My Tyrant Girlfriend's Fake Brother
It was past midnight when her phone buzzed again. She slid out of bed, pulling on her clothes in the dark. “It’s Sebastian,” she whispered, her voice already distant. “He’s not feeling well. I have to go.”
According to the script of my life, this was my cue to break down, to beg her not to leave me alone in our cold, sterile bed.
Instead, I just watched her retreating back, a yawn fighting its way up my throat.
The moment the front door clicked shut, I picked up my own phone and dialed the number of her fiery arch-nemesis.
The next day, I timed it perfectly. I knew she’d be at the hospital, sitting vigil. I sent her a video call request. When her face appeared, etched with concern that wasn't for me, I let the camera pan slowly around our living room.
Her expression soured, the color draining from her cheeks. I gave her a lazy, unconcerned smile.
“What’s wrong, Gen?” I asked, my voice deliberately placid. “You went to take care of your brother. The house felt so empty, so I just asked a friend to come keep me company. Is that not normal?”
I held the phone up so she could get a better look at Isla Croft, lounging on my—our—sofa, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe, a wine glass dangling from her elegant fingers.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” I continued, a cold satisfaction spreading through me. “It’s a purely platonic friendship. Honestly, I’m exhausted. Can you please not be so unreasonable?”
Before she could unleash the storm brewing in her eyes, I ended the call.
After all, if you can have a “brother,” why can’t I have a “sister”?
1
The moment the call disconnected, the silence in the living room was absolute.
Isla arched an eyebrow, slowly tying the belt of her robe, concealing the captivating lines of her collarbone. A low laugh rumbled in her chest, her voice laced with the thrill of watching a good show. “My guess? Genevieve will be back in ten minutes, ready for war.”
I leaned back against the plush cushions of the sofa and took a slow sip of my Bordeaux. “I’ll bet you five.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when the front door slammed open with a deafening crash, as if someone had kicked it in.
Genevieve Astor was back.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her chest heaving with rage. Her gaze sliced across Isla, who looked utterly unbothered, before landing on me. Her voice was a low growl, each word forced through clenched teeth. “Ethan Rhodes, you better have a goddamn explanation.”
I swirled the deep red liquid in my glass, pretending not to notice the inferno in her eyes.
“Explain what?” I met her gaze, feigning innocence. “I just had a friend over. What’s wrong with that?”
“A friend?” Genevieve laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. She stormed forward, her fingers wrapping around my wrist like a vice. “Is it normal for a ‘friend’ to be in your house, in your bathrobe? Ethan, have you lost all sense of shame?”
The disappointment and fury in her eyes were meant to annihilate me.
If I were the man I used to be, her words would have shattered me. I would have been on my knees, sobbing, trying to explain.
But I’m not him anymore.
I calmly pulled my hand from her grasp, rubbing the red marks she’d left on my skin. My tone was light, almost bored. “Genevieve, don’t be so dramatic. We just watched a movie. She took a shower, that’s all. Your constant suspicion is exhausting.”
Every single word was a weapon she had used against me in the past.
Genevieve flinched as if I’d slapped her. Her face cycled through shades of white and red. She seemed incapable of believing those words were coming from my mouth.
Isla chose that moment to sigh dramatically. “Gen, please don’t mind me. Ethan and I have always been like this. He honestly doesn’t even see me as a woman.” She gave a helpless shrug. “But since you clearly hate the sight of me, I’ll just go.”
Her performance of the wronged party, the graceful exit, was flawless.
“Don’t go,” I said immediately, grabbing Isla’s arm. I turned to Genevieve, my voice laced with disapproval. “Why are you being so hostile to her? When did you become so petty?”
“Petty?” Genevieve was trembling with rage. “There is another woman in our home in the middle of the night! And you’re defending her!”
“And what about Sebastian?” The final card. I played it with a serene smile. “Is he not a man? He calls you in the middle of the night, and you run to his side without a second thought. Are the two of you not a man and a woman, alone in a room together?”
I took a step closer, looking directly into her blazing eyes, pinning her in place with my words.
“If you can treat Sebastian like a brother, then I can have Isla as my sister. You can’t have it both ways, Gen.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Trapped by her own twisted logic, she was left speechless.
Finally, with a guttural cry of frustration, she spun around and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
As silence returned to the living room, I let out a long breath. “Thanks, Isla. Sorry you had to be part of the show.”
Isla’s playful demeanor vanished. She poured herself a glass of wine, her gaze complex as she looked at me. “Ethan, do you remember that debate tournament in college? You were my opponent, and you argued me into a corner so completely I couldn’t speak.”
I blinked, surprised.
She gave a self-deprecating smile. “I thought then that you belonged in the spotlight, confident and brilliant. Not… not like this. Trapped here, letting your light be snuffed out for one woman.”
