CHAPTER 108: TEARS SEA DEEP

There was no shock in Craig’s eyes. No judgment. Just that quiet, soul-deep ache of someone who would carry her pain if he could.

She looked like she’d been crying for hours. Her eyes were swollen, glassy. Skin blotched in patches from trying to hold it in. Hair pulled back like she hadn’t bothered to fix it, like she’d given up trying to look like she was okay.

Craig felt it in his chest the moment he saw her like that, a sharp, ugly ache he knew he deserved.

Because he was the only one who knew the truth about what happened between them. She had warned him. She had told him he was overwhelming.

That his presence in her life was too much. That she didn’t want the attention that came with him like a consequence. The chaos. Heat she couldn’t control. She had told him everything about them was too complicated. And that they needed to stop.

And he didn’t listen.

Instead, he chased her halfway around the world. Insisted on being close. Insisted on touching something fragile.

He made her give in because he couldn’t let go. Because he wanted her in that selfish, consuming way that pretended it wasn’t selfish at all.

And now?

The world was twisting their story into something ugly. Now she was the one being burned alive by a spotlight she never asked for.

And the worst part?

Standing in front of her now, visibly shaken, tear-streaked, and hunted... he felt like he’d done this to her with his own hands.

He didn’t know how to fix it. But he knew he had to, no matter what it’d cost. Because this time, loving her in silence wasn’t enough.

When Craig reached for her, she flinched, just barely. A pause, a hesitation. Like some small, splintered part of her wondered if he believed the headlines too.

If maybe, under all his softness, there was doubt. If maybe even he had started to see her differently.

But she had no one left.

And he was the only one here, reaching for her. He was the only one who hadn’t looked at her like she was a story.

So she let him.

Craig pulled her in gently, with the kind of care that said he knew she was hurting and he’d hurt with her. He wrapped his arms around her, rested his chin on the crown of her head, and exhaled like he’d been holding it in since the moment he saw her.

His voice broke against her hair. "God, Merlina, I’m so sorry."

She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. He felt it, the way her body trembled against his chest, fragile and exhausted. There was something different about her today. Something that frightened him. The fire in her eyes wasn’t there. The bite in her silence wasn’t sharp. She wasn’t bracing to fight; she was barely holding herself up.

He held her closer, as if maybe, if he kept her close enough, he could take some of it away.

His voice dropped, soft and protective against the side of her head. "The press are still outside," he said. "I’m going to get you out of here, okay?"

Still holding her, one arm strong around her back, he slipped his other hand into his back pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Drew. Back entrance. Now," he said. Then he hung up, fingers trembling as he shoved the phone away.

Gently, he pulled back just enough to see her face. His hands came up to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing beneath her eyes like he wanted to wipe away everything the world had done to her.

"I’m going to fix this," he said quietly. "I swear to you, I will."

She nodded, barely. Not because she believed it, but because she wanted to. Because she needed hope.

"The car will take you to my place," he added. "It’s locked down. No press, no cameras. Just quiet. It’s safe."

She blinked up at him, silent, grateful, and still hurting, all at once.

Her lips parted, like she was trying to be strong, like she didn’t want to say it out loud because saying it would make it real. But then her breath trembled, her throat closed, and the truth spilled out in a broken whisper.

"I don’t know how they got here," she said, voice already fraying at the edges. "They came at me, in numbers, throwing words at me..." Her chest heaved, and she couldn’t even finish.

The tears took over. Hot, silent streaks sliding down her cheeks, her whole body shaking as she tried to hold herself together.

Craig’s heart fractured at the sight. God, he hated seeing her cry. Hated it like nothing else.

Gently, he reached forward, cupping her face with both hands.

"I know," he said softly, voice raw and aching. "I saw it." He swallowed hard, jaw tight with regret. "I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier. I didn’t know it was happening."

She shook her head helplessly, her voice smaller this time, barely a whisper. "They hate me, Craig. They all hate me. Megan and Phoebe won’t even look at me..."

Craig didn’t let her finish. He didn’t answer with words right away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her against his chest, holding her like he could shield her from the world if he just held tight enough.

"They’re clueless," he murmured fiercely, his lips brushing her temple. "They don’t even know half the truth."

She collapsed into him then, in the warmth of his embrace. He held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed firm between her shoulder blades, as if he could convince her, just for a moment, that she was safe.

Away from every lie, every glare, every hurtful word thrown at her.

"You’re not alone," he whispered. "Not in this. Not ever. I’ll take every hit if it means you get to breathe, Merlina. I promise."

In that moment, wrapped in his arms, the noise of the world faded. Just for a second, it was only the two of them. Her broken sobs. His steady heartbeat. And the way he held her, like they weren’t two people anymore, but one heart trying to survive.

The door cracked open. Drew stepped in without a word, already understanding.

Craig brushed a kiss to her forehead. "Go with him. I’ll be right behind you."

And then, only then, did he let her go.

The moment the door closed behind her, he stood still, listening to the echo of her footsteps fading down the back hallway.

The weight of what he was about to face settled on his shoulders like armor. He turned slowly. The mirror caught his reflection—disheveled, tense, eyes dark with regret.

For a second, he just stared. No words. No thoughts. Just the stark truth staring back at him. He exhaled once, deep and deliberate. Then he rolled his shoulders back and straightened his spine.

If they wanted a story, he’d give them one. But it would be on his terms.

He stepped out into the hallway, then reached for the handle of the front entrance, on the other side of chaos.

He could feel the heat from the press lights bleeding through the cracks. The weight of their expectations buzzing like static in his ears. The low, pulsing hum of voices, the storm he’d never been prepared for.

He opened it.

Instantly, they swarmed like a tide breaking loose. Reporters surged forward, microphones outstretched, cameras flashing, phones recording. His name cut through the noise.

"Craig Lesnar!"

"Mr. Lesnar, is it true—"

"Are you dating the daughter—"

"Can you confirm—?"

From somewhere behind the press line, students had gathered near the steps, watching.

"Wait... is that Craig Lesnar?" someone whispered.

"What the hell is he doing?" another murmured.

"Is he really going to talk to them?"

He didn’t so much as blink.

Instead, he raised a single hand.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t aggressive. But it was commanding. Every gesture, every line of his body carried the quiet confidence of someone raised to walk through fire and not flinch.

And more than that, it carried the restraint and steel of a law student who knew how easily words could be weaponized.

"Everyone will get their answers," Craig said, calm and razor-sharp. "But you’re going to listen to mine first."

The noise fell like a curtain.

He stepped out into the cold morning light, not just as the other party involved, but as the only person in that crowd willing to stand in front of the truth and fight for her.