After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 13

After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 13

The comment section erupted immediately.

#KillianLynnRelationship# shot straight to the top of trending topics.

Live comments flooded the post.

[We’re doomed. Maren’s post has put Killian on the spot:}

[She posted that ring photo without naming anyone, just waiting to see if he’d acknowledge it.]

[But if he confirms it, he’s publicly committing to their relationship.]

[If he ignores it, he’ll look guilty… This move is ruthless.]

[Stay calm. Watch how Camille handles this tomorrow. Her professionalism won’t let something

like this rattle her.]

Camille didn’t learn about the post until the following morning, when she had barely stepped into the office and her assistant rushed over, phone held out to show the screenshot. “Camille, should

we handle this?”

Camille glanced at the screen and set her bag down on the desk. “Handle what?”

“The ring photo of her and Killian.”

“Did she explicitly state whose hand she’s holding?” Camille sat and opened her laptop. “No. She wrote ‘Peace’ on her own, no names attached. Whoever rushes to assume they’re the subject is only making themselves look foolish.”

The comment stream lit up instantly.

[Camille’s sharp tongue! “Whoever rushes to assume is foolish.” Throwing shade at every

overeager commenter.]

[She’s fully in PR manager mode, zero personal emotion showing.]

[Once she would’ve lost her mind over posts like this from Maren. Now she’ll wait until Maren caves and names names. Cold, efficient, unyielding.]

The assistant blinked. “But everyone online automatically assumes it’s Killian…”

“People assume plenty of things online. Not long ago, everyone swore Killian and I would terminate

our contract, and that never happened.” Camille tapped at her keyboard. “Leave it alone. Let her post whatever she likes. We’ll act only when she works up the nerve to name him directly.”

Her assistant opened her mouth to argue, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll inform the PR team not to

follow up on this.”

At three that afternoon, Camille headed to the club for a meeting. Passing the training pitch, she

watched the players run split-team drills.

Silas, in a neon green training vest, received a pass up front, spun, and delivered a crisp through

ball.

Camille stood along the touchline and watched for more than ten seconds. Silas glanced back, spotted her, and waved from afar, flashing a bright grin.

On the opposite side of the pitch, Killian stood near the center circle, the soccer ball idle at his feet.

His gaze cut across half the pitch to lock onto Camille. The ball beneath his foot compressed

slightly under the pressure.

When training wrapped that day, Killian didn’t leave immediately as usual. He waited by the locker room exit, and blocked Silas’s path when the teen emerged.

Silas had just showered, water still dripping from his hair. He paused when he saw Killian leaning against the doorframe. “Senior, something you need?”

Killian stared at him, refusing to step aside. “You’d better stay away from her.

Silas tilted his head. “You mean Ms. Logan?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Silas smiled faintly, slinging his towel over one shoulder and straightening his posture.

He stood half a head shorter than Killian, yet his gaze didn’t waver for a second. “Senior, Ms. Logan and I share a strictly professional working relationship. What authority do you have to say this to 1 me?”

A sharp flicker of pain crossed Killian’s face.

He fell silent for a heartbeat, his voice dropping to a low growl when he spoke. “I’m her boyfriend.”

Silas blinked, then laughed out loud.

“Senior, haven’t you heard?” The teen’s tone stayed light, yet his eyes carried the blunt candor youth. “Ms. Logan told me herself. She doesn’t remember having a boyfriend.”

Killian froze solid.

“She also said,” Silas stepped forward and slipped past him, “that she’s content with how things are now. Digging up the past sounds exhausting. She’d rather start fresh.”

Silas walked away.

Killian remained in the locker room doorway. Overhead corridor lights cast a harsh, pale glow down onto him. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling in a restless rhythm.

That night, Camille worked overtime until nine before leaving the office.

Light rain fell outside. She opened her umbrella and walked toward the parking lot. When she reached her car, she found someone crouched beside the driver’s door.

Killian had no umbrella. Most of his hair was soaked, damp strands plastered to his forehead.

He wore the same training jacket from the photoshoot that morning, the fabric across the shoulders darkened by rainwater.

He lifted his head at the sound of footsteps. Streetlamp light mixed with rain, streaming down along his browbone. “Camille.”

Camille stood two paces away under her umbrella, raindrops dripping from the edge onto the ground between them. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“You have training tomorrow morning.”

“I know.” Killian pushed himself to his feet. “I just need to ask you one thing.”

Camille watched him without speaking. Rain pattered softly against the surface of her umbrella.

Killian stepped forward. Water dripped from the hem of his soaked jacket. He stopped half a step away from her, his gray-green eyes flecked with fragments of streetlamp light.

“Do you still remember promising that you’d be my agent for life?”