Falling for my Enemy's Brother

Chapter 72: A Little Too Loud

Merlina’s head throbbed like someone had tap-danced through her skull all night. And not because she hadn’t slept...she had. Barely. But her body felt drained, like every ounce of emotion had been wrung out and left to dry.

The knock came loud, fast, and inconsiderate.

Before she could even groan, Phoebe burst in, sunglasses on, latte in hand, like the sun had signed a non-compete clause against her.

"Okay, okay, okay," Phoebe sing-songed, tossing her bag on the bed like it offended her. "First of all...iconic night. Second, I’m still thinking about that tux. And third...can we all agree Craig’s party absolutely buried Brandon’s?"

Megan shuffled in behind her, yawning as she flopped onto the edge of the bed. "And those macarons? I had, like, seven. Rose pistachio? Game-changer."

Merlina blinked slowly. "It’s nine a.m."

"Exactly," Phoebe grinned, sliding her sunglasses off. "Peak gossip hour."

Her eyes still sparkled with leftover glitter from the night before.

"And don’t even get me started on Conor Lesnar. Like, okay, that guy is dangerous. I see it now."

Merlina’s body stiffened. "What?"

"No, I mean dangerously sweet," Phoebe said dramatically. "Ugh. It’s disgusting. I wanted to hate him. Really, I did. But the speech? The surprise band? The way he hugged Craig like they literally live for each other," She pulled a face. "I hate to say it, but the man might actually have a heart."

Megan, already halfway through a croissant, tilted her head. "He was nice though. Way warmer than I expected."

Phoebe nodded eagerly. "Right? He flew in The Studio Killers. Just because Craig liked them in middle school. Who does that?"

Merlina worked to keep her tone neutral. "You guys weren’t expecting him to not care about Craig, right ? They’re brothers."

Phoebe turned slowly, brow lifted. "Okay, but forgive me if I thought Conor Lesnar was, like, a walking villain arc. You and Louis made him sound like the kind of guy who kicks puppies."

Merlina sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing. "Please don’t start."

It was like Phoebe couldn’t help herself. Every time Conor or her mom came up, she had to poke, push, stir something. And every time, it made Merlina want to scream. She made it sound casual, like gossip, like harmless fun. But to Merlina, it was anything but.

"Phoebe, that’s enough," Megan cut in.

"No, I’m just saying...I think Merlina needs to—"

"I don’t care what you think, Phoebe." Merlina sat up a little, cheeks burning. "Can we please talk about something else?"

Phoebe narrowed her eyes, catching the flicker in Merlina’s voice. "Okay... sorry. Didn’t mean to kill the vibe."

She sipped her latte, then stood, fluffing her hair as she strolled over to the mirror. "But yeah, let’s talk about Craig...the birthday boy."

Merlina’s stomach flipped.

Phoebe spun around, eyes lit like a Broadway marquee. "Because that tux? Was Balmain. Emerald satin. Custom-made. Sharp peak lapels. Silk trim. Hand-stitched sleeves. Adriana said the tailoring alone takes four weeks."

Megan let out a little snort-laugh. "Here we go."

Phoebe didn’t miss a beat. "That tux wasn’t fabric. It was sculpture. He looked so clean I swear the air parted around him. Who shows up looking like that and doesn’t expect to cause problems?"

Megan was giggling now, tearing into another croissant. "Okay, but facts."

"Craig looked like he walked straight off a GQ cover," Phoebe declared.

Merlina curled her toes under the blanket, trying to stay still. But every word felt like it landed right on the side of her neck Craig had kissed. She tucked her knees closer, pretending to be cold. Her mind kept circling back to his breath against her skin, the way his eyes locked on hers in the dark.

Please don’t say his name again.

Megan perked up, swirling her latte. "Yeah. He looked good. Quiet though."

"I know Craig’s not usually my fave," Phoebe said, "but the guy gave me a private concert, free food, photo ops, and actual celebrities. I felt like I was in Hollywood and I didn’t even have to pay a dime."

Megan brushed crumbs from her lap, thoughtful. "Yeah, but... I don’t know. For someone throwing that kind of party, he didn’t seem fully there. Like, the smile was there, but the mood didn’t match."

"What do you expect?" Phoebe laughed. "The guy’s been living off caviar and private jets since birth. He’s probably seen better."

Merlina cleared her throat. Her fingers reached for the water bottle by her bed.

"Did he..." she started, then paused, unscrewing the cap with shaky hands. She took a slow sip, more to buy time than anything else. "Did he say anything?" Her voice tried to sound casual, but the pause gave her away. "To you guys?"

Phoebe blinked. "Craig?"

Megan frowned, puzzled. "Say anything, like what?"

Merlina shook her head too fast. "Nothing. Just wondering." Her eyes stayed pinned to the bottle in her hand.

Phoebe gave her a look. "He didn’t say anything about you. Or the missing invite. If that’s what you mean."

Merlina’s shoulders relaxed. Just barely.

"Honestly," Phoebe went on, "he barely spoke to anyone. Didn’t even give us more than a ’hey.’"

"Yeah," Megan said, laughing lightly. "For a minute, I thought he wasn’t even gonna show up to his own party."

Phoebe snapped her fingers. "True. He disappeared right before the grand entrance. Keith had to cover for him."

"Said he was just being dramatic," Megan added, shrugging.

Merlina’s pulse spiked.

"Didn’t notice his absence," Phoebe said, sipping her latte. "I was too busy living my rich-girl fantasy with his dad’s money."

They laughed.

Except Merlina, who couldn’t stop thinking about that moment Craig disappeared and what they’d done when he did.

Megan’s eyes wandered, half-lazy from carbs and caffeine, until they landed on Merlina’s desk.

"Wait..." she squinted. "What happened to this?"

She slid off the bed and crossed the room, picking up a cracked photo block from the corner of the desk. The glass was chipped at the edge, and one side of the frame had popped open slightly.

Phoebe turned, mildly interested. "Oh, the aesthetic has fallen."

Megan held it up. "This was a picture of your first date right ? You and Louis?"

Merlina’s stomach knotted. Her fingers twitched under the blanket.

"Yeah," she said quickly. "It... fell."

Megan frowned. "Fell how?"

Merlina sat up a little, brushing hair from her face like it might help her think. "I don’t know. I must’ve knocked it over last night or something."

"Last night." Megan tilted her head.

Merlina shrugged, too casually. "Yeah. I was reaching for my charger."

She hoped that would be enough.

Megan blinked, held her gaze for a second too long, then gently set the frame back down. Something felt off, but she didn’t press it.

Merlina looked away, pretending to sip her water again. But her mind already had its own plan—flashing back to his hands on her waist, his mouth on hers, the frantic way they’d stumbled against the desk, pushing everything aside like it didn’t matter.

Like nothing mattered.

God, stop thinking about him.

You’re such an idiot.

She swallowed hard, forcing the thought down like bad medicine. But the heat in her chest lingered. So did the ache.

She reached for her phone—anything to distract herself. And then the screen lit up.

One new message. Unknown number.

’You looked just like your mother last night. Be careful whose bed you end up in.’

No name. No sender. Just the same voice that’s haunted her since she arrived at Belford.

Her stomach flipped. Her fingers went cold.

And for the first time in days, she was truly afraid.