My Brother and I Conquer All

The wind at the airport carried a salty sting. I dragged my suitcase out of the arrivals hall. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from my assistant: "Miss, Mr. Calvin Scott's car is in parking area A." I furrowed my brow. He hasn't been back to the country for three years, yet this kid is getting more and more well-behaved. The black Bentley was parked in the most conspicuous spot. The driver opened the car door for me. The car was filled with an unfamiliar perfume, sickeningly sweet. I pinched the bridge of my nose. No need to guess—it was another one of Calvin Scott's flings. The villa door was ajar. I pushed the door open. At the entrance lay a pair of red high heels, their sharp heels like poisoned daggers. "New here?" A coquettish voice drifted from the living room. I looked up to see a woman in a silk nightgown sitting with her legs crossed on the sofa, a slender cigarette held between her fingers. She appraised me from head to toe, the contempt in her eyes nearly spilling over. "What are you standing there for? Don't you see I'm thirsty? Go pour me a glass of wine." I didn't move, my gaze fixed on the bracelet on her wrist—that limited-edition handcrafted birthday gift I had someone bring to Calvin Scott last year, supposedly given to someone "very important." "Deaf?" The woman stubbed out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray; sparks flared up then died out, mirroring the sudden chill that swept across her face. "Didn't Calvin Scott ever teach you manners? How dare a servant throw attitude at me?" I tugged at the corner of my mouth, bent down, and stood the suitcase against the wall; the metallic handle clinked crisply against the floor. "Who are you?" She laughed as if she'd just heard the funniest joke, her whole body trembling with mirth, the strap of her nightgown slipping down to her elbow. "You don’t know even know? Looks like Calvin really does treat you like a servant." She stood up and walked over to me, half a head shorter, yet stubbornly tilted her