!” She said she doesn’t hate him!]

[Before, she said she loathed all his pestering. Now she says she’s never hated him-does that mean fragments of memory are coming back?]

[Please, my ship is mending!]

Killian’s lips quivered. He ducked his head, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand before looking up again, a faint, genuine smile lingering on his face.

“As long as you don’t hate me. That’s enough. I can wait for everything else.”

Staff pulled him away for post-match interviews after he spoke.

Camille stood where she was, watching his back disappear around the tunnel bend.

The post-match interviews wrapped deep into local midnight. When Camille returned to her hotel room, her phone flooded with push notifications.

She tapped open the alerts. Major sports outlets carried near-identical headlines: World Cup Champion Killian Lynn Addresses Relationship Rumors in Post-Final Press Conference.

Camille clicked the video.

Killian sat at the interview table on screen.

A reporter asked, “Mr. Lynn, there has been widespread online speculation about your relationship with Maren. Could you give a direct response?”

Killian sat straighter facing the camera. His smile faded, his expression turning grave.

“I have no personal relationship with Ms. Shawn,” he stated clearly and steadily. “Not in the past, not now, and never in the future.”