My Brother's Fake Fiancée

After I got sick, my brother, Ethan, moved me into a high-end condo downtown, the closest one to his office. It was supposed to be easier for him to look after me, and quieter for my recovery.

It turned out to be anything but quiet.

The tenant upstairs, a woman I’d never met, had a religious devotion to her morning smoothie. Every day, at 5:00 AM on the dot, she would fire up a commercial-grade blender that sounded like a jet engine taking off over my head.

My live-in caregiver, Maria, worried about my sleep. She went upstairs with a fruit basket from Dean & DeLuca—a classic peace offering—hoping for a truce.

The neighbor accepted the basket with a saccharine smile and then, the next morning, started her blending routine half an hour earlier.

Maria, incensed, went back up to confront her. The neighbor, whose name we learned was Chloe, just shrugged. “My fiancé only drinks the smoothies I make for him. He has to catch a flight to the coast this week, and if I’m late, he won’t get his special breakfast.”

Maria’s patience snapped. “Your love life doesn’t give you the right to ruin everyone else’s.”

Chloe laughed out loud, a sharp, ugly sound. “Ma’am, my fiancé is Ethan Sterling. As in, the Ethan Sterling, the youngest partner at Sterling Capital.” She leaned against her doorframe, looking Maria up and down. “I’m a pretty low-key person, and I’m just living here to, you know, have an authentic experience. But don’t get it twisted. We’re not in the same world, you and I.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re neighbors, so let’s not make this ugly. Because with one text, he could have you both thrown out of here.”

Defeated, Maria came back down and sealed every window in the apartment.

And at 3:00 AM, I pressed the doorbell to the apartment upstairs.

“I hear your fiancé is Ethan Sterling,” I said when she opened the door. “Does he know that?”

1.

“Are you insane? It’s the middle of the night. Who the hell rings someone’s doorbell at three in the morning?”

Chloe Shen stood in the doorway, her robe pulled tight. She raked her eyes over me, the disdain immediate and unconcealed.

I leaned against the doorframe, my voice deliberately slow. “You use your blender at 4:30. I ring your doorbell at 3:00. Seems fair to me.”

Her expression flickered from confusion to dawning realization. “Oh, you’re her boss. The one who lives down there. What, didn’t your maid tell you who I am?”

“I’m just here to inform you that if the noise continues, I’m calling the police.”

“The police?” She looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Go ahead. Call them. What are they going to do? Didn’t your help tell you who my fiancé is? Is it illegal for me to make him a smoothie?”

I stared at her, my face a blank mask, and repeated my earlier question.

“Your fiancé is Ethan Sterling? Does he know that?”

“Who the hell are you to even say his name?” she sneered, drawing herself up. “My life with Ethan is none of your business. Who do you think you are?”

“I’m his sister,” I said, my tone flat.

For a second, she froze. Then she burst out laughing again. “Wow, you really did your homework. You even know my Ethan has a sister.” Her eyes were dripping with mockery. “If I remember correctly, your last name is Holt, right? You’re Ethan’s sister? Does he know that?”

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Miss Holt, I guess your landlord didn’t tell you, but this entire floor is one of my fiancé’s assets. If he knew you were up here spreading rumors, you’d be out on the street by morning.”

She shot me one last withering look and slammed the door in my face.

The heavy wood cut off her sight, but it couldn’t stop the buzzing in my head. A frantic, rising hum. My bipolar disorder feeds on stimulation. On conflict.

She had just served it a five-course meal.

Maria must have heard the commotion. She came out of her room and saw my face, drained of all color. Her own face paled in alarm.

“Miss Holt, are you alright? Do you need your medication?”

I shook my head, my hand finding the wall to steady myself as I walked back to my room.

In the darkness, I curled up on my bed. I felt like a tiny boat, caught in a hurricane, the waves crashing over the deck, the wood groaning, ready to splinter and give way.

4:30 AM.

WHIRRRRRRR—

The blender upstairs roared to life, right on schedule.

The sound felt like it could pierce bone, drilling straight into my brain.

I lay there with my eyes wide open, having not slept a second. Maria moved through the apartment like a ghost, sighing as she double-checked that all the windows were shut, but the noise seeped through the cracks, unstoppable.

“This Chloe woman is just awful!” Maria fumed. “I’m going to file a complaint with building management!”

She opened the front door, and a putrid stench immediately flooded the hallway.

2.

Piled right in front of our door was a large, leaking garbage bag. A sticky, brown liquid was pooling on the polished floor.

We both knew exactly who it was from.

Maria, shaking with anger, started to march upstairs again, but I stopped her. “Let’s call management,” I said. My voice felt distant.