She set her glass down, her eyes full of a startling sincerity. “Genevieve doesn’t value you. That’s her loss. I’m helping you, not just for the drama, but because this isn’t who you’re supposed to be.”
I looked into her earnest eyes, and for a moment, the ghost of resentment that lived in my chest felt a flicker of peace.
She was right. This isn't who I am meant to be.
And that poor, broken man whose life I now inhabited… he never deserved that ending.
I touched my hand to my chest, my resolve hardening like steel.
Just wait.
This is only the beginning.
All the pain the male lead in this tragedy endured? It’s your turn to feel every last drop of it. And then some.
2
Genevieve didn’t come home the next day.
I enjoyed the peace and quiet. For the first time in months, I slept soundly through the night.
It wasn't until dusk that the front door of the villa opened again.
Genevieve walked in, supporting a frail figure I’d only ever seen in photographs: Sebastian Hayes.
He was dressed in an all-white lounge set that hung off his thin frame, his face so pale it was almost translucent. He radiated a kind of sickly, artful fragility.
Genevieve avoided my gaze as she placed Sebastian’s suitcase on the floor with a thud. “The doctor said Sebastian is still very weak and needs absolute rest. He’ll be staying here from now on, so I can look after him properly.”
She paused, then added, as if it were an afterthought, “You can just make an extra portion at meals. It’s not much more effort.”
Sebastian offered a weak, triumphant smile. His eyes flickered over to me, a flash of victory in them, before he tightened his grip on Genevieve’s arm. “Gen was so worried about me being alone, she insisted I come here. I’m sure Ethan won’t mind, right?”
He drew out my name, slow and soft, the provocation unmistakable.
As I was about to respond, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest.
It was the shattered soul of the man who used to live here, screaming in outrage. He was urging me on, demanding I ask Genevieve why she would bring this man into his home, demanding I throw him out.
The intensity of it almost overwhelmed me.
I took a deep breath, pressing a hand to my heart to soothe the ghost within.
I forced down the wave of inherited fury and stretched my lips into a bright, welcoming smile. “Mind? Of course not. Why would I mind? Welcome, Sebastian.”
My enthusiasm clearly caught both of them off guard.
Ignoring their stunned expressions, I continued cheerfully, “Genevieve is right, you need to be taken care of. Besides, it’ll be nice to have more people around. It gets lonely here all by myself.”
Then, I shifted my tone, pretending to have a sudden, brilliant idea. “And you know, what a coincidence! I was just about to tell you, the house is about to get even livelier!”
Genevieve’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
I gestured toward the front door. “Isla’s company and her apartment are both being renovated right now. It’s a mess of dust and noise, terrible for her health. I couldn’t stand the thought of her staying alone in some hotel, so I’ve already asked her to move in with us for a while.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
I pressed the button on the remote, and the door swung open to reveal Isla, casually pulling a silver suitcase behind her. She was dressed in chic athleisure, and she feigned a look of surprise as she took in the scene.
“Oh, is everyone here?” She winked at me, then turned her gaze to Genevieve, whose face had turned to stone. “Gen, I hope you don’t mind me crashing for a bit. We’re all friends here, right?”
The air in the room felt thick enough to choke on.
Sebastian’s smile was frozen on his face, and Genevieve looked like she’d just swallowed poison.
Oh, yes. This was going to be fun.
On the first day of our new living arrangement, the war began in the kitchen at dawn.
Sebastian was already up, a blue apron tied neatly around his waist. He was presenting Genevieve with a bowl of meticulously prepared abalone porridge.
“Try this, Gen. I simmered it all night,” he said, his voice soft and cloying. “I just hope Ethan likes it. He seems to sleep in rather late.”
I acted as if I hadn’t heard the dig, walking straight to the stove and pulling four eggs from the refrigerator.
Genevieve frowned, her voice laced with an unspoken command. “Sebastian made you breakfast. Sit down and eat it.”
I ignored her. I turned on the burner, heated a pan, and drizzled in a bit of olive oil.
With a satisfying sizzle, the rich aroma of frying eggs filled the air, a stark, hearty contrast to the bland, watery smell of his porridge. I expertly cracked the four eggs into the pan, frying them until the whites were set and the yolks were perfectly runny.
I slid two onto my plate and two onto another.
A vein throbbed in Genevieve’s temple. “Ethan,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed anger, “do you have to be like this?”
“Like what?” I pierced one of my yolks with a fork, watching the golden liquid ooze out. I took a deliberate, satisfying bite before looking up at her with an innocent smile. “You have your brother’s breakfast, made with love. I have my high-protein meal. And,” I gestured to the second plate, “these are for Isla. She’s taking me through a heavy lifting session later. We’ll need the energy.”
3
Carrying both plates, I turned my back on them and walked into the villa’s home gym.
