Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Chapter 126 Chapter 126 "Two blocks," Ser whispers, and then yanksby the wrist so fast my shoulder cracks.

"Closet. Now," she hisses, and before I can blink, she's draggingbackwards and slamming us into a fucking broom closet as if we're in a badly written porn scene.

The smell of lemon-scented bleach and industrial-grade desperation punchesin the face. It's dark. Claustrophobic. A mop tips over and smacks the side and onto Ser's leg..

I suck in a breath as she curses. "Fuck-watch it!" I'm losing my breath. I can't think of anything worse right now than Enoch draggingback to the palace with his heir inside of me. I know he's not gang to take this well.

He hates me.

He's gonna hate the baby. Hell, I wouldn't be too shocked if he tellsto abort the baby.

"You said two blocks away," I rasp, heart jackhammering against my ribs. "You said-" "He blew every red light. Military escort. I didn't expect him to fucking teleport." I blink against the stinging sweat dripping into my contacts. The dark lenses itch like hell. My fake-blonde wig is glued to my scalp, soaked and slipping. My ID badge is still clipped crooked to my blazer-one nervous tug away from falling off.

"If he finds me-if he sees me-Ser... he'll know." Ser doesn't blink. She doesn't breathe. She simply opens her bag and pulls out a spare guest pass like she's been waiting for this moment. Like she's been expecting this shitshow from the second I walked into the office. Maybe she did.

She holds it out to me. "Then don't let him see you." I stare at it. New name. New department. New identity.

It's laminated, creased at the corners, still warm from her body heat. She shoves it into my hand like it's a fucking life raft. "Your nis Teresa Calla. You're a translator intern from Geneva. Smile nice and don't talk to anyone unless they talk to you first." The plastic digs into my fingers. I stare at the stupid mugshot on it-blurry brunette chick with a crooked smile. Definitely not me.

"Service elevator. Take it all the way down to the archives. Wait there. Don't breathe. Don't blink. Don't fucking exist." My fingers are shaking as I clip the badge on. "How long do I have?" She tilts her head. "Until the elevator dings. You know how tall this building is?" I do.

Too fucking tall.

The muffled ding outside the closet hits like a warning bell. Then the shift- murmurs, gasps, that pin-drop silence that only happens when royalty steps into a room full of mortals who just pissed themselves.

He's here.

And my knees nearly give out.

Ser's already cracking the door open, peeking through like a goddamn spy. "Now. Go. Don't talk. Don't think. Don't get 1/7 20:06 Fri, 16 May A A Chapter 126 caught." I slip out behind her, keeping low. My heels are too loud. I should've worn flats. But I thought I'd be writing news briefs today, not playing hide-and-seek with the King of Lycans.

My breath is shallow, barely there. Every step down that hallway feels like a countdown to death.

61% The hallway's tight. Cream-colored walls. Recessed lights. No windows. No escape routes. Just the hum of the building's AC and the metallic groan of a floor that's holding its breath. The service elevator is where Ser said it would be. Metal doors, dented buttons. I jam my thumb on the call button so hard it turns white.

Shit, shit, shit.

Con.

Con.

Ding.

The doors open like they know they're part of a thriller. I step in, punch the button for -2. As the doors close, I catch a glimpse through the sliver-someone tall stepping off the executive elevator at the far end of the floor. Forest green eyes would be easy to spot even from here.

I step in.

The doors shut.

And I finally breathe.

My legs feel like noodles. Cold sweat slides down my spine. My hand covers my belly out of instinct more than sense.

God, I hope he doesn't hear it.

*** The basement archives are... fucking terrifying.

Cold, concrete floors and low-hanging fluorescent lights make the space feel like a morgue for forgotten corporate bullshit. Rows of metal shelves stretch forever, filled with file boxes, rolled-up blueprints, tech prototypes wrapped in plastic, and a couple of suspicious tarps I'm not touching.

It's dead quiet except for the hum of machines. Somewhere above, I hear the elevator groan up again.

I step carefully, wincing at the echo of my heels. Every click is a gunshot in this tomb of records.

"Just a little longer," I whisper under my breath, my palm pressed over the small swell beneath my shirt. The tiniest bump. Barely a curve. But real. Alive. Insideis a piece of him.

Of course the irony isn't lost on me. Hiding from the father of my unborn child in the underground lair of his enemy's media empire. Classic Omega bullshit.

I round a corner and pause, flattening myself against a shelf. There's a flickering light overhead. I want to scream at it to shut the fuck up. It's pulsing like a beacon saying she's here, cget her, cdestroy her again.

Then I hear Not footsteps.

2/7 1 20:06 Fri, 16 May AA Chapter 126 A voice.

Broadcasted. Overhead. Faint and warped through the intespeakers lining the ceilings.

"I want the records. All of them." Enoch's voice floods through the intercom.

"Anything that connects her to this place. I want it now." I freeze.

