Chapter 119: Chapter 119

Charles Lesnar looked up at his son, finally and the look in his eyes was the kind that stripped a person bare. It didn’t come with yelling or theatrics. Just the cold precision of a man who’d already made up his mind about you.

Then, his voice came low and calm. "You didn’t call."

Craig blinked. "What?"

Charles leaned back in his chair. The light from the desk lamp cast a glow against the edge of his cheek, highlighting the stern lines of a face carved from control.

"I texted you on your birthday," he said. "Told you to call. That was October."

"Yeah, I remember," Craig sat straighter, thrown by the shift.

It took everything in him to ask his dad if he had asked for Merlina’s expulsion and now his father was acting like he hadn’t heard a damn thing?

"You remember," Charles echoed, voice flat. "That’s nearly three months. I asked for a simple call, and I didn’t hear a word."

The silence crackled.

Craig hesitated, unsure if this was some kind of test. "I was busy," he said eventually. "School. Projects. There’s just...a lot going on."

Charles gave a humorless smile, like he’d expected the excuse and already deemed it insufficient. He stood, slow and smooth, adjusting his cufflinks wasn’t a conversation, but a surgical procedure.

"And yet...here you are." His father asked, with a raised brow. Craig didn’t respond. He knew better than to fill the silence.

Charles move from his desk, taking a few measured steps, not sitting elsewhere, not rushing. Just circling, the way a man might pace a chess board before delivering checkmate.

Craig’s heart was pounding now. Not from fear, at least, not the kind he recognized. It was his father’s silence. One he didn’t know how to read, and that made him hate it more.

"What do you know about the Sanchez family, Craig?" Charles asked, the words landed hard and sudden. No emotion. It was just sharp and direct.

Craig exhaled slowly, one of those steady, bracing exhales that came when you knew the worst was just beginning. He dragged his fingers through his hair. "Dad, I—"

"What do you remember about Marjorie Sanchez?" Charles asked again, crisp, direct.

Craig knew that tone, he wasn’t going to be let off easy. So he sat up, unease creeping up his spine. "I know she was a professor at Belford. She... she was declared dead. The science wing, there was a fall. And...and...Conor—" he faltered.

Because suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he was going about this the right away. He didn’t know if he was over explaining things or nailing shut his own coffin.

Charles’s gaze didn’t move, didn’t blink. "Answer the question."

Craig swallowed. "She died. There were rumors afterward... about Conor. That he might’ve been involved. That he was..."

He didn’t finish the sentence, his voice came out thinner than he wanted. Too light. Too young. Like it hadn’t yet learned how to stand its ground in this room

Charles finished the thought for him. "That he pursued her. And when she turned him down... he might’ve hurt her, he might’ve been involved in her death."

Craig didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched.

Charles continued, like he was reading from a file rather than recounting a tragedy. "And what did that do to the company?"

Craig nodded, slowly. "It hit our stocks. The rumors tanked them for a while."

"Not only that," Charles said, voice growing quieter. "Her husband, Aiden Sanchez...came to us, walked through our doors. Demanded a settlement. Said he’d go public with the story unless we paid."

Craig’s stomach twisted. That part he hadn’t known.

"It wasn’t just the market," Charles added. "It was reputation. Stability. Press. Our shareholders needed someone to blame, someone to exile. It was all too much Conor went to rehab, Bali. Just to be far away from it all. You remember that, don’t you?"

Craig nodded again. "Yes."

Charles stepped closer. "But it didn’t stop there."

Craig looked up, with a level of uncertainty in his eyes.

"The daughter," Charles said, each word slow and deliberate, like he was placing stones on a grave. "Also came to Belford... and what does she do?"

He leaned in slightly across the desk, just enough to make the question impossible to ignore.

Craig felt his palms growing damp, that slight electric crawl of sweat against his spine.

Just the thought of her, something in his chest kicked up. Heat, guilt, longing...all consumed him at once.

He pressed his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek, the muscle twitching there like it might hold the words in.

Avoiding his father’s eyes.

Because nothing in the world could make him answer that.

So Charles answered for him. "She goes to Belford and repeats the same cycle." He began to circle again, slow steps on polished wood. "Accusing Conor. Publicly. Loudly. Even slaps him across the face."

His jaw clenched on that last word, like he was tasting the insult all over again.

"And it’s on video." He stopped walking. Stood still. Let that hang between them like smoke. "I’m assuming you’re aware of that."

There was just the faintest edge to his voice now. Still composed. But Craig noticed the thread of his restraint had thinned.

"Answer the question." Charles demanded.

Craig gave a stiff nod. "Yeah. I’m aware."

He waited for the explosion. The lecture. The condemnation. But Charles didn’t raise his voice.

Instead, he stepped forward, deliberate, controlled, until he was standing directly in front of Craig, close enough that he could see the sharp, unflinching look in his eyes.

"So now tell me, Craig...why you thought it wise to let that same girl into your life?" He asked, in a voice like quiet thunder.

Craig shook his head before he could even think. A tight, wordless motion. Like the truth was caught in his throat and refusing to come out.

Because how did he even begin to explain it? The way his father said it, ’that same girl’

It stripped every memory of Merlina down to a mistake. An unforgivable weakness. Something shameful. And suddenly, he couldn’t remember how to defend her. Or himself.

