Merlina's POV
I blinked, then leaned in like I was inspecting evidence in a crime scene. The tear in the corner of the page was barely there.
"Seriously? It's a paper cut. Trust me, the book's still breathing," I said, trying to make light of the situation.
He raised an eyebrow, all deadpan. "It was mint condition."
I smirked. "You're not gonna sue me, are you?"
For half a second, I thought he might actually crack a smile. But nope—just that same stoic stare.
"I'm really sorry," I said, dialing back the sass just a little. "It must've happened when I was flipping through it. I'll get you a new one if it matters that much."
I tried to offer him a peace treaty in the form of a small smile. "I'm Merlina, by the way. You are…?"
He looked at me like I'd asked him the most obvious question. "Like you don't know."
My smile froze. "Excuse me?"
He stepped forward, closing the space between us like it was nothing. "Craig Lesnar."
In that instant, my heart went rogue. I froze, momentarily forgetting how to blink.
His gaze locked onto mine—steady, unflinching. I didn't move, even though every instinct was telling me to either run or step back.
But before either of us could say anything else, the air around us cracked with the sound of footsteps.
"Heyyy!" Phoebe's voice rang out like a cymbal crash, bright and intrusive. "What's going on here?"
She and Megan popped into view, eyes wide with curiosity and clearly trying to decode the situation.
Craig glanced at them for half a second, his gaze sharp but dismissive, as if we were all just background noise.
"Oh, I'm Phoebe, and this is Megan," Phoebe introduced, her voice oddly cheerful, as though it could soften the tension hanging between us.
But Craig didn't respond. He didn't even acknowledge them beyond that fleeting glance. Instead, he turned and walked away, head down, phone already in his hand like we were yesterday's notifications.
Phoebe blinked after him, clearly thrown off. "What the hell?" she muttered, watching him walk away. "Did he just…? Craig Lesnar is such a freakin' jerk."
I shook my head, trying to brush it off, but it didn't come out as casual as I wanted. "Tell me about it."
The whole encounter felt like it had happened in fast-forward, and now I couldn't shake the quiet fever he sparked in me. Craig Lesnar, with his icy stare and that walk, managed to hijack my entire focus.
Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "What kind of person just brushes people off like that?"
Megan laughed. "Apparently, he's got a fan club. You should see how many people are kissing his ass."
"Wait," I said, catching up. "You two know him?"
Phoebe shot me a look like I'd grown a second head. "Who doesn't?"
"Okay…" I said slowly. "So he's… popular?"
"Popular's putting it mildly," Megan said, already scrolling on her phone. "He's Belview's royalty."
"Is he?" I couldn't help but feel a flicker of interest.
Phoebe rolled her eyes. "But trust me, he's not all that."
"Yeah yeah, just the son of Charles Lesnar. CEO of CCL Group, billionaire dad." Megan's voice laced with sarcasm.
Well, that explained the attitude. Must be nice carrying yourself like you're above it all, with a face that's impossible to ignore.
"But who cares?" Phoebe said with a shrug. "He's a walking ick. Craig Lesnar is what happens when ego drinks espresso."
He was shut off and cold. It was the only way to explain it. His whole vibe felt like a brick wall. No warmth, no openness—just a guy who seemed completely indifferent to everyone around him. Maybe it wasn't even personal. Maybe that was just how he was—detached, like the world owed him something, and everyone else was a passing shadow.
"And clearly," Phoebe added, "he has a thing for ignoring everyone. Mini God wanna-be." She wouldn't stop ranting.
I tried to brush it off with a laugh, but I couldn't shake that moment—his voice, his eyes, the way he moved like he didn't need anyone. It lingered in my mind, stubborn like an unfinished thought.
As we crossed the campus, heading toward Phoebe's car, she turned to me again.
"So, uh… what were you even doing with Craig Lesnar?"
I paused. "He just let me borrow his handbook. That's it."
Phoebe raised an eyebrow like she didn't believe me for a second. But I just smiled and kept walking.
What was it about Craig Lesnar? Even the briefest interaction with him felt like winning a prize I hadn't even known I was competing for.
Back at the hostel, after dinner and small talk and shared memes, I curled up on my bed and FaceTimed home.
My dad, Aiden Sanchez, answered with my siblings squeezed into the frame. Melissa was waving. Alistair had a bowl of cereal like it was the middle of the day.
Fiona—my dad's wanna-be wife, hovered in the background, clearly listening.
"The day was fine," I told them. "Pretty chill. Productive."
Alistair snorted. "Did you make friends? Real ones or just people who smile fake?"
"I made real-ish ones. My roommates are cool."
Melissa grinned. "No mean girls? No secret cults?"
"Not yet," I laughed. "Though one professor already hit us with a surprise test. Zero chill."
"Welcome to the big leagues," Dad said, smiling. "Keep your head down. Stay focused. No distractions."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I remember."
After we hung up, I sat there for a moment, staring at my desk. The new copy of the handbook I'd picked up was sitting there, untouched.
I didn't mention Craig on the call. Not even a hint.
But the truth was, I couldn't get him out of my head.
Craig Lesnar.
Cold, distant, unbothered. His eyes held a sharp, mysterious intensity that made you question if he even saw you at all.
And yet… despite all the walls he put up, something about him stuck with me. He was simply unforgettable.
Day one, survived.
Barely.
And just when I thought it was over—my phone buzzed.
One new message. Unknown number.
'You're not as invisible as you think, Merlina.'
I froze.
And somehow, I had a feeling this was only the beginning.