Isla was already there, finishing her warm-up. Her fitted tank top hugged the sleek muscles of her back, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on her skin. She radiated a potent, healthy energy.
“Your fuel,” I said, handing her the plate.
She took it without ceremony and began to eat.
An hour later, Genevieve appeared at the gym door, her face a thundercloud. She had clearly come for a confrontation, but the sight before her stopped her cold.
I was on my last set of weighted squats, my muscles screaming in protest. Isla was standing directly behind me, her own body clad in a sports bra and yoga pants, sweat tracing a path down the elegant curve of her spine. Her hands were planted firmly on my waist, her warm palms pressing against the thin, sweat-soaked fabric of my shirt, spotting me.
“I can’t… I can’t get up,” I gasped.
“Don’t give up,” Isla’s voice was a low, sultry murmur next to my ear. “Feel it in your glutes. Squeeze. That’s it… I’ve got you. Don’t be afraid.”
Her body was flush against my back, rising and falling with my movements, an intimacy so complete there was no space between us. From Genevieve’s angle, it must have looked like a full-body embrace.
Bang!
Genevieve’s fist connected with the doorframe.
Isla and I turned in unison. My face was flushed and beaded with sweat from the workout. Isla slowly straightened up, wiped the sweat from her chest with a towel, and shot Genevieve a provocative look.
“Something wrong, Gen? You seem a little tense this morning.”
Genevieve’s glare could have killed. Her eyes were fixed on the damp outlines of Isla’s handprints on my shirt. Her lips pressed into a thin, white line, but she couldn’t say a word.
What could she say?
That we were being improper? Her darling Sebastian was sitting in the dining room right now.
That our position was inappropriate? Just last night, she had personally massaged Sebastian’s “sprained” ankle for him.
I watched her, the fury twisting her features as she was forced to swallow her rage, and the ghost in my chest finally felt a sliver of relief.
Still breathing heavily, I turned to Isla and gave her a deliberately sweet, grateful smile. “Thanks, Isla. With you here, I feel like I can do anything.”
I heard the sharp crack of Genevieve’s knuckles as she clenched her fists.
…
Later that night, I had just stepped out of the shower when my bedroom door was thrown open.
Genevieve stood there, reeking of alcohol, her eyes burning red. She stalked toward me, her expensive perfume mingling with the scent of whiskey, enveloping me. Before I could react, she had me pinned against the wall.
“Ethan,” she hissed, her voice rough and frayed. “What the hell do you want from me?”
She didn't wait for an answer. Her lips crashed down on mine. It wasn’t a kiss; it was an invasion, a punishment, the desperate bite of a cornered animal.
I grimaced in disgust, turning my head away sharply as she tried to deepen the kiss.
She froze, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. After a long moment, she buried her face in my neck, and her voice, when she spoke again, was shockingly vulnerable.
“Do we have to be like this? This isn't who you used to be.”
I almost laughed out loud.
When the old Ethan gave her his entire heart, she treated it like garbage. Now that I was giving her a taste of her own indifference, she was playing the victim?
I placed my hand on her chest, feeling the frantic pounding of her heart through her silk blouse. “Are you jealous?” I asked softly.
Her body went rigid.
She jerked her head up, her eyes wide and searching in the dim light. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Finally, as if my question had struck a nerve she didn't know she had, she scrambled away from me and fled the room, slamming the door behind her.
The next day, I was in the city’s most exclusive luxury boutique, picking out a silk scarf for Isla as a thank you for her stellar performance.
When I went to pay, the cashier handed my black card back to me with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sir. This card has been declined.”
Before I could say anything, my phone vibrated.
It was a text from Genevieve, dripping with her usual arrogance: [When you figure out how to be a proper husband, you can come and talk to me. Until then, all of your accounts are frozen.]
She thought she had me. She thought I was the same man who would panic, who would crawl back to her, begging for forgiveness, lost without her financial support.
I looked at the text and a smirk touched my lips.
I pulled out a different phone and made a call.
“Mr. Davies? It’s Ethan Rhodes. The trust fund my mother left me. I’m ready to activate it.”
…
At three o’clock that afternoon, at a major investment press conference, the camera flashes were blinding. I stood on the stage in a sharp, tailored black suit, right beside Isla, positioned as her most crucial new business partner. I smiled brightly for the cameras, knowing Genevieve would be watching.
After the successful launch, Isla handed me a glass of champagne. “Congratulations, Ethan. A beautiful counterattack.”
As I raised my glass to hers, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate uncontrollably. I pulled it out to see a screen full of missed call notifications—more than twenty of them, all from Genevieve.
I ignored them, about to turn the phone off, when the screen lit up again. This time, it was the private line from the Astor family estate.
I answered.
There was a second of silence, then a stern, aged voice boomed through the speaker.
“Ethan Rhodes, have you had enough of this nonsense?!”
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