My mother was too preoccupied to raise a child, so, in her infinite wisdom, she decided to turn my older brother into a Nanny-Brother. She constantly drilled a single concept into his head: “Everything in the house will belong to you someday, and that includes your little sister.” My brother believed her. And so, while other heirs were out on the town drinking and partying, he was playing dress-up with me. While other trust-fund princes were drag racing and chasing girls, he was watching videos of my childhood, set to ridiculous, soothing soundtracks. Which meant that when I discovered I was a foundling, not a biological daughter, I had only one thought: I’m screwed. My brother is going to lose his mind. But then I saw him smile, his gaze locking onto me like a wolf spotting prey. “That,” he said, the word dripping with dark pleasure, “is just perfect.” 1 It was a Sunday evening family dinner, and my mother, Nadia, was chatting animatedly with my aunt. “You wouldn’t believe it, back at Ava’s first birthday, the ‘Grabbing Ceremony’—she ignored all the toys and candy, and she just grabbed onto Declan and wouldn't let go.” “And Declan! He was such a handful as a kid, he’d barely smile, and even I, his mother, was nervous around him. Now look at him—he practically raised Ava. He’s like a built-in manny. When Ava said she was moving into the dorms, he looked like the sky was falling.” Manny? Was that a term you could just throw around so lightly? My mouth twitched, but before I could reply, a steaming mug was pressed into my hand. Ginger tea. Declan Sinclair settled naturally beside me. His knee pressed against mine. His arm wrapped loosely around my waist, his fingers beginning a slow, light circular massage on my lower back. “Still aching?” Ever since my first bad cramps, he’d been more attentive to my cycle than I was. Truth be told, I barely felt anything now, but with all the relatives watching, I felt my face flush. I tried to pull away, keeping my voice low. “Dec…” “Hmm.” Declan hummed an acknowledgement, then lifted his eyes, his gaze cool and distant, to the relatives across the table. “It’s getting late. Aunt and Uncle, I think you should head home.” He tossed the blunt dismissal out without apology, ignoring their clearly offended expressions. He only looked down at me, his eyes asking, Is it time for us now? 2 I had truly been raised by my brother. I heard that in the beginning, he hadn't wanted me. Even as a small child, he had his own sharp logic. He’d argued against my mother's irresponsible behavior: “She’s your baby, Mom. She’s not my baby.” My mother had been amused. “Why isn’t she yours?” “Everything in the house will belong to you someday, and that includes your little sister.” Declan took the line to heart. From then on, he became my willing, tireless Nanny-Brother, taking charge of everything. When I was sick in the hospital, my mother would stammer in response to the doctor's questions; Declan would answer fluently and perfectly. Even my mother had once marveled, “Declan, you really have the instincts of a parent.” Declan took it as the highest compliment and doubled down on his care. Even now, he was standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of weary tolerance and total certainty, as if I was the one being unreasonable. I wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Dec, I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” His voice was flat. “You said that last time, and you ended up in the ER with a migraine.” “That was just an accident—” “I can’t afford another accident.” “But this… this is wrong.” Seeing my hesitation, he pushed the door open, easily slipping inside the room. He tilted his head, his expression a picture of genuine confusion. “What’s wrong about it? You’re mine, Baby.” 3 The first time I realized that pet name was too intimate was during my college orientation week. Freshmen were required to stay in the dorms by our university. Declan showed up, his face a thundercloud, to help me make my bed. He was striking, handsome in a way that screamed ‘elite heir,’ yet he was expertly managing sheets and duvets. He even retrieved my required gym uniform, carefully adding a soft waist belt and specialized insoles. My roommates stared, their faces flushed with envy. “Ava Sinclair, your boyfriend is incredible.” My expression froze instantly. I quickly whispered, “He’s my brother. My actual brother.” “Oh. Then why does he call you ‘Baby’?” “And you guys don’t look alike at all.” I could only mumble an explanation: “He raised me.” From that day on, I strictly forbade Declan from calling me that in public. Although he didn't seem to understand the reason, he listened. But as soon as we were home, he’d double down, stubbornly calling me Baby. “You are not allowed to call me that.” I grit my teeth, pushing against his chest to keep him away. Declan just nodded, utterly unbothered. “Whatever Baby wants.” I gave up. It was useless arguing with him. 4 I had a lot on my mind last night, and when my alarm went off, my brain was still foggy. Unfortunately, I had an 8 AM class. Declan pulled me out of the covers. “Baby, open up.” I groggily brushed my teeth. He then meticulously washed my face and applied my skincare routine. Only after everything was done did he settle me back on the bed. My clothes for the day were laid out on the chair, already chosen. He tilted his face toward me, seeking his good morning kiss. I gave it to him in a daze. “Thank you, big brother.” “Be a good girl. Tell your brother when you’re dressed.” By the time I was fully dressed, almost half an hour had passed. Twenty minutes of that was silent internal screaming. I thought about how utterly useless I’d been—like a total infant—just hours after my big independence speech. I felt deeply embarrassed. My mind was a blur until my class ended. I tried scrolling through my phone to distract myself. Then I saw a post that stopped my hand mid-scroll. I clicked on it before I realized what I was doing. [My little sister won't let me eat her leftovers anymore. What do I do?] [This morning, I made breakfast as usual. My little sister loves it, and her cheeks look so cute when she’s finished. When she was done, I went to take her plate, but she wouldn’t let me. If I hadn’t tricked her and said I didn’t make enough for a second portion, I almost wouldn’t have gotten any. This has been happening a lot lately. Has someone been talking nonsense to her?] 5 8 AM is prime time for university students. I refreshed the page, and the comments flooded in instantly. [OMG, is this English? Grandma, the Sibling Suspense update you love just dropped.] [Someone should be talking nonsense to her, lol. The sister is a normal human; the poster is a menace.] [This is a sick trope, right? Honestly, my boyfriend doesn't insist on eating my literal leftovers.] ["Almost wouldn't have gotten any..." Dude, what are you regretting? Is your sister's saliva magical?] Poster: [That just means your boyfriend doesn't love you enough.] [I’ve taught my sister since childhood that family is the only lifetime bond. Not some short, fragile hormone-fueled connection like a lover.] [I don’t know. Everything she’s tasted just tastes better. We’ve grown up this way. Unfortunately, she’s in college now, so I only get this one meal a day. I can’t compromise on this.] User: [You’re complaining? If I had a brother like this, I’d run away overnight.] Poster: [Why? She asked me not to sleep with her, not to kiss her cheek, and I listened. I’ve been very compliant. She can’t leave me.] User: [Wait, no kissing? I don’t believe it.] Poster: [I keep my word. The morning kiss has been changed to her kissing my cheek instead.] The atmosphere was still relatively playful until the newest comment popped up. Ghosted_by_Venus: [It’s simple. She has a dog outside, of course! She needs to be discrete.] 6 This comment clearly struck a nerve with the poster.
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