Fake Dating With My Brother's Best Friend

Gabrielle

"Crack-"

The glass slipped from my trembling fingers and shattered across the rental apartment floor. I stared at the jagged pieces, but my mind was already elsewhere-trapped in the words Vance had just spoken.

"What... what did you just say?"

Vance sighed, his patience visibly thinning. He repeated himself with cruel clarity: "I said-let's break up."

My mind went blank. Five years. Five years of shared mornings, whispered promises, and late-night drives under the stars. We had met in college, and I had given him everything-my time, my energy, my savings, my heart. I had even lied about my background, telling him I lived on scholarships, because his pride couldn't handle the truth that I was the sister of Sterling Group's CEO. I wanted him to love me for me, not for my family's money. Now that lie had turned into a knife.

"No-Vance, tell me what happened. You're not serious. Maybe we just need to talk-"

"That's enough." He raised a hand to cut me off. "There's no other reason. After all these years, I'm exhausted. I'm with Sienna now. She makes me feel alive-she makes me feel like a man."

Something inside me cracked. The man who once blushed when I held his hand, who drove me three hours to watch a meteor shower, who showed up at my graduation with an absurdly large bouquet-that same man now stood before me, cold and detached, telling me I was replaceable.

"Gabrielle, you're twenty-three. Be realistic." He folded his arms, and I noticed a new Cartier watch on his wrist-probably a gift from Sienna. "I've had fun with you, sure. But Sienna's father is the CEO of Crystal Peak Group. He's agreed to invest eight figures in my company. As cruel as it sounds, you and your family can't offer anything like that. Isn't that true?"

My chest tightened with bitterness. "I've been your design director for years. I handled client emails at 2 a.m., negotiated vendors, even cleaned the office. And now you say I never helped you?"

He snorted.

"That's all cheap labor. Real help means capital, connections. Sorry, but someone who scrapes by on scholarships wouldn't understand."

Scholarships. I almost laughed. Every tuition payment had come from my brother Caleb's accounts, but I had fabricated an elaborate story to protect Vance's ego. My friends had drifted away because they couldn't understand why I hid my wealth. I had isolated myself for him-and now he was using that isolation as proof of my worthlessness.

"No, you can't do this!" Tears burned my eyes,"I didn't do anything wrong-why are you treating me like this?"

He brushed back his hair with an impatient sigh.

"Stop with the drama. Do you want compensation? I can give you some after Crystal Peak's investment clears. Fifty thousand? A hundred? Name your price."

Money. He was offering me a severance package for a relationship. My tears dried up, replaced by a hollow, icy clarity. How had I not seen, in five years, what he truly was? A man who traded love for investment. A man who dismissed every sacrifice I made as insignificant. The boy I had fallen for was never real-he was a fiction I had written to justify my own blindness.

I shook my head calmly.

"I don't need anything."

Vance shrugged:" Your choice."

He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him with a final, hollow sound. I listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway, and then there was only silence-and the glittering debris of my shattered illusions.

I stood among the shattered glass, but I didn't cry. I knelt, picked up the larger pieces, and threw them away. Then I packed my belongings-one suitcase, one box-and dialed a number I had ignored for a long time..

The next morning, Vance insisted on carrying my luggage downstairs-still playing the gentleman, even after everything. He chatted about the weather as if we were old friends parting amicably. I said nothing.

Then a Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up to the curb.

Vance froze, his eyes widening. Then a sneer curled his lips.

"So you've hooked up with someone else too. I guess that makes us even. Who is he? Some old rich guy?"

I opened my mouth to tell him the truth-to finally reveal that I was Gabrielle Sterling, heiress to a fortune that dwarfed Sienna's entire family. But I stopped. What was the point? He was no longer the man I had loved. That man had been a ghost I had created. The real Vance was a hollow ambition, and I had no interest in hollow things.

So I simply smiled-a small, sad, liberating smile-and slid into the back seat.

The man in the passenger seat spoke in a low, deep voice. In the rearview mirror, I saw those familiar light gray eyes-and their owner was now staring back at me from it, clearly displeased.

