Falling for my Enemy's Brother-Chapter 23: Phoeb-ish

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until the words finally sank in.

’Someone said they might’ve seen Conor Lesnar.’

The temperature in the room dropped, like someone had cracked a window open in winter. My blanket, once warm and safe, suddenly felt too heavy, like it was pinning me down. I clawed it off, needing air, needing space, but even that didn’t help. My chest ached. I stared at the phone in Megan’s hand, hoping I’d misheard. But the words just kept echoing.

Conor Lesnar.

The name alone made my stomach clench and twist. A low pulse started behind my temples, and I gripped the edge of my mattress, steadying myself like the floor might give out.

Megan was still frozen, her thumb hovering over the screen. "You okay?"

"No." My voice came out rougher than I expected. "No, I’m not." I forced myself upright, back stiff, breath shallow.

The door creaked open.

Phoebe walked in, her presence a splash of color in the gray haze that had overtaken the room. She wore a faded hoodie and oversized basketball shorts that looked suspiciously like Keith’s. Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, maybe from leftover eyeliner. She didn’t look at us right away.

"Well, good morning to you too," she said dryly, tossing her bag onto her bed. "I guess you two just decided to ghost us after the party?"

Megan’s shoulders tensed beside me, her body shrinking into itself. I didn’t say anything. My thoughts were still scrambled, stuck somewhere between disbelief and dread.

Phoebe folded her arms, her brows knitting. "Seriously, Merlina? As if ditching us wasn’t enough, you arrived at the party and dragged Megan with you, leaving me all alone."

I ran a hand through my hair, fingers snagging in the tangles. I didn’t even try to fix it. "Can we not do this right now?" My voice cracked. "I’ve got bigger problems to deal with."

Phoebe tilted her head. Her eyes scanned the room, and the tension finally registered. "What’s going on? You both look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Megan glanced at me, her eyes asking for a silent green light as she spoke. "Someone told Louis that Conor Lesnar might’ve been at Brandon’s party last night," she said, almost whispering.

Phoebe blinked slowly. "Wait—what?"

"If that’s true..." Megan’s voice dropped lower. "We were literally in the same space as him."

Phoebe scoffed, brushing a hand through her curls like she could swat the thought away. "No way. Conor’s out of town. He’s been gone for weeks. Craig said he couldn’t make it."

My head snapped toward her. "Craig told you that?"

She blinked. "Yeah?" Her tone turned defensive. "What, you think he’s lying?"

"I don’t know what to think!" My voice rose before I could stop it. I could feel it again, that slow-rising panic, curling around my ribs like ivy. "Don’t you get it? If Conor was there, everything..."

Phoebe flinched but quickly masked it with a scoff. "Seriously? This again? Do we even have proof Conor had anything to do with your mom’s death? Like actual, real proof?"

I froze. My pulse roared in my ears.

"No offense, Megan," Phoebe continued, turning slightly toward her, "but aside from what your brother said... what do we really have? A gut feeling? Some half-baked suspicion?"

Megan didn’t answer. Her hands twisted the hem of her shirt, eyes glued to the floor.

Phoebe’s voice grew sharper. "This is a murder accusation, Merlina. Don’t you get that? You’re treating it like some school project or personal crusade, but you’ve got nothing."

"Stop," I said quietly.

She ignored me.

"Nothing that links Conor to anything. Why would someone like him kill a professor? He doesn’t even have a motive."

"I said stop, Phoebe." My voice cracked around the edges. The air felt thick, suffocating. She was supposed to understand, at least try. But all she was doing was twisting the knife.

"Honestly? I’m so over it." She threw her hands up. "This whole ’Conor Lesnar killed my mom’ narrative, it’s exhausting. There’s no evidence, just you pushing a theory because you need someone to blame."

"Someone to blame?" I repeated, stunned. The words hit like a slap. Was that really what she thought? That this was about convenience? That I wanted someone to hate?

Phoebe stepped forward, her voice rising, eyes narrowing. "I’m done holding this in. Keith is my boyfriend. Craig’s his best friend. And none of us can get along, because of you."

Each word felt like a stone, heavy and blunt. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, not just from her accusation, but from how easily she’d turned this on me.

"Don’t make this her fault," Megan said, stepping in. Her voice shook. "That’s not fair."

"It is her fault," Phoebe shot back. "She doesn’t even know for sure. But she’s made it her entire personality, hating Craig, hating Conor, for no solid reason."

I clenched my fists. "I’m right here, Phoebe. Stop talking about me like I’m not."

She didn’t flinch. "I know you’re right here. And I know you want justice. But could you maybe do it without wrecking my relationship in the process?"

Something inside me snapped.

"I never asked you or Megan to take sides," I said, my voice climbing. "Not once. So don’t put your relationship problems on me."

"Enough," Megan said, stepping forward, hands trembling. "Please. Both of you."

But Phoebe wouldn’t stop.

She scoffed, bitter. "Problems? You’re the one drowning in them, Merlina. Not me."

"Phoebe!" Megan gasped.

Phoebe turned to her. "What? Don’t pretend our lives wouldn’t be easier without her."

The words lingered like smoke after a fire, burnt, bitter, choking.

And I knew. She meant it.

And maybe... she wasn’t wrong.

"Take that back," Megan said, her voice trembling, eyes shining.

But I was already moving.

I stood up slowly, too calm. That kind of scary calm that only happens when you’ve gone numb. I reached for my tote, my hands moving on instinct. Charger. Journal. Hoodie. Anything I’d need to disappear for a while.

"I’m sorry," I said, zipping my bag with finality. "If I’ve been a burden. If I made your perfect little love life harder, I’m sorry." free𝑤ebnovel.com

Phoebe said nothing.

"You’re right," I added, slinging the tote over my shoulder. "We’re roommates. You don’t owe me anything."

"Merlina..." Megan whispered, but I couldn’t look at her. If I did, I’d break.

I walked to the door. My hand closed around the knob. The silence behind me was loud enough to scream.

"I’ll be fine," I said. "My problems are mine alone now."

And I meant it.

I didn’t look back.