After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 01

After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 01

After her memory loss, Camille Logan remembered everyone—everyone except Killian Lynn, the prodigy striker she’d built from scratch.

So she withdrew all the unconditional support she had given him and released her tight control over his life.

When they met again, Killian shrugged and laughed during an interview. “I’m finally free.”

Netizens flooded the comments, celebrating his escape from the so-called control-freak manager.

“God only knows how Killian survived under Camille all these years. She meddled in every part of his soccer career, and even every little detail of his personal life. It must’ve been suffocating!”

“He’s probably been dying to ditch this leech for ages!”

But now, Camille woke trapped inside a basement.

Killian had her pinned against the wall, fingers wrapped tight around her jaw, his voice dripping with menace.

“You’ve forgotten everything completely. Fine. I’ll help you remember—my way.”

***

Three days after the car crash stole her memory, every specialist who examined her reached the same conclusion: Camille’s lost memories would never return.

Killian stood by her hospital bed, staring down at her from above. “You truly don’t remember me?”

“No. Who are you?” Camille replied, studying his striking mixed-race features.

High cheekbones, sunken eye sockets, and rare gray-green irises, cold and glinting like light trapped beneath ice on a winter lake. He carried the raw, explosive physical grace of a top-tier athlete—a leopard with its claws sheathed.

His gaze lingered on her face, countless unspoken words swirling behind his eyes before sinking away. “I’m the player you signed. Killian Lynn.”

Camille pressed on. “And beyond that?”

Killian paused, then answered firmly. “Nothing more.”

Camille watched his expression and nodded. “I see.”

But deep down, she knew they’d shared far more.

Strange scrolling text flooded her vision the second he finished speaking, like live reader comments from a novel.

[Girl! He’s lying! You two were dating!]

[Are you kidding me? He just said “nothing more”? This guy’s unbelievable!]

[Don’t panic everyone! The blurb says this is a redemption arc! He’s being stubborn now, but the groveling comes later!]

[Camille, get your memories back and make him suffer! I’m livid!]

Camille never imagined a plot ripped straight out of fiction would unfold for her.

A car crash erasing her memory, mysterious floating live comments, and her boyfriend openly denying their relationship to her face.

Oddly enough, she felt no heartache.

Perhaps emotions were tied to memory. Every feeling connected to Killian had been torn out root and stem, leaving no lingering pain.

Killian’s phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting.

When he answered, a soft, clingy female voice carried clearly through the receiver. “Killian, when are you coming? I’ve been waiting forever…”

He lowered his voice and muttered, “On my way.” Then he spoke to Camille, dismissive. “Rest up. I’ll visit another day.”

He turned and left without glancing back.

Silence settled over the ward. Camille picked up her phone; the screen lit up automatically.

Her lock screen stopped her cold: a photo of her and Killian kissing.

Beneath it, small text read: Day 1369 with Killian.

The comment stream flared again.

[He set this lock screen himself! Said he wanted her to see him every time she unlocked her phone. Now he won’t even stay five minutes, just runs off after a call.]

[Cut him some slack—did anyone notice he hesitated by the doorway before leaving? He’s worried about her!]

[Yeah! He used to cling to her nonstop. This heartbreak is just mandatory angst before the happy ending. Stick it out, and it’s all sweetness afterward!]

Camille frowned at the scrolling text.

She saw no hesitation in his departure, and couldn’t fathom why her past self loved him.

Was it simply his face? She never thought she’d been that shallow. And why did she have to endure all this manufactured heartache?

A sharp restlessness bubbled up inside her. She tossed her phone aside and closed her eyes to sleep.

A few days later, Camille checked out of the hospital. Killian never came to see her once during that stretch.

Three days after discharge, a World Cup warm-up match was set to kick off at Manchester’s home stadium. As his agent, Camille arrived on schedule.

She took her seat in the guest stands, her eyes tracking Killian out on the pitch.

He received the pass, spun, and blew past two defenders, his movements seamless.

Camille’s pulse quickened.

He possessed that level of skill, paired with that face… How had she snatched him away from dozens of competing agents all those years ago?

A top striker earned a minimum of 500,000 pounds weekly, not counting endorsement deals.

Her ten percent agent commission easily translated to hundreds of millions of dollars in annual income.

A faint softness tugged at her features. Money eased the vague irritation that had been weighing on her lately. Romantic troubles felt trivial next to tangible profit.

When the final whistle blew, Camille grabbed a clean towel to wipe off the sweat and headed toward the sidelines where Killian stood.

Before she could reach him, a slender girl rushed forward and beat her to it.