After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 23

After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 23

The reporter pressed further. “But you were seen sharing intimate moments in public

previously…”

“That was petty behavior on my part,” Killian said, his gaze locked straight into the camera as if speaking to one person. “I made immature choices and hurt someone I never should have hurt. There was no genuine affection in those gestures-only my own insecurity.”

After a beat, he continued, “As for certain photographs Ms. Shawn shared online-they’ve been doctored. I have retained legal counsel, and formal proceedings will follow.”

Comments scrolled swiftly across the video.

[He’s finally honest about his feelings. Every word is meant for Camille.]

[Legal warning! The rival woman is finished; he means business this time.]

[Before, he ignored all rumors and let her run wild. Now one line about doctored photos dismantles

all her claims.]

Camille paused the video and texted her assistant: [What’s the fallout for Maren?]

The reply arrived instantly: [Public opinion flipped the second Killian’s interview aired. Her comment sections are flooded with accusations of clout-chasing; she’s deleted all her social media posts herself.]

[I also heard her visa expires soon. She stayed in the UK only thanks to a short-term club contract. After this scandal, renewal is impossible. She will likely return home.]

Camille set down her phone and rolled onto her side. Outside the window stretched Qatar’s night sky, dotted with brilliant stars.

She closed her eyes. Her mind replayed Killian’s words to the camera during the interview, and the look on his face when he asked her “Do you still hate me?” in the tunnel.

Three days after the World Cup concluded, the team flew back to Manchester. The first thing Camille did after landing was head to her office to tackle the backlog of paperwork.

When she pushed open the door, she spotted a small clear glass bottle on her desk. A single white lisianthus sat inside, with a handwritten card tucked beneath it.

The handwriting belonged to Killian, far neater than it used to be, each stroke deliberate, as if he

had practiced carefully.

[Congratulations on guiding a World Cup champion. This honor is well-earned. Also, I watered the succulent on your kitchen windowsill. I tended to it while you were away.]

Camille tucked the card into a folder on her desk. She pulled the lisianthus out of the bottle, studied

it briefly, then placed it back again.

Negotiations for Silas’s contract progressed smoothly.

Following the friendly match played on home soil, a top-flight Ligue 1 side expressed interest in signing him. Camille negotiated favorable terms on his behalf.

The teenager beamed as he signed the paperwork. “Ms. Logan, when will I win a World Cup like the

senior?”

“At minimum, four years from now.” Camille scanned the contract clauses. “First, get your minutes played above sixty percent this season.”

Silas groaned dramatically, yet he walked toward the door with light steps.

He paused at the doorway and glanced back. “Ms. Logan… the senior seems different lately. He came up to me in the changing room and taught me shooting technique today. It shocked me.”

Camille’s fingers hovered over her keyboard for a beat. She offered no reply, simply waving for him

to leave.

Silas laughed and closed the door behind him.

Comments popped up once the door shut.

[Killian teaching Silas to shoot? He used to treat Silas like a rival!]

[The poor boy has no idea-Killian isn’t just teaching shooting. He’s telling him to play well and not

let her down.]

[He’s proving with actions he’s letting go of his jealousy. Killian really has changed!]

With the door closed, Camille stared blankly at the unfinished email on her monitor.

The evening they landed back home, Camille wheeled her suitcase out of the arrivals hall. Instead of her waiting assistant, she saw Maren first.

She stood behind the railings outside the exit, dressed in a white knit cardigan, hair loose, full

makeup applied. When she spotted Camille, she straightened up, her jaw tight, forcing a

smile onto her lips.

Camille slowed briefly, then kept walking.

Maren stepped forward to block her path. “Camille, I need to talk to you.”

Camille halted and looked her up and down. “What is it?”

strained

Maren’s lower lip trembled. Tears welled instantly, her voice thick with unshed sobs. “This is all your fault. If not for you, Killian would never have broken things off with me.”

“He hasn’t answered my calls since the World Cup, blocked me on Instagram. I went to the club to find him, and he refused to meet me. What did you do to him?”

Maren reached out toward her. Camille sidestepped to avoid the contact.

“You blocked me at the airport just to say this?” Camille stared at Maren’s carefully made-up face. “Who you love, what you do for someone-those are your choices. They have nothing to do with

me.”

“How can it have nothing to do with you?” Maren’s voice rose sharply, tears brimming in her eyes. “If not for you, Kian would never have ended things with me.”

“Was he ever with you to begin with?” Camille cut her off. “Did you officially date? Did he acknowledge you as his girlfriend? Did you share any of the intimacy that comes with being a couple?”

Live comments exploded.

[Three lethal questions! Camille is absolutely ruthless today!]

[“Officially date?” “Acknowledge you as his girlfriend?” “Couple intimacy?” Every line strikes

straight at Maren.]

[She can’t answer! She has nothing-none of it ever happened!]

Maren’s lips parted and closed again, trapped speechless. Her eyes grew redder, yet she couldn’t

utter a single “yes.”

All those public displays of closeness had been initiated by her. Killian never pushed her away, but he had never once given her any official status.

Maren bit her lip and shifted her angle. “But he treated me so well before.”

“How he treated you is his business.” Camille said. “What you’ve done to me is yours.”

She paused for a moment, as if a thought suddenly occurred to her.

She drew her suitcase close, pulled out her phone, and swiped to a photo before holding it up for

Maren to see.

“You posted this picture, didn’t you?”