When the building manager arrived to clean it up, he pulled the security footage from the hallway. The video was crystal clear: Chloe Shen, carrying a trash bag, walking directly to our door and placing it squarely in front.

The manager went to speak with her. She was utterly unapologetic.

“That woman harassed me in the middle of the night,” she claimed, her voice ringing with indignation. “It gave me terrible anxiety. My hand must have slipped when I went to take out the trash. Is that a crime?”

She then turned on the manager. “Frankly, I think you need to get Miss Holt under control. She’s an unemployed shut-in with mental problems who likes to bang on people’s doors in the middle of the night. Who knows what other crazy things she’s capable of?”

Watching her frantic, theatrical performance, I felt a strange, detached sense of amusement.

“Miss Shen,” I said, my voice cutting through her tirade. “I was simply trying to inform you that your blender was disturbing my rest.”

The manager turned to Chloe, his expression pained. “Miss Shen, we have actually received other complaints about the noise. Perhaps you could consider making your smoothie a bit later in the morning?”

“Later?” Chloe shrieked, looking as if he’d suggested she commit murder. “Do you have any idea who my fiancé is? If I’m late making his breakfast, can you take responsibility for that?” She looked back at me. “If it’s so loud, why don’t you just buy noise-canceling headphones like I did? Then again,” she added, eyeing my simple clothes, “mine were five hundred dollars. You probably can’t afford them.”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Ethan Sterling’s fiancée? I should ask him when he gave you permission to run wild in his building.”

I pulled out my phone and pretended to dial a number.

“Oh, here we go again,” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Still trying to pretend you know him? Are you going to tell me you’re his sister again?” She smirked. “Let’s see if your call even connects.”

I put the phone on speaker. A crisp, automated voice filled the silence.

“The person you are calling has their phone switched off.”

Chloe howled with laughter. “If you’re going to put on a show, at least make it believable. What’s your excuse this time? He’s on a plane?”

My stomach dropped. I’d forgotten. Ethan had told me last night he had an unexpected early meeting out of state. He wouldn’t be able to visit for a few days.

Right now, he probably was on a plane.

The manager stepped between us, trying to de-escalate. “Ladies, please, let’s all just calm down and talk this through.”

But Chloe was relentless. “You think saving a number as ‘Ethan’ in your contacts makes it real? That’s hilarious. You want me to give you his real number so you can try again?” She pointed a finger at me. “Listen to me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack your bags and get out. Otherwise, don’t blame me for what happens next.”

A familiar tightness gripped my chest. The dizzying, suffocating onset of an episode.

Maria saw it in my eyes and quickly put a hand on my arm to steady me. She glared at Chloe. “Miss Shen, that’s enough! Our Miss Holt has bipolar disorder. You can’t keep provoking her like this!”

“Aha!” Chloe’s eyes lit up with triumph. “Did you hear that, management? This woman has a certifiable mental illness! Her living here is a threat to the safety of every other resident!” She was practically vibrating with self-righteousness. “She’s been targeting me from the start. It’s obvious she’s just jealous that I’m about to marry into a wealthy family!”

She was on a roll now, convinced she had painted me as some pathetic, hysterical wannabe.

I forced a deep breath into my lungs, centering myself. Then I walked right up to her.

Crack.

My hand connected with her cheek.

3.

Chloe was stunned into silence.

Her hand flew to her reddening face. After a long moment, she stammered, “You… you hit me!”

Before she could say another word, I slapped her again, just as hard, across the other cheek.

“For the blender and the trash,” I said calmly. “Now we’re even.”

Without another glance, I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I could hear Chloe screaming, trying to lunge at me, but the building manager held her back. “Miss Shen, please! You saw for yourself, the woman has… issues. It’s not worth it.”

Her voice echoed down the hall after me. “Holt! I’m telling Ethan! I’m going to have him throw you out of this building! Out of this city! You just wait!”

Back in the apartment, Maria looked at me, her eyes wide with worry.

“I don’t think the manager can do anything about her. He told me Miss Shen threatened that if they tried to discipline her, Mr. Sterling would buy the entire building and have them all fired.”

I listened, my face impassive. “I need some air.”

I had my driver take me out of the city, just to cruise for a while.

When we returned, a flashy red Porsche was parked in my private spot. My apartment number was clearly displayed on the sign above it.

With a sigh, I called building management again.

A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened and Chloe emerged, clicking across the concrete on her high heels, her face a mask of fury.

“You again? Why won’t you just leave me alone!” She looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, my voice cold. “This is my parking spot.”

