Fake Dating With My Brother's Best Friend

Chapter 2 Coming Home

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?