Falling for my Enemy's Brother-Chapter 24: Letters and Birdsongs

Merlina’s POV

At this point, Vacancy Motel should probably start calling me their resident.

It had been a full day since I last saw Phoebe or Megan. And the truth? I no longer felt the need to be somewhere I wasn’t wanted.

Phoebe’s words had been clear, and she meant every one of them. ’Our lives would be easier without you.’ She wasn’t mincing words. It was as though she’d taken a knife to the fragile thread that had connected us and sliced it clean through. I wanted to scream, to ask how she could say that, but instead, I just let it hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Her words replayed in my head like a loop I couldn’t turn off. Was she right? Was I really that much of a burden?

Heck, my life would’ve been easier without all of this.

Who even plans to be the daughter of a professor who mysteriously dies on a college campus? It wasn’t in the brochure when I planned out my college life. Yet here I was, tangled in a mess of theories and suspicions that were slowly consuming me.

Maybe in Phoebe’s dictionary, it made sense. She didn’t understand, not really. And as much as I felt the sting of her insensitivity, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some shred of truth in what she’d said. What was I even chasing? What proof did I have?

Conor Lesnar.

Was he truly the one behind it all? Was he the reason my mother was dead? Or was I just creating a story because I needed someone to blame?

I stared at the chipped paint on the motel room’s walls, the silence pressing in on me. I needed evidence, something concrete, anything that could point me in the right direction. But what if there was nothing to find?

I shook my head. No. I couldn’t think that way. I had to keep going. I couldn’t give up, not yet.

With a heavy sigh, I gathered myself. I couldn’t hide from Phoebe and Megan forever. No matter how much I wanted to, I had to face them. I needed to pick up my laptop, a few personal items. Maybe, just maybe, I could start putting the pieces together.

I grabbed my bag and left the motel room, the quiet of the place seeming almost like a refuge now, even though I knew I couldn’t stay away from the truth forever.

The walk back to the dorm felt longer than it should’ve. Every step heavier than the last. But as I reached the door to my old room, I hesitated. I knew what I’d find inside, awkward silence, uncomfortable glances, but no answers.

But it was just Megan, wide awake at this painfully early hour, hunched over her phone like it was the only thing keeping her company.

She looked up sharply when she saw me. "Merlina. Hey!"

"Hey," I replied, keeping it cool, even though my brain was on overload.

She stood up quickly, her brows knitting in concern. "You okay?"

"I’m fine," I said, my voice casual, like I wasn’t about to blow up my whole college life. "Just came to grab my stuff."

Her gaze followed me as I moved to my desk, like she wasn’t sure what to say next. "Where’ve you been? When are you coming back?"

"I’m not." I kept my tone even, not wanting to drag this out. "I already requested a room transfer this morning."

Her jaw dropped. "Wait, what? Merlina—"

"I’m not gonna stay somewhere I’m not wanted, Megan," I said, still trying to keep it chill. "It’s fine, seriously."

She stepped closer, her voice soft but thick with guilt. "Don’t say that, you know that’s not true. I’m sorry things turned out this way. Phoebe... she just—"

"I know," I interrupted gently, not wanting to hear her try to explain Phoebe’s words. There was no point.

"You don’t have to transfer," Megan insisted, taking a cautious step forward. "I’m sure Phoebe’s just—"

"It was bound to happen." I let out a breath, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. "Her boyfriend is besties with the Lesnars. I should’ve seen it coming."

Her eyes flitted to the floor, the words hanging between us like an unsaid apology. "Merlina, I—"

"It’s okay," I interrupted again, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. "It doesn’t change anything. We can still be cool, right?" I said it like I believed it, even though I wasn’t sure. "I just need some space right now."

She nodded slowly, her eyes glistening as she blinked fast. "Of course."

I flashed her a quick, tight smile and grabbed my laptop, shoving the rest of my stuff into my bag. Every movement felt robotic, like I was going through the motions to get out of there.

"I’ll text you," I muttered, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

She didn’t try to stop me as I turned to leave. The door clicked shut behind me, and for a second, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had just shifted.

I didn’t look back.

I found a quiet corner in the campus café, tucked behind a row of dusty plants and a bookshelf full of untouched paperbacks. Basically, the unofficial hideout for anyone trying to disappear. I dropped my bag, plugged in my laptop, and cracked my knuckles. My chest was tight, like my lungs had forgotten how to breathe properly.

I didn’t want to do this. I really didn’t.