Chloe laughed, crossing her arms. “Your spot? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a renter. You don’t get a deeded space.” She was so certain of my status. “I work so hard making breakfast for Ethan every single day. Of course I should get the spot closest to the elevator!” She tilted her chin up, playing the role of the lady of the manor.

“I’ll say it one more time. Move your car,” I said, my eyes locked on hers.

“And what if I don’t? What are you going to do, have the manager talk to me?” She smirked, turning to leave, confident that I was powerless.

“Do you think I won’t smash it to pieces?”

I opened my trunk and pulled out the heavy wrench from the roadside emergency kit. I tested its weight in my hand.

Chloe stopped dead in her tracks.

She looked from the wrench in my hand to my expressionless face, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I have bipolar disorder,” I said softly. “Watch me.”

I started walking toward the Porsche, raising the wrench high.

That finally broke her. A shriek tore from her throat as she scrambled for her keys.

“You’re a lunatic! A complete psycho!”

She fumbled her way into the driver's seat and peeled out of the spot, but not before leaning out the window to scream one last thing.

“You just wait! I am not letting you get away with this!”

4.

Chloe’s new masterpiece arrived shortly thereafter.

My unit was a ground-floor duplex with a small, private garden. It was my sanctuary. I’d filled it with orchids, my mother’s favorite flower before she passed away. I tended to them like they were my children.

But today, the moment I stepped outside, my heart sank into my stomach.

The terracotta pots were shattered, their dirt-caked shards strewn across the flagstones. A patch of irises along the wall had been trampled, their petals scattered like purple bruises.

And my two most prized orchids, a rare Phalaenopsis cultivar called ‘White Dawn,’ were ruined. On one plant, the buds had been snapped off, lying limp and lifeless in the soil.

The other plant was gone entirely.

All the blood rushed to my head.

That orchid was my medicine.

After my mother died, my bipolar disorder spiraled. Ethan had spent a small fortune tracking down that specific plant, hoping its presence could soothe the jagged edges of my grief.

And now, someone had destroyed it.

There was no doubt in my mind. It was Chloe.

I stormed upstairs and pounded on her door.

“Chloe! Give me back my orchid!”

It took a long time for the door to open. When it did, she looked at me with an expression of pure innocence. “What are you freaking out about now?”

My eyes shot past her, into her living room. There, on her coffee table, sat my White Dawn orchid.

White-hot rage flooded my senses.

“How dare you destroy my garden and steal my flower?”

“Watch your tone,” Chloe said, her voice a lazy drawl. “It wasn’t stealing. It was borrowing.” She examined her nails. “And some stray dogs got into your garden. Don’t blame me for that.”

“I was kind enough to rescue this poor orchid for you.”

I had already checked the security feed. It showed Chloe lurking outside my garden fence late last night. Moments later, a few stray dogs jumped the fence and began tearing everything apart. It was obvious she had lured them in.

But she continued her charade. “I saved one of your plants for you. You can consider the flower a thank-you gift.”

“I heard Ethan’s sister loves orchids,” she said, a condescending smile playing on her lips. “This one is quite lovely. It’s time it served a higher purpose.”

I was shaking with a fury so intense I could barely speak. “That is my property! You have no right!”

“Your property?” she scoffed. “Honey, when I’m Mrs. Sterling, this entire building will be my property, let alone your stupid little flower.” She leaned in, her voice dropping. “I’d advise you to get on my good side while you still can.”

She paused for effect. “Because believe me… one word from me, and you’ll be gone.”

“Miss Holt, calm down. We’ll call the police!” Maria was behind me, grabbing my arm, terrified I was about to lose control completely.

At the mention of the police, Chloe’s smile widened.

“The police? Oh, please do. Who do you think they’ll believe? The mentally unstable lunatic, or the future Mrs. of the Sterling Capital empire?”

She was certain I wouldn’t dare escalate.

She was certain Ethan would take her side.

Looking at her smug, triumphant face, a strange sense of calm washed over me.

I stopped arguing.

Instead, I took out my phone and, right in front of her, dialed the number I knew by heart.

“Oh, playing the ‘call Ethan’ card again?” Chloe laughed, thoroughly amused. “What’s the story this time? Is he in a meeting? Or still on that plane?”

The phone rang only once before it was answered.

I put it on speaker.

A voice I knew better than my own filled the hallway, still rough with sleep.

“Clara? What’s wrong?”

I lifted my eyes and stared directly at Chloe, whose face had instantly turned the color of ash.

“Ethan.”

My voice was steady.

“I hear you’re engaged.”

“So, you found a fiancée and you weren’t even going to bring her home to meet your big sister?”

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