Fake Dating With My Brother's Best Friend

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t had once glistened with tears at their parents' funeral, eyes that had grown

ken 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

n the car was so thick it felt suffocating-nothing but the hum of the engine and the occas

thought a driver would pick me up." I cringed

view mirror, and for a split second, I saw the old warmth beneath the sarcasm. "Right now, my bodyguards are probably still watching that jer

reak up with that jerk. In the past, you'd always argue with me when I called him that-you'd yell at me for

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

re welcome. But don't think I'll go easy on you-we've got a lot of catching up to

ad 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

thaniel 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

e gone forever, replaced by board meetings, broken hearts, and the cold reality of

ng for Caleb to unlock it. Instead, he kept his hands deep in

do you?" He raised an eyebrow, a rare smirk tugging a

pen. I heard Caleb chuckle softly behind me. He stepped closer, placed a hand on my shoulder, an

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

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. Yo

oor, 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 b

. 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 u

ng 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 poss

hat a thief h