"Took you long enough to finally call me."

Gabrielle

I looked up at the rearview mirror and met those long-unseen blue eyes-eyes that had once glistened with tears at their parents' funeral, eyes that had grown steely and sharp over a decade of running a billion dollar empire. "Hey, Caleb."

Caleb is my brother, the CEO of the Sterling Group. After our parents passed away in a car accident when I was fifteen, my brother-seven years older than me-inherited our father's company overnight. He traded his graduate school dreams for boardroom battles, and he has taken care of me ever since, whether I wanted it or not. We lived together at Oak Manor until two years ago, when I insisted on moving out to share a rental apartment with Vance. That decision ignited a blazing fight with my brother-he called Vance a "social climber" and I called him "controlling." I stormed out with two suitcases, and we've hardly kept in touch since, exchanging only curt texts on birthdays and holidays. Now, sitting in the backseat of his black Mercedes, I felt the weight of those two lost years pressing down on my chest.

Caleb drove steadily, his knuckles white against the leather steering wheel. The silence in the car was so thick it felt suffocating-nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of wind against the windows. I cleared my throat, breaking the awkward quiet.

"Shouldn't you be busy with company matters? I thought a driver would pick me up." I cringed at how formal and distant my own voice sounded.

Caleb let out a cold, dry laugh. "To take my sister back from some jerk, of course I'd rather come myself." He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, and for a split second, I saw the old warmth beneath the sarcasm. "Right now, my bodyguards are probably still watching that jerk's place, just in case he does something drastic-or changes his mind and tries to follow us. You know I don't take chances with your safety."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued before I could speak. "Looks like you're really determined to break up with that jerk. In the past, you'd always argue with me when I called him that-you'd yell at me for being 'prejudiced' and 'unfair.' But this time you're pretty quiet. That tells me more than any words could."

"Caleb..." My nose tingled, and a familiar ache spread behind my eyes. I knew he was still the caring brother he'd always been, even if his words could be sharp enough to draw blood. He had never forgiven Vance for taking me away from Oak Manor, and now I realized he had been right all along. "Thank you. I mean it-for coming to get me, for not saying 'I told you so' a hundred times."

Caleb paused for a few seconds, his jaw tightening. Then he snorted softly. "You're welcome. But don't think I'll go easy on you-we've got a lot of catching up to do, and I plan to hear every single detail about what that snake put you through."

The car glided through the iron gates of Oak Manor and pulled into the cobblestone parking lot. As I opened the door, the fresh scent of magnolia and freshly cut grass rushed in-a fragrance I had almost forgotten. It had been so long since I'd last been here. This was home for both Caleb and me, filled with echoes of laughter, tears, and countless childhood memories. I stared at the ivy-covered facade of the Victorian mansion, remembering the summer afternoons when Caleb would push me on the old oak swing, and the winter evenings when we'd build snow forts in the front yard.

Back then, we also had a neighbor, Nathaniel, who was two years younger than Caleb. The three of us were inseparable-we climbed trees, fished in the creek, and stole cookies from the kitchen when the housekeeper wasn't looking. Nathaniel had a wild laugh and a habit of calling me "Princess Gabi," which I pretended to hate. But before our parents passed away, everything changed. Tragedy struck, and Caleb had to shoulder the family responsibilities overnight. Around that same time, Nathaniel's family moved abroad to Europe for business, and we never heard from them again. So many years had passed-I imagined their sprawling estate next door must have changed hands at least twice by now.

I sighed, struck by how much things had shifted. Those carefree childhood days were gone forever, replaced by board meetings, broken hearts, and the cold reality of adulthood. But standing here, under the afternoon sun, I felt a small seed of hope.

I walked up the stone steps and stood at the front door, waiting for Caleb to unlock it. Instead, he kept his hands deep in his trouser pockets and gestured with his chin for me to do it.

"You don't seriously think I deleted your fingerprint, do you?" He raised an eyebrow, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. "Hurry up and open it-I'm not your doorman."

