Merlina tucked herself into a quiet corner of Belford College Library, her notebook spread open beside her, crammed with scribbled notes, arrows, and circled names.
She flipped through old student newsletters and archived reports with sharp focus, her eyes scanning each page like she was piecing together a secret only she could solve.
Merlina leaned closer, her lips parting slightly.
Her finger froze over a headline. Dean's Wife Involved in Charity Scandal.
Merlina leaned in, her lips parting slightly. Even the dean's wife. No one here was clean.
Belford College wasn't just founded on lies, it was shaped by them.
Behind her, two girls strolled past the aisle, their laughter cutting through the thick Library silence.
"I'm telling you," one girl said, loud enough to carry, "if Craig Lesnar looks at me one more time in Lit class? I swear…"
"Please," her friend cut in, giggling. "He could date my twin and I'd still feel special."
Merlina's posture shifted subtly. She kept her eyes on the file in front of her, but her ears sharpened, capturing every word.
"Adriana is living my dream," the first girl gushed. "Did you see the car he picked her up in? One scratch on that thing and you're in debt 'til 2090."
"She won't last," the second girl said knowingly. "Guys like Craig? They get bored. Fast."
Their voices faded into the shelves.
Merlina stayed still, staring at the newsletter, but suddenly it became too boring and her mind had drifted somewhere else entirely, to the gossip she'd just overheard, a mental replay of Craig Lesnar's name echoing in her head.
Why did it feel like every corner of Belford College was his personal stage? She was starting to wonder if she'd accidentally enrolled at Craig Lesnar College. Every whisper, every sideways glance in the hallways, somehow seemed to carry his name.
She slammed her pen down, not too hard, just enough to vent. Irritation prickled through her chest. Of all people, why did she ask him for a damn handbook?
Why did she keep thinking about him when he had been rude… twice? Twice! And yet, part of her couldn't help it.
His deep green eyes flashed through her mind again. That impossible calm, the way he moved, the slight tilt of his head when she spoke to him, it stuck in her brain like gum on a shoe.
She scowled at her notebook. Why am I even thinking about him? She didn't like this. She didn't need this. And yet, she felt it, a weird tug, somewhere between irritation and… something else. Something she hated admitting.
Merlina shoved her hair behind her ear, trying to summon her focus, but the image of him stretching out his hand, handing her the handbook like it was the last favor he'd ever grant anyone, kept replaying. And with it, the memory of how absurdly… alive she had felt when she caught his eyes on her in campus.
Had she been imagining it or was he really staring at her ? It didn't make sense, because why was he so rude ?
She pressed her lips together, stuck the strand of hair that kept falling over her face. She had a list a mile long, and none of it included Craig Lesnar.
Who sent that message?
She had to find out. She had to figure out every last detail about what had happened to her mom, about every thread of truth that Belford College had tried to bury.
Her fingers gripped her notebook a little tighter. Deep breath. Focus. This was bigger than any handsome face or irritating arrogance. She wouldn't let herself get distracted, not today, not ever.
Craig Lesnar… really?
The name wasn't just a distraction. It was becoming a pull she couldn't ignore.
***
At the Sanchez residence that night, the air was cold despite the gleaming surfaces. Everything was too neat, too curated. A house masquerading as a home.
Aiden Sanchez stood by the large window, a glass of scotch heavy in his hand, staring into the darkness outside like it could give him answers.
Behind him, Alistair lingered with restless energy barely contained, while Melissa sat curled up on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"Fiona's been good for me," Aiden said, voice measured. "For us. How many times must I ask for peace in this house?"
Alistair's eyes narrowed. "Good for you? Or just easy on the eyes?"
Aiden didn't bother turning around. He just sipped his drink slowly, clinging to control.
"She's present," he said. "Which is more than I can say for you."
Alistair laughed, bitter and dry. "Present… like a goddaughter waiting for her cut?"
That hit its mark. Aiden turned now, his movements slow but sharp, his gaze cutting.
"Mind your words, boy."
But Alistair couldn't hold it in anymore. He stood up, his body alive with a fury too long ignored.
"You want us to pretend?" he said. "Smile for your replacement bride? After Mom…"
Melissa's voice, soft and aching, interrupted. "She was Mom's goddaughter, Dad. Her goddaughter."
The words sank into the room like stones thrown into deep water. Aiden flinched. Just barely, then he masked it behind another long sip.
"She's been part of this family long before things fell apart," he said quietly. "She knows me. She listens. She stays."
Alistair's voice dropped, dark and dangerous. "Did she know you before Mom left too? Were you already hers when you still belonged to Mom?"
Melissa's fingers clenched tighter around the throw pillow, the only sound the soft creak of the leather couch
A flicker broke through Aiden's composure. Before he straightened. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I know enough," Alistair shot back. "I saw the way she looked at you. I saw the way you let her."
Aiden set his glass down with a dull thud that echoed through the tension.
"Enough," he said. "I will not let you rewrite what your mother and I had."
"You rewrote it first," Alistair whispered, his rage trembling at the edges of grief.
The room went still.
Grief, regret, betrayal. It hung between them like a ghost no one wanted to name.
Alistair's voice cracked as he pushed out the words. "Did you ever love her, Dad? Or were you just waiting for the lights to go out?"
Aiden stepped closer, his voice a low warning. "You're blinded by grief. I'm marrying Fiona. That's final."
"No," Alistair said, standing his ground. "You're not."
"Let's see you try to stop me," Aiden shot back, cold and cutting.
From the couch, Melissa's voice slipped through like a whisper breaking glass.
"She's not Mom," she said. "And she never will be."
Aiden's jaw tensed, but he said nothing.
Nothing he could say would patch what he'd broken in them.
"You changed the night Mom died," Alistair said, voice trembling. "You stopped seeing us. Even when we're right here. So tell me, Dad. Did we just lose Mom… or did we lose you too?"
No answer.
Only the soft clink of ice in Aiden's glass.
Alistair didn't wait for a reply. He walked off, his pain following like a shadow. Melissa moved after him in silence.
Aiden stood alone at the window, swallowed by the night outside. Unreadable. Unmoving.
But inside, something warred.
He could still hear Alistair's voice. Raw, furious, and full of things Aiden had tried not to name.
Did you ever love her?
Were you just waiting for the lights to go out?
He'd told himself Fiona was comfort. Closure. A second chance at a complete family. But maybe she was just a way out.
Now Melissa barely looked at him. Alistair couldn't stand him. He didn't even know when it all started slipping.
His fingers curled around the glass. Jaw locked. Breath shallow.
Then, low and rough, like a confession he didn't mean to say. "I never meant for it to be like this."
The wind outside howled, pressing against the glass, as if it carried a warning.
Just as Aiden turned away, the faintest sound echoed from the hallway. A footstep.
Someone was here.
And he wasn't alone anymore.