After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 20

After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 20

Camille held his gaze for a heartbeat, then whirled toward the door.

Her fingertips barely touched the handle when Killian wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, yanking her away from the doorway.

Her back slammed into his chest. His arms banded around her waist, crushing the air from her

lungs.

Comments poured across the livestream in a relentless stream.

[Holy shit, is he forcing her? The height difference is intense.]

[Wait a second-how can anyone romanticize this? This is confinement!]

[Oh no, my palms are sweating. Camille has to escape!]

“Don’t leave.” His voice rumbled against her ear, thick with alcohol and heat. “Camille, don’t leave

me.”

“Let me go, Killian! This is false imprisonment!”

“Then call the police.” Killian’s voice was wrecked. “Go ahead. When they arrive, I’ll tell them I’m your boyfriend. We just had a fight. I only wanted to talk things through.”

Camille struggled violently, but his hold remained unbreakable.

The back of her head rested against his shoulder. She could feel his heart racing erratically inside his chest, like a wild beast battering against the bars of its cage.

“You’re drunk.” Camille forced her voice steady. “Let me leave. You’ll regret all of this once you

sober up tomorrow.”

Killian’s voice came muffled from above. “The biggest regret of my life was telling you ‘there was nothing between us’ in that hospital room.”

The comment section fell quiet for a beat.

[He’s finally admitted it.]

[If he’d told the truth, admitted they were lovers back then, everything might have turned out

differently.]

He froze, as if terrified any further movement would drive her to climb out the floor-to-ceiling

windows.

They stood separated by half the living room, locked in a standoff. City lights beyond the glass

outlined Camille’s silhouette in a cold, distant shimmer.

“Don’t come any closer.” Camille warned.

Killian halted completely.

“Have you calmed down?” she asked again.

Killian remained silent for a long time, then nodded.

“Good.” Camille said. “Sit down.”

He glanced toward the sofa she gestured to, then slowly lowered himself onto it.

Camille watched him for a while, confirming he would not lash out again, before circling around

the furniture toward the front door.

“Camille, don’t leave me.” Killian begged.

“Stay where you are.” Camille spoke with her back toward him, one hand already wrapping around

the doorknob.

“Will

you come back?” At that moment, Killian’s voice cracked raw.

Camille’s fingers lingered on the doorknob.

“Text your coach in the morning and ask for the day off once you’re sober.” She didn’t turn around, her voice flat. “I don’t know if I’ll come back. But I know if I stay another night, we’ll both regret it.”

The latch clicked free, and the door creaked open a crack. Cold air from the corridor seeped inside. Camille stepped across the threshold.

A dull thud echoed behind her-the sound of knees hitting wood.

She glanced back instinctively. Killian knelt on one knee beside the sofa, his other leg bent beneath him. He looked drained, as if all strength had been torn from his bones. His gray-green eyes løcked onto hers, brimming with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

“Camille.” He spoke her name in a voice so broken it sounded like gravel-raw, fractured, and utterly undone. “Will you come back?”

Comments surged across the livestream.

[He knelt down! He actually knelt!]

[When has Killian ever knelt? The man who refuses to fall to his knees even when hacked down on the pitch, now kneels in the entryway begging her to return.]

The knuckles on Camille’s grip whitened.

She stood frozen in the doorway for two heartbeats. A sharp twist squeezed her chest, and heat stung the corners of her eyes.

Then she closed the door.

Corridor lights flickered on. She leaned against the wooden panel for a long time. She lifted the back of her hand to wipe her eyes hard, yet fresh tears welled up again. She wiped them away, and they

returned.

“What are you crying for?” she whispered hoarsely to herself. “You don’t remember him.”

But her heartbeat told no lies. It hammered steadily inside her ribcage, repeating the same phrase over and over: You remember.

Every inch of your body remembers. Your mind has only hidden the memories away.