After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 11

After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 11

The lighting in the player tunnel ran cold, carving sharp contours into everyone’s faces.

Killian stood rooted to the spot, towel crumpled tight in his grip, his gray-green eyes fixed unblinkingly on Camille.

Camille closed her tablet and lifted her gaze to meet his. “Are you referring to how your public relationship with Maren impacts your brand image-something outside work?”

Killian’s breathing deepened.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” He stepped forward. The tunnel was narrow, and the move closed the gap between them to an arm’s length. Warm air carrying traces of grass and sweat/ washed over her. “Camille, look at me.’

Camille complied, her gaze as calm as if she were reviewing contractual clauses.

Killian swallowed hard. His jaw tightened then relaxed, as if he were struggling to contain a storm of emotion. “Don’t pretend. You’ve never looked at me like this before.”

“I truly don’t remember how I used to look at you,” Camille replied flatly. “If these thoughts trouble you, I suggest booking an appointment with a licensed therapist.”

“Amnesia is a documented medical condition, not a choice.”

Killian froze completely.

Live comments scrolled across the screen beside him, catching Camille’s eye.

[The look on his face is like he just got slapped straight across the face…]

[LMAO Camille’s immune to all his emotional tactics. He’s breaking down.]

[Still, I can’t help feeling bad for him. All he wanted was to make her jealous, and she couldn’t care

less.]

[Quit making excuses. He brought this on himself.]

Camille pulled her gaze away. “Anything else? If not, I need to head back and sort today’s match footage.”

Killian didn’t move.

Camille stepped sideways to slip past him, her shoulder nearly brushing his arm.

She had only taken two steps when his voice reached her from behind, rough and cracked. “Camille, I used to hate you hovering over every part of my life. Now that you’ve stopped, I can’t get used to

it/”

Camille kept walking without pause.

That same night, Killian posted to Instagram. No photograph, only a single line of text Are people always this self-destructive?

Twenty thousand comments flooded the thread within an hour, fans speculating wildly about who the post was aimed at.

Maren left a vulnerable reply beneath it: [What’s wrong, Killian?]

Killian never responded to her.

The next day, Camille saw the post in her office and scrolled past it without reaction.

Her assistant hesitated beside her. “Ms. Logan, isn’t this post risky…”

“It’s not an endorsement scandal. Let him post whatever he wants” Camille flipped through Silas’s medical examination report. “By the way, have we finalized Silas’s jersey number for next week’s friendly match?”

“Number twenty-three.”

“Good.”

For the following three days, Killian was a different man. He played with terrifying intensity on the training pitch, charging relentlessly through the defense. He dribbled past four defenders alone and scored, never once passing the ball to a teammate.

His teammates shouted for him to pass, yet he acted as if he couldn’t hear them.

After training, reporters cornered him in the mixed zone. “Why were you so ball-hungry out there today?”

Killian wiped sweat from his face. When he lifted his eyes, his gaze drifted over the reporters’ shoulders toward a spot in the distance. Camille stood there with her back to him, talking to Silas.

Silas must have said something amusing; a faint smile touched Camille’s lips.

His knuckles turned white around the towel.

“Nothing,” he said into the microphone, voice lowered. “I just wanted to score.”

A reporter pressed on. “What about the rumors circulating online linking you and Maren…”.

Killian slung the towel over one shoulder and cut him off. “No comment.”

He turned and walked away without another word.

His path, coincidentally, led straight toward where Camille and Silas stood.