My stomach drops through the floor.

He knows.

No. He suspects.

61% Or maybe his wolf knows. Maybe that primal, fucked-up tether between us is tugging on him like a fishhook, leading him here.

My throat locks up.

The sound of his voice shouldn't still do this to me. It shouldn't still hurt. But it does. It cracks something straight down the center of my chest.

He's here.

I squat behind a filing caband try to disappear. Like if I press my body hard enough against the wall, the universe will forget I exist.

My fingers dig into the ID badge clipped to my chest. Teresa Calla. Teresa Calla.

Teresa- Something clanks in the distance. A door.

Then footsteps. Heavy, male. Confident.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

I scramble up and start moving again, this tkeeping low and fast, cutting corners. I pass an old printer, a broken coffee maker, a pile of discarded furniture.

I turn-and stop.

An intern.

He freezes mid-step. We both blink at each other.

"...Uh. Are you lost?" he asks, his voice cracking like he's never spoken to a human before.

"Translator intern," I blurt. "Teresa. HR sentdown. Got turned around. Italian's not my first language. Please don't tell anyone. I'll lose my badge." His mouth opens. Then closes. He looks back toward the stairwell.

Then shrugs. "Yeah, okay." I could kiss him.

+15 20:06 Fri, 16 May AA.

Chapter 126 0 But I don't, because I hear the sound that means I'm fucked.

Footsteps. Slow. Calculated.

Boots.

And the faintest growl.

Jacob. That stupid Beta always ruins everything.

I flatten behind a rolling shelf, breath locked in my lungs.

61% His scent hits first. That metallic, rain-on-asphalt musk that screams Alpha but quieter than Enoch's all-consuming burn.

"I know you're here," he mutters. "You're fucking here... aren't you?" He moves past my row. Doesn't stop. Doesn't look.

+15 I squeeze my eyes shut. My hand is over my mouth. My other hand grips the edge of the metal shelf so hard it squeaks under pressure. I swear I can hear my pulse in my ears. My belly's tight. The baby's pressing weird against my stomach like even it knows we're not supposed to be seen.

Jacob stops.

Sniffs again.

He turns his head.

I don't move.

Not a breath.

Ring ring.

His phone lights up in the dark.

I don't breathe.

He answers.

"Enoch is heading to the top floor for a private discussion. With the CEO." Jacob makes a noise in his throat. "Copy." Footsteps retreat.

I stay frozen.

He walks off.

Bootsteps fading.

And I finally let myself exhale.

Just when I relax, my phone vibrates a panic attack in my bra. I yank it out with one hand, the other still gripping the stairwell door I just burst through.

Seraphina: 20.00 Fr, 16 May AA Chapter 126 61% 11 Back door through archive tunnel. Move now.

I don't waste a fucking second.

My heels are already in my hand, my feet bare on the slick marble floor as I shove open the utility door behind the women's lounge. It slams shut behind me, muffled in the pitch-black corridor of old archive files. The hallway is narrow, dusty, and lined with forgotten steel cabinets and broken printers. My chest heaves. The air tastes like mold, ink, and stale coffee. My blood is in my throat, hot and erratic, pulsing behind my eyes.

I'm pregnant.

I'm pregnant and running from the fucking Lycan King.

God, this sounds fake even in my head.

My boots slam across concrete as I shove through the steel fire exit Ser directedto. Cold air sucker punchesin the face, and I almost choke from the sudden drop in temperature.

Underground wine cellar. That's what this is.

It smells like wet cork and oak barrels and money. The kind of old money that's never touched a debit card in its damn life.

The lights are dim, flickering in places. Somewhere above, I hear the muffled hum of bass and chattering voices. The luxury division is hosting another one of its over-the-top client events, apparently. Thank fuck.

I duck behind one of the massive oak barrels stacked like towers and rip off my blazer. It reeks of stress sweat and desperation anyway. My fingers are shaking open a dusty storage caband thank the Moon when I find a dark as I yank wine rep jacket. Still has a company logo on it.

I rip my shirt off-blouse, gone. Swap it with a burgundy rep jacket hanging on a hook by the tasting racks. It's got the logo of the luxury branch stitched over the left breast. Close enough. My skirt's long and black already, passable. I rip out my contacts next-eyes burning-and blink until the room doubles before refocusing. Tug my hair out of its neat bun and rake my fingers through it until I look like a woman who hasn't slept in three days and sells overpriced Chianti to pretentious assholes.

Good. That's exactly the energy I need right now.

I take a breath. Then another. Tell myself I'm not about to throw up from sheer fucking nerves or baby nausea or both.

I slide my phone into the wine crate hidden behind a half-stack of dusty vintage.

Just in case. I can't risk GPS tracking, not now. It killsto leave it-my last link to the world-but if Enoch findsthrough that... it's over.

And then I climb the back stairwell to the next floor. Right into a different fucking