Falling for my Enemy's Brother-Chapter 71: Happy Birthday Craig!

Inside the prep room, he yanked open the closet and pulled on the dark emerald tux that had been picked days ago. The silk lapel shimmered under the light, sharp enough to cut. But Craig barely looked in the mirror.

"Where the hell have you been?" Adriana asked the moment she saw him, already dressed in champagne satin and glittering heels.

"I’m here," he muttered, brushing past her.

"We have to do the entrance. And smile, okay? Nothing crazy tonight."

He didn’t answer.

The venue breathed luxury. Sharp glimmers of crystal mixed with the fizz of champagne, velvet walls absorbing every whispered secret beneath glittering chandeliers. Celebrities, influencers, athletes — all gathered for him.

But Craig wasn’t there.

Not really.

He smiled, laughed, and nodded politely at the endless stream of ’Happy Birthday, Craig’ he received tonight, but none of it reached his eyes. Even the sweet speeches made in his honor felt like they belonged to someone else. Not him.

Because deep down, he wished those words were coming from someone else. And now, he knew they never would.

He wasn’t even supposed to be there. Not tonight. Not in front of her door.

He should’ve been here at the party—smiling, making toasts, soaking in the attention like everyone expected him to. But none of that felt right. Not when all he could think about was her.

He hadn’t invited her. He told himself it was for the best. That things between them were too messy, too unclear. But the truth was—she was the one person he wished he could’ve spent the day with. Even if they were arguing or talking about Conor, her mom, her family.

He couldn’t go through the motions of his own birthday without seeing her. Not without at least trying to talk about what happened between them. He didn’t want her thinking he’d stopped caring. That after everything, she didn’t matter.

He hadn’t gone expecting some grand fix. He just wanted to clear the air. To talk. To hear her out. Maybe find some middle ground before everything between them got worse than it already was.

Keith pulled him aside at some point. "Where did you go off to?"

Craig hesitated, then shrugged. "Took a spin."

Keith raised a brow, waiting.

"On the new motorcycle," Craig added, like ghosting on his own party was nothing.

Keith studied him for a second. "You good?"

Craig glanced at the crowd, then down at his glass. "It’s my birthday," he said. "I wanted to feel alive."

But he didn’t.

All he felt was emptiness, caught in the ruins of yet another fight with Merlina. A moment that should have drawn them closer instead twisted into something dark and broken.

He hated how they kept falling into arguments, especially now, when he thought they were finally opening up to each other, finally breaking down the walls between them.

That damn Photo block—it was like Louis’s shadow lingered over them, even in his absence. He hadn’t meant to toss it. Not deliberately. But when she asked about it, as if it were something fragile and sacred, still holding her heart captive despite everything—a sharp, wild anger flared inside him.

They had just kissed, breathless and raw, a moment that had lifted him higher than he’d ever been. Yet, while his world seemed to tilt on that kiss, she was still tangled up in doubts over a photo of her and Louis. It was like she held onto some else, even as he wanted to lose himself completely in what they had right then.

He isn’t just sad about the fight — he’s broken that their connection didn’t mean more to her. In his mind, they had something real. Yet she hesitated because of Louis.

Now, he had no stomach for anything tonight, not the silky, chocolate soufflé Adriana forced him to try, nor the delicate macarons or the trays of exotic fruits laid out beside crystal flutes of champagne.

She’d been so extra about his birthday planning, and tonight, when he looked at her for the first time, he felt nothing but apology—not just for kissing someone else, but because even in that moment, he still couldn’t stop thinking about Merlina.

Every smile Adriana shot his way only made his mind drift to the feel of the slick heat of Merlina’s skin beneath his hands, the way her moans grew louder and messier when he touched her, how she let go completely, begging for more with every breath.

He cursed under a quiet hiss. Fuck this.

Nothing at this party excited him. He just wanted it to end—so he could retreat to the quiet comfort of his room and drown in his thoughts.

Until Conor walked in.

Craig spotted him through the crowd — tall, smiling, dressed in navy blue, and carrying an energy that instantly changed the room. That was Conor.

The lights dimmed. Music swelled. And suddenly, Studio Killers were walking onto the private stage.

Craig blinked.

No way.

Eros and Apollo played—his favorite song from his favorite band. He’d been listening to them since he was a teenager, blasting their music loud enough to drown out the world. Their surprise appearance had to be Conor’s little gift to him; no one else knew this but him. For the first time tonight, he smiled—truly smiled.

Then came the screen. Childhood photos of Craig flashed above them — crooked baby teeth, scraped knees, his first wrestling trophy. Everyone laughed, clapped.

But Craig didn’t feel a hint of embarrassment. Deep down, he knew those awkward beginnings had shaped him into something stronger, something solid, powerful and impossible to ignore.

Conor took the mic.

His speech wasn’t rehearsed, but it didn’t need to be. It was heartfelt, smooth, even poetic in places. He talked about growing up with Craig, about all the moments no one else got to see — the quiet strength, the fierce loyalty, the nights Craig would disappear with nothing but his guitar and return with a new song memorized. freeweɓnovel.cøm

"Craig sings?" The crowd murmured.

That was the thing about Conor. His words could disarm you, even when you didn’t want to be touched.

Craig watched, arms folded, jaw tight. But something cracked.

Damn him, he thought. Damn him for knowing me so well.

The applause faded. Craig stepped aside, finding a quiet corner. He needed a second.

That’s when his phone buzzed again. This time, just one message.

From: Dad.

His chest tightened.

He opened it.

’Happy birthday, champ. I hope you’re still angry with me. That means you still care. Call me.’