I pressed my thumb to the smart lock's scanner. With a cheerful beep, the heavy oak door swung open. I heard Caleb chuckle softly behind me. He stepped closer, placed a hand on my shoulder, and whispered in that low, gentle voice he reserved only for me: "Welcome home, my little squirrel."

"Oh, Caleb..." I spun around and hugged him fiercely, the tears I'd been holding back all the way finally breaking free in hot, silent streams. All the grievances I'd endured over the past few years-Vance's betrayal, the loneliness of my empty apartment, the shame of admitting I was wrong-seemed to dissolve in that single embrace. He held me for a long moment, his hand patting my back the way he did when I was a child who'd scraped her knee.

When we pulled apart, I wiped my eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed. Caleb ruffled my hair, just like old times. "Alright, I need to make a call and handle some company stuff. Tonight, I've hired a private chef to cook you a big meal-your favorite, coq au vin and chocolate soufflé. Your room's already been tidied up, fresh sheets, flowers on the nightstand. So go get some rest first. You look like you haven't slept in days."

I nodded and headed upstairs, my footsteps echoing on the polished hardwood. Both Caleb's room and mine were on the second floor, just a few doors apart. When I was little, I often snuck into his room at midnight, begging him to let me sleep in his bed after a nightmare. Of course, our parents put a stop to that once we were a bit older, but the memory still made me smile.

I pushed open my door and found everything exactly as I'd left it-the same pale blue walls, the same shelf of worn paperback novels, the same framed photo of our parents on the dresser. I took off my coat and lay down on the bed, sinking into the feather mattress. The sheets smelled of lavender fabric softener, and for the first time in months, my muscles began to unclench. Just as I was starting to feel completely at ease, my eyelids growing heavy, I heard a faint creak-then the unmistakable sound of the bathroom door inside my room swinging open.

I bolted upright, my heart slamming against my ribs, every hair on my arms standing on end. Who could it be? Caleb was in his office dealing with work, and the chef hadn't arrived yet. There shouldn't be anyone else in this house besides him and me. My mind raced through possibilities-a forgotten housekeeper? A maintenance worker? But no, the staff had been given the day off. A cold dread slithered down my spine.

Could it be that a thief had broken in?

Gabrielle

My heart pounded against my ribs as I silently slipped off the bed, my bare feet pressing into the cold hardwood. My fingers scrambled across the nightstand and closed around the first object they found-a heavy ceramic sculpture, an abstract piece Caleb had bought years ago. I gripped it like a weapon, knuckles white, and crept toward the bathroom door. It stood slightly ajar, and a thin wisp of steam curled through the gap like a serpent.

The shower had definitely been running. I could hear the faint drip of water now, as if someone had just turned it off. My pulse thrummed in my ears. Who could possibly be in there? Caleb was downstairs. The chef wasn't due for hours. My mind raced through worst‑case scenarios-an intruder, a stalker, a former employee with a grudge against my brother.

I raised the sculpture, ready to swing, when the bathroom door suddenly swung open all the way.

A man stepped out, a white towel wrapped low around his hips, another towel scrubbing vigorously at his wet, golden hair. He was tall-easily over six feet-with broad, sculpted shoulders and a lean, athletic build that spoke of regular gym sessions or maybe just good genetics. Water droplets still glistened on his tanned skin, trailing in rivulets down his chest and over the defined ridges of his abdomen.

Six‑pack. He had a very obvious, very distracting six‑pack.

I froze, my brain short‑circuiting completely. The ceramic sculpture dangled uselessly in my grip, trembling with my fingers. Every coherent thought evaporated into the steam‑filled air. I had been prepared for a burglar, not for... this.

The man lowered the towel from his face, shaking his damp hair out of his eyes, and I found myself staring into a pair of familiar blue irises. Familiar, yet I couldn't place why. There was something about the curve of his jaw, the tilt of his brow, that tugged at a buried corner of my memory.

