Falling for my Enemy's Brother-Chapter 70: Shattered Flames

Merlina sank to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached for the shattered picture on the floor. Her fingers brushed against sharp edges, but she barely felt them. When she picked them up, her heart broke into a million pieces.

It was one of those sleek, acrylic photo blocks, clean, minimal, the kind you buy off an Instagram ad at 2 a.m. Inside it, a Polaroid-style shot of her and Louis: arms around each other, laughing like their problems no longer exist.

Their first date — the day she let go of her worries for fun time at Barsea.

She loved that photo, not just because of the memory, but because of how she looked in it. The angle, the lighting, the softness in her eyes.

Her stomach twisted. Shame settled in her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake.

"Did you see it?" she asked, voice tight.

Across the room, Craig stood watching her every move with his jaw clenched, breath still uneven from everything that had just happened between them.

"What?" he replied, irritation flickering in his voice.

"The photo block," she said, rising to her feet, holding the photo like it might accuse her. "Did you know it was behind me?"

He let out a short, incredulous breath and ran a hand down his face. "Seriously? We just—God forget it." He stopped himself, jaw clenching. "That’s what you’re asking me right now?"

"Did you see it or not, Craig?"

His expression darkened. "What if I did? Huh? What if it was the first piece of lie I saw the moment I walked in?"

The words hit her harder than she expected. She swallowed, her fingers curling tighter around the broken frame.

"And you tossed it anyway?"

"No," he said flatly. "We did. You helped me."

That stopped her cold. The truth of it echoed louder than the accusation.

She stared at the photo again — at the girl she thought she was. A girl who wouldn’t have thrown any of this away for a kiss. For a moment.

"God," she whispered. Her voice broke like a fragile thread, barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "I’m such an idiot, what have I done?" Her eyes darted to the shattered photo at her feet, fragments scattered like the pieces of her own unraveling.

Craig didn’t move. His voice was quieter now, but no less cutting. "Nothing crazier than all the things you’ve been doing since you came to Belford."

He hated seeing her fall apart with regret over a moment they both clearly wanted, desperately.

She looked up at him, eyes brimming with fury and regret. "You’re an asshole."

He gave a slow, almost mocking nod — like he was humoring her nonsense. "An asshole that you kissed."

That shut her up immediately.

His voice dropped low, carrying a smug edge. "Actually, what we did here was more than that."

She scoffed, her fingers drifting to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear—anything to guard herself.

There was a warmth between her thighs she couldn’t ignore, a lingering dampness that betrayed everything she was trying not to feel. The kind that confirmed he was right, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

Her voice came out like steel wrapped in sorrow. "Yeah. And I promise you — it’ll never happen again."

He gave a bitter half-laugh. "Yeah."

Then he bit his bottom lip like he was holding something back — his anger, maybe. His pride. Maybe both.

"Thank you though," he said, gaze steady, "for letting me see just how bad you want me."

His words made her insides shrink. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat tightened around all the things she wanted to say but felt too defeated to voice out.

Craig took a measured step back, then another, his expression blank. "And yeah...happy birthday to me, I guess." He scoffed, shook his head once, the faintest smirk effortlessly played at the corner of his lips.

Without looking back, he walked away—cold, silent and done.

The door shut behind him, leaving nothing but emptiness and broken glass. Merlina stared down at the photo in her hands, the image of her and Louis barely holding together.

She sank to the floor, this time not carefully, not with intention, but like her legs simply gave up.

Her elbows pressed into her knees, hands covering her face, as the frame slipped from her hand again.

The thud sent another shockwave up her spine. A silent message. She no longer deserved to be holding it. Holding him, Louis.

This time, she didn’t pick it up again. She couldn’t look at the photo anymore. Couldn’t look at her study table behind her. Couldn’t look at anything.

Her chest tightened, and her stomach twisted as everything settled in, not just the betrayal, but the fact that she let it happen, again. But this time, so easily. So willingly. She had helped Craig toss Louis aside, like he meant nothing.

And that was what gutted her most.

She couldn’t even cry. The tears threatened, but she held them back like a punishment, like crying would somehow be letting herself off the hook too soon.

Because deep down, she knew exactly what she had been doing few minutes ago.

Every glance. Every breath between them. Every second she leaned closer instead of stepping away — she knew. And this time, she didn’t fight it.

They’d gone deeper than just a kiss. And she knew, with a kind of certainty that made her ache, that if the frame hadn’t crashed to the floor, if that shatter hadn’t jolted them back to reality... she would’ve given herself to him. Right there, no questions.

It would’ve happened. All of it.

And what scared her wasn’t that Craig knew it too. It was that part of her didn’t even regret it.

She pressed her palms harder against her face, like maybe she could block out the guilt if she just stayed there long enough.

But it stayed. Loud and unforgiving. Because the truth was simple, she didn’t know how to forgive herself, she didn’t deserve it.

The question in her mind ran deeper than What had she done? That was a simple one, a surface scratch on a deeper wound.

The real question—the one twisting in her chest like something rotten—was this: Who was she? Could she be the kind of girl who’d sleep with someone else—right there, in her own room, right in front of her boyfriend’s photo?

And worse... did some part of her already know the answer?

The faint scent he left lingered in the air, and somewhere beneath the ruin of her thoughts, she still felt his mouth on hers.

Craig tightened his helmet and swung over his motorcycle like he was trying to outrun everything still burning behind him. The engine roared to life, slicing through the quiet street. He didn’t look back.

By the time he got to the venue, the texts had piled in.

’Where are you?’

’Craig, we’re waiting.’

’Have you even seen the setup? It’s insane.’

’Where the hell are you?’

He ignored the texts, parked, and slipped in through the back entrance—into a celebration he no longer felt part of.