After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 17

After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 17

For three days after she left Killian’s apartment, things stayed quiet between them.

Silas’s friendly match was scheduled for Saturday afternoon. The opponent was a mid-table

German Second Division side; the intensity would be moderate, but this marked Silas’s first official

professional appearance.

Camille arrived at the stadium half an hour early and watched the teenager warm up along the

touchline.

Silas wore the Number 23 jersey, bending forward to stretch his hamstrings. When he spotted her, he flashed an OK gesture from afar, grinning widely.

Camille nodded, gesturing for him to take his time warming up.

From the opening whistle, Silas was electric.

Twenty-five minutes into the first half, he received a through pass from a teammate on the left edge of the penalty box. He feinted past a defender and struck a tight-angle shot. The ball curled inside the far post and nestled into the netting.

A roar erupted from the group of overseas Chinese student supporters seated in the stands.

Silas’s first instinct after scoring was to twist around and search for Camille.

When he saw her applauding on the sidelines, his grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. He took two steps toward her, then halted abruptly as if recalling where he was, spinning back to high-five his teammates in celebration.

The comment section lit up.

[Silas wanted to run over and hug Camille after scoring, then remembered the occasion and slammed on the brakes.]

[LMAO that sudden stop is so adorable.]

[Stark contrast to someone who once swept Camille up and spun her around after every goal.]

[Don’t bring him up. Just seeing that man irritates me now.]

Reporters swarmed Silas after the final whistle for interviews. The teenager grew nervous under the camera’s gaze, repeatedly glancing toward the sidelines. Only when he caught sight of Camille

standing there did he steady himself and speak coherently.

The journalist asked, “Who deserves the most credit for your standout performance today?”

Silas paused briefly, then answered. “I want to thank Ms. Logan. She pulled me out of my rural. hometown and gave me this chance.”

The reporter followed his line of sight toward Camille. The camera panned over, projecting her calm face onto the stadium’s big screen.

She leaned against the perimeter fence in a khaki trench coat, her hair tied into a low ponytail. Her

expression remained neutral, yet a faint, unmissable smile lingered in her eyes.

Comments flooded the screen.

[That smile… it’s so gentle.]

[The way she looks at Silas reminds me exactly how she once looked at Killian.]

[Stop it, I’m nervous.]

[Silas is so thoughtful; he knows to give Camille credit on camera. Unlike certain people who humiliate their agent publicly.]

Camille’s phone vibrated. She glanced down. An unread message from Killian flashed on the screen: [You went to watch Silas’s match?]

Camille didn’t reply.

That evening, a commercial gala was hosted inside the ballroom of a five-star hotel in Manchester.

Camille circled the venue with a glass of champagne in hand. As a newly signed player, Silas was

also invited. Clad in a formal suit, he stood beside her, stiff as a board and fidgeting with his cuffs..

Camille glanced at his necktie. “It’s crooked.”

The boy fumbled to straighten it, only tangling it worse.

Camille sighed and reached out to retie it for him. Her movements were practiced and quick; within seconds, she’d formed a neat Windsor knot and she smoothed the collar of his dress shirt.

Silas stared at the crisp knot, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “Thank you, Ms. Logan.”

Live comments scrolled across the screen.

{Ahhh this quiet, tender scene of her fixing his tie feels so natural.]

[Silas’s red ears, what an innocent kid.]

[If someone saw this… I dare not imagine his reaction.]

[Speak of the devil. Look toward the entrance.]

Before Camille could react, she caught a figure stepping into the ballroom from the corner of her

eye.

Killian wore a tailored black suit, his hair neatly styled. The crystal chandeliers cast deep shadows

beneath his browbone.

His gaze cut through the crowd, locking directly onto Camille’s hand—the hand that had just adjusted Silas’s tie.

He walked toward her with an impassive face.