Current situation: On my first day back home, I had found a half‑naked, impossibly handsome stranger in my own bathroom. By any standard, this was a situation that warranted screaming. Loudly.

So I did exactly that. I dare say my voice was loud enough to startle every bird roosting in the ancient oaks surrounding Oak Manor into panicked, flapping flight. The sound ricocheted off the walls and probably reached the neighboring estate.

He startled, his eyes narrowing, but he didn't flinch. His hands remained steady on the towel. "Put that down. I'm not a burglar."

Then he stared at me, his gaze cold and assessing. "Who are you? Caleb's girlfriend?" His voice was deep, flat, with no trace of warmth.

"You know my brother?" My guard lowered slightly, though my grip on the ceramic piece remained tight. So this guy was probably an acquaintance or business partner of Caleb's. That made sense-Caleb often let friends stay over.

"Wait... Gabrielle, you're Gabrielle, right?" He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

"What... who are you?" My voice came out sharper than intended. This man with the perfect abs had actually called me by name. He knew me? I hadn't lived at Oak Manor for two years, and I certainly didn't remember meeting anyone who looked like a fitness model.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting the towel around his waist with practiced ease, his deep blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on me. His expression remained unreadable, almost stern. "It's me. Nathaniel. Your old neighbor."

Childhood memories came flooding back like a dam bursting. That lanky, earnest boy from next door-the one with scabby knees and a stutter when he got excited-gradually overlapped with the sharp‑featured, confidently posed man before me now. He had changed so much: his frame had filled out, his jaw had squared, his voice had deepened into something smooth and resonant. But the one thing that remained unchanged was those deep blue eyes, still holding that same gentle warmth I remembered-though now it was buried beneath a layer of cool composure.

When I realized I was still staring at his face-well, staring at him in general-I felt heat rush to my cheeks. I moved my gaze away, fixing it on the far wall, but it was too late. The image of those perfectly sculpted abs was already burned into my memory, right next to the childhood snapshot of a boy who once tripped over his own shoelaces in front of me.

"I-" Before I could get another word out, heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Caleb's voice rang out, sharp with concern: "Gabby? You okay? I heard a scream-"

He appeared in my doorway, took one look at the scene before him-me brandishing a ceramic sculpture like a caveman, Nathaniel half‑naked and dripping wet in my bathroom doorway-and burst out laughing. His laughter echoed down the hallway, deep and unapologetic.

"Oh my God," Caleb wheezed, leaning against the doorframe for support. "This is better than I imagined."

"Caleb!" I hissed, my face burning even hotter. "What is going on? Why is he-why is Nathaniel-in my bathroom?"

Caleb wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. "Right, I forgot to mention. Nathaniel's moved back. He bought his family's old house-the one next door. We've been catching up."

"His bathroom doesn't work?" I demanded, gesturing wildly with the sculpture.

Nathaniel answered before Caleb could, his voice clipped and matter‑of‑fact: "Water heater broke. Repair's scheduled for tomorrow. Caleb offered his spare bathroom." He glanced at me, his expression unchanged. "I didn't know you were coming back today."

"Don't you think it's inappropriate to borrow the bathroom in a lady's bedroom?" I blushed furiously but refused to back down verbally. I lowered the sculpture slightly, though I kept it within reach.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Noted. Won't happen again." No apology, no banter-just a cold promise.

"Could you at least put some clothes on?" I shot back, my voice steadier now, though my heart still raced.

Nathaniel's eyes flickered-a flash of something unreadable-but he simply inclined his head, grabbed his shirt from the counter, and walked past me without another word. As he passed, I caught a faint scent of cedar and soap.

Nathaniel. The boy who used to build forts with us in the backyard. The one who always saved me the biggest piece of cake at family picnics and who once cried when I fell out of a tree and scraped my arm. When he was a teenager, he'd been all elbows and knees, earnest in everything he did-a boy who blushed and got embarrassed very easily, especially when I caught him staring.

This-this cold, unapproachable man who had just dismissed me with a curt nod-was not the Nathaniel I remembered.