For weeks, I’d avoided logging into her email. It felt wrong. Like flipping through someone’s diary while they were still warm in the ground. But I was out of options. I needed anything. An answer. A lead. A crack in the wall of silence.

My mom’s old email address blinked on the screen.

I typed in the password I remembered from years ago.

Denied.

Tried another.

Still wrong.

I let out a frustrated breath, rubbing my palms against my jeans. "Come on, Mom..."

What would she use?

My brain scrambled through childhood memories like an old photo album. Then, suddenly, I heard her humming. Not out loud, but in that vivid way grief sometimes plays tricks on you.

Moon River.

She used to hum it while grading papers, humming like she was in her own little world. I remembered teasing her about it once, and she told me it was her comfort song. And 2003 was the year she got her first teaching job.

"Moonriver2003," I whispered, my fingers flying across the keyboard.

Enter.

The inbox loaded.

I froze, hands suspended above the keyboard. I had just broken into a sacred place. One I was never meant to enter. It felt like walking into her old office and seeing her ghost in the chair.

Unread emails. Spam. A calendar invite from a faculty meeting long past. Nothing stood out. Until I saw it.

Drafts.

There was only one.

Subject: Resignation Letter.

My heart slammed against my ribcage.

I clicked.

The screen filled with neatly typed words. Precise. Polite. Thanking the university for the opportunity. Citing personal reasons. There was no hint of fear, no dramatic farewell, but it was her. I could hear her voice in every line.

And the date?

Two days before she died.

I read it again. And again. Like repetition would unlock some hidden code between the lines.

Why would she resign?

She loved teaching. She practically lived for it.

Unless...

Was Conor Lesnar still bothering her? Was it that bad? Bad enough for her to walk away from everything she built?

I slammed the laptop shut, my pulse hammering.

If Conor had been at Brandon’s party like Louis claimed, then he was back. And if he was back, then I needed to find him.

Now.

I yanked my phone from my pocket and hit Louis’s name.

He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, you okay?"

"I need to know where Conor Lesnar is staying."

Silence.

"Why?"

"I just do."

"I can come with you."

"No," I said quickly. "I need to do this myself."

He sighed. "Alright. The Lesnar Guest House. Off Waverly Road. You can’t miss it. Looks like it belongs in a Nicholas Sparks movie."

"Thanks, Louis."

I didn’t wait for a goodbye.

I was already on my feet.

Already moving.

Already bracing myself to look the devil in the eye.

The ride there was quiet. My heart pounded louder than the engine. When I finally arrived, I understood what Louis meant. The place was ridiculous—gated, pristine, like some kind of resort. Stone pathways. Tall trees. Not a single noise but birdsong and the wind.

I slipped past the gate quietly, my sneakers barely making a sound on the polished stone path winding through the garden. The air smelled like lavender and early morning. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find, but I kept moving, my chest tight with nerves and purpose.

I turned a corner, heart pounding.

Then I saw him.

Not Conor.

It was Craig.

He stood by a marble fountain I hadn’t even noticed until that moment, framed by soft light filtering through tall cypress trees. His back was to me, but I knew it was him. Every angle, every movement. He wasn’t doing anything loud or dramatic. Just standing there. Feeding birds.

Actual birds. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Doves fluttered around him, graceful and calm, pecking gently at the seeds he scattered in quiet handfuls. His head was slightly bowed, his hair tousled like he had just rolled out of bed, but somehow it worked. The sharpness he usually wore like armor was missing. No swagger. No smirk. Just... stillness.

And something about that stillness knocked the air out of my lungs.

Craig Lesnar, the cold, detached campus heartthrob, with a reputation for ignoring the world unless it served him, was standing there like he belonged in a painting. Like he was part of the peace. The birds weren’t afraid of him. And for a second, neither was I.

I stepped back instinctively, not wanting to interrupt. I felt like I’d stumbled into something fragile. Something not meant to be seen.

He looked different. Softer, lighter. Like he carried something quiet inside him that didn’t match the noise of his name.

I didn’t know Craig could look like this.

A weird heat spread in my chest, slow and unfamiliar. It wasn’t just surprise. It wasn’t even just curiosity. It was something warmer. Something that made me feel like I had no business standing there, watching him be this... human.

My heart stuttered.

Who feeds birds at a guest house before nine a.m.? Who does that?

And why did it make me want to know everything about him?

I stood there, frozen, hidden just enough by the trees. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been staring.

And then—

"Hello?"

A voice behind me. Close.

I spun around, startled.

Someone was standing there.

And I wasn’t ready for whoever it might be.