Craig's POV
For a second, Keith didn't answer. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. Then he goes, "Because, man… I know better."
I frowned. What did that even mean?
It felt like I'd just stepped into something I wasn't supposed to. I looked over at him, trying to read his expression. He wasn't smiling, there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Maybe irritation? But I wasn't buying that.
Was I really the only one who felt like being around her was some sort of magnetic disaster waiting to happen?
I glanced at him. "Know better than what? She's not your type?"
Keith let out a short laugh. "Oh, nah. I'm into redheads. Girls like Phoebe? Lively, easy to impress. That's my kind of energy." He pursed his lips, like he'd just declared a personal philosophy.
I arched a brow. "And Merlina?" I asked, hesitating for a moment, "What do you think about her?"
"Why are you asking?" Keith shot me a suspicious look. "What do you think about her?"
"I asked first." It came out more defensive than I intended.
Keith didn't answer right away, eyes fixed on the road. And I didn't push. Mostly because I didn't want him catching on to how I couldn't stop thinking about a girl who hated my guts.
She wasn't just mad at me. She hated my family. She looked at me like I was some kind of serial killer. And the thing that stung most? I wasn't even the one involved in anything.
I'm not Conor.
"I think Merlina's… confused," Keith finally said. "Beautiful, sure. But she always looks like she's two seconds away from spiraling. Not exactly girlfriend material—for guys like us, she's more of a liability."
Liability? That one hit harder than I expected. I didn't even know why I cared. But I did.
"Yeah…maybe you're right," I muttered, ending the conversation there.
He was only right about one thing. She did look lost sometimes. I'd seen it, too. In her eyes. At Barsea. Even in how she stood, like the ground was shifting under her feet.
But everything else he said?
Wrong. Dead wrong.
"Trust me, bro. Don't go there," Keith added.
Too late. She was already under my skin.
There was something about Merlina Sanchez that refused to blend in. She didn't try to be noticed, but it happened anyway. She had this kind of quiet gravity, like her presence shifted the energy in a room. She was smart in a way that wasn't just about books or grades. It was in how she watched people, how she listened. Like she was always trying to figure out what they weren't saying.
She thought too much. Felt everything. Asked the kind of questions that made you uncomfortable. And didn't care if the truth got messy. She wasn't afraid of the chaos. She walked right into it like it was home.
That was what pulled me in. What scared me, too. Because on that night, the little moment we had spent together, walking in middle of that heavy stillness between us, she looked at me and asked 'Why are your walls so high?'
No one had ever asked me that before. No one had ever noticed. No one had cared.
It shook something in me. I remember freezing, because I didn't have an answer. Or maybe I did, but it was buried somewhere I'd never dared to go.
She wasn't easy to be around. Not because she was difficult, but because she saw too much. And once someone sees you like that, really sees you, it's hard to pretend anymore.
But then she let Louis get to her. She soaked up every lie he fed her and treated it like scripture. She looked me in the eye and tore my family down, lumped me in with everything she hated. Like I didn't have my own scars. Like I was just another Lesnar, like I was just another name on her blacklist.
That's what stung the most. Not the insults. Not the accusations.The fact that she never asked for my side. She didn't give me the benefit of the doubt. Not even a little.
And yet, I still kept thinking about her. Still kept remembering the way she looked at me that night, like she actually wanted to know what was behind all my silence.
I couldn't stop thinking about it, the frustration simmering.
Screw it. Whatever this is.
I'm over it.
To hell with Merlina Sanchez.
Merlina's POV
I sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through my phone absent-mindedly while Phoebe and Megan were out shopping for their dresses. Their voices carried down the hallway, excited chatter filling the air as they headed out, but I was perfectly content in my quiet solitude.
It wasn't often I got this time to myself, so I figured I'd catch up with Melissa.
"Merlina!" Her voice was like a shot of espresso. "What's good? How's the whole 'college life' thing? You found any cute guys yet?"
I grinned, leaning back against the headboard. "Same old, Mel. Trying not to die of stress, you know?"
She laughed on the other end. "Okay, but like, any hot guys? Or are you totally ignoring them?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Define hot. I'm heading to a party tonight, so we'll see."
Her voice perked up. "Oooh, what party? Like, a frat thing or something?"
I smirked. "Nah, it's Brandon's birthday. You know, the YouTuber? The one who's friends with literally everyone?"
Her gasp came through loud and clear. "Brandon? As in the Brandon? The social king himself? Please tell me it's not just a 'soda and chips' kind of thing."
"Ha, definitely not." I flopped back, watching my ceiling for no reason at all. "It's one of those big, inclusive parties. Gowns, champagne, the whole vibe. Everyone's invited. He's got, like, that influence."
She squealed. "I can't even—so, like, do you have a date? Or are you rolling solo?"
I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Megan and Phoebe are my dates."
"Girl, please," she shot back, laughing. "You know what I mean. You're not telling me there's no one you're into? Like, some hot college guy who has everyone's heart? Tell me who, I'm dying to know."
I hesitated. Craig's face flashed in my mind, his eyes all sharp and… frustrating. I shoved the thought away. He wasn't worth my mental energy.
"Nah. No one like that. I'm just going to enjoy myself, you know?"
Melissa's laugh was full of disbelief. "Stop playing! There's gotta be someone. You need to stop denying it. Go get a boyfriend, I swear it'll make your college life 100x better."
I was about to throw some snark back when a sound at the door froze me. Barely audible—but enough to know that someone standing there, waiting.
"Hold on, Mel," I whispered, setting my phone down and standing up, every inch of me suddenly alert. My feet moved quietly toward the door, my hand hovering near the knob.
Who could it be?
I opened it, staring in surprise.