Charles watched him for a moment longer, then turned away, like even Craig’s silence had confirmed something. As though, there was no sense left to be found in him.

Hands clasped behind his back, he began pacing again, slower this time, more deliberate. Every step was a hammer.

"Let’s walk through it together," he said, his tone edging on clinical. "Her mother fakes her death. And the man responsible for nearly killing her?"

He let that land, eyes never leaving Craig.

"Her own husband. The same man who walked into my office, threatening my company, my son, demanding a compensation we should’ve never agreed to."

He stepped closer now, the room shrinking with each word. "And now, we find out she never truly rejected Conor’s advances, she was involved with him. An affair?" He glanced back at Craig, not hiding the disdain in his pause.

Craig stayed frozen in place, then he stared at the floor, every new sentence felt like another blow.

"So let’s lay it out," Charles said, tone mockingly cordial. "We have a Professor who got involved with her student, who happens to be your brother. Faked her death. A husband who attempted murder. A daughter who launched a smear campaign, slapped my son, and filmed it. A family built on lies, scandal, blackmail, and manipulation."

He studied Craig for a beat, like a teacher waiting for a student to realize just how badly they’d failed the test.

"And you, Craig....you chose to fall for her ? Out of all the girls in the world. You invited that into our lives." He took a step closer. "Into our family."

Craig’s lips parted like a reflex, but he stopped himself. Because whatever came out next had to matter and right now, he had nothing.

Charles’s voice lowered to a whisper, "So I’ll ask you just one more time..." He leaned in, eyes level, breath steady. "Why did you think it was wise to let Merlina Sanchez into your life?"

Craig finally broke the silence, voice rough, his breath unsteady like he was still deciding whether to speak at all. "So I screw up, and you punish an innocent girl for it?"

Charles scoffed from the side of the room, voice sharp. "There’s hardly anything innocent about a girl who laid her hands on your brother." He shook his head, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Craig like he was a disappointment. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

Craig let out a breath, like he’d finally had enough. Like he couldn’t sit there and take it anymore without saying his piece.

"Okay," he said, his voice low but steady. "There’s nothing I can say that justifies what happened. I didn’t plan for any of this. When she got to Belford and I found out who she was, Mrs Marjorie’s daughter, I went to her. I tried to stop her before she stirred everything up again." His voice cracked a little, but he kept going. "And that’s how I got to know her."

Charles’s voice came low, "That’s how you got to know her," he repeated, like it tasted sour. "You’re saying it like it was nothing."

He turned, the leather of his shoes whispering against the hardwood, and took a deliberate step toward Craig.

"You went to the press," His tone was almost casual, which made it worse. "You stood in front of the cameras. Defended that girl. Defended a family that nearly ruined ours."

Craig’s chest rose and fell once, twice. "I didn’t defend the family. I defended her." His voice was steady now. "She’s just... a daughter."

Craig eyes softened, not with guilt, but with clarity. Like he finally saw it all for what it truly was. "A girl trying to get through school, just like I was. Caught in the middle of something way bigger than her. She didn’t deserve to be treated like an enemy."

Charles voice cut in again, colder this time. "So Conor did?" His eyes locked on Craig.

"Your brother deserved to be dragged to the mud? With rumors, lies. He deserved Rehab. Is that what you’re saying?"

Craig opened his mouth, trying to find the right words but Charles didn’t wait.

"Answer me. Are you saying he deserved that?" Charles’s eyes flared with anger as he demanded for a response.

Craig’s voice dropped, low and tight. "No."

But Charles wasn’t satisfied. He took a step forward, his tone sharp enough to cut air. "I didn’t hear you."

Craig lifted his head, forcing the words out louder, firmer. "No. That’s not what I’m saying."

Charles’s eyes held a quiet fury simmering beneath the surface. "How many times have you spoken to the press, Craig?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "How many times have you stood in front of cameras for your own family? For your brother?"

Craig stared at him. "I—"

"Never." Charles cut him off. The word hit like a punch. "You’ve never spoken for us. Not once. But for her? You were out there with statements. With sympathy. With emotion."

Silence stretched, but Charles’s gaze didn’t move. "How is she the innocent one in your story, and we’re the villains?"

Then, he turned and walked back to his desk, the quiet of his steps louder than anything Craig could’ve said.

Craig could feel it, his father was done listening. The kind of silence that didn’t invite persuasion. That didn’t soften with emotion or reason. Just finality.

And Craig knew his father. You didn’t ask Charles Lesnar for anything without putting something on the table. There was no such thing as a free request, not in this family. Not from him.

Miracles didn’t come free. Not here. They were carved from flesh and sacrifice.

His chest felt like it was folding in on itself. But he forced the words out, because it was the only way. He met his father’s eyes again, "Reverse the expulsion."

Charles looked up slowly, eyes narrowing on Craig like he was trying to figure out if he was serious, but Craig didn’t waver.

"Let her stay at Belford," he continued, voice steady, low. "And I’ll walk away."

Something in the room went still. Craig felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff. No movement, no wind, just that eerie stillness before the drop.

"You’ll never have to hear about her again," Craig added, like it burned to say. "I’ll end it. Whatever there was between us. I’ll end it."