Fake Dating With My Brother's Best Friend

Chapter 4 The Boy Next Door

Nathaniel

Ten years later, I finally returned here—my childhood home. The old oak trees still lined the driveway, their branches thicker now, their roots pushing through the cobblestones like veins. The house itself looked smaller than I remembered, but the wraparound porch, the creaky front gate, the faint scent of honeysuckle drifting from the garden—all of it pulled me back to summers spent chasing fireflies and sneaking lemonade from the kitchen. And of course, most importantly, she was here—Gabrielle.

Everything went more smoothly than I had imagined. The owners of the old house—a retired couple in their sixties—were very satisfied with the price I offered, and the transfer procedures were completed within two weeks. They handed me the keys with warm smiles, wishing me well in this "house full of memories." I didn't tell them that those memories were the very reason I had returned.

When I met Caleb again at a quiet bar downtown, he looked as if he had just stepped out of some boardroom meeting, still in his tailored charcoal suit, tie loosened just a notch. We hugged each other excitedly—two old friends reunited after a decade—and raised our glasses of whiskey to celebrate my return. The amber liquid burned pleasantly as it went down.

Ten years is a long time. We talked about everything—childhood pranks, our parents' quirks, how Caleb had grown the Sterling Group into a regional powerhouse, how I had spent the past few years building my own consulting firm abroad. We laughed at old photos on his phone, reminisced about the time we accidentally flooded the treehouse, and traded stories about the people we had become.

But there was one name that hovered in the air between us, unspoken.

Gabrielle.

Caleb seemed to be deliberately avoiding mentioning her. That wasn't right. They were siblings who had grown up together, inseparable in every way I remembered. He used to brag about her straight A's and protect her from any boy who came too close. I sensed something was wrong—a tension in his jaw, a flicker of something dark in his eyes whenever the conversation drifted toward family.

I swirled my glass, watching the ice clink against the amber whiskey, and as if casually, I said:

"Hey, what about Gabrielle? If I remember correctly, she should have graduated from college by now?" I kept my tone perfectly light—the kind of offhand question you'd ask after a long catch‑up with an old friend, just showing polite interest in his family. Even though my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

Sure enough, Caleb's face darkened the moment he heard her name. His grip on his glass tightened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Don't mention her." His voice came out flat, edged with bitterness. "She's run off to live with some penniless good‑for‑nothing. A guy named Vance. Thinks she's in love. Wouldn't listen to a word I said."

I felt something c***k inside my chest. She had a boyfriend—wasn't that perfectly normal? She was so charming, so warm and bright; of course I wasn't the only man who had dreamed of her every night for the past ten years. But the way Caleb said it—"penniless good‑for‑nothing"—sent a cold knot twisting in my stomach.

I forced a neutral expression and changed the subject. We finished our drinks, and as we parted outside the bar, Caleb looked me straight in the eye and suddenly spoke, his tone half‑serious, half‑joking.

"Seriously, if she has to be with that bastard, I'd rather she be with you."

I nearly choked on the night air. "Oh, come on, are you serious? I thought you were the type to lock your precious sister at home forever and never let any man near her."

"Of course I'm joking!" He laughed and clapped me on the back, just like when we were kids. "You're right—I don't want any man near my precious sister. That bastard she's living with—once they break up, I'll make his life miserable. Just you wait."

"Then I hope your wish comes true soon." I shrugged, forcing a casual smile, and watched this busy man—who had to get back to the office for an evening conference call—climb into his sleek black sedan and drive away into the city lights.

I stood there for a long moment, the cool breeze tugging at my jacket. I thought that was the end of my story with Gabrielle. We would meet again later, inevitably, because of Caleb—but she would be on another man's arm, and I would smile and shake his hand and pretend it didn't hurt. This was the ending I had long anticipated. I didn't regret coming back for her, even if it meant starting my career over from scratch in a city that had changed so much. I just needed to know she was alive and well, and that I could see her once in a while—even from a distance.

Then, two weeks ago, I suddenly got a call from Caleb.

It was late evening, and I was reviewing contracts in my study. His voice came through the speaker, strange and tense, stripped of his usual bravado. "Nate, I have to tell you something. Gabby's coming home."

When the call came, I had been in the middle of a virtual meeting with my team. I excused myself, stepped out into the hallway, my heart already racing like a trapped bird.

"What happened?"

Caleb told me. In short, angry sentences, barely containing his rage, he laid it all out: a five‑year relationship, lies, humiliation, a cold breakup. Gabrielle had been discarded like a piece of outdated furniture—all because her ex‑boyfriend, that Vance character, wanted a richer bride with better connections. She had packed her bags, left the cramped apartment they'd shared, and called her brother from a budget hotel where she was staying temporarily.

I leaned against the hallway wall, phone pressed to my ear, feeling something powerful and primal rise in my chest—a protective urge I had buried so deep I had almost forgotten it existed. In that moment, I wanted to find this Vance and punch him so hard he would never forget what he had thrown away. But I forced myself to breathe, to listen, to stay calm for Caleb's sake.

I tried to keep my voice steady. "She'll be fine," I said, reassuring him—and myself at the same time. "She's strong, isn't she? Just like I remember. She'll get through this."

But as I hung up and stared at my own reflection in the dark window, I knew one thing for certain: I was not going to stay on the sidelines this time. Gabrielle was coming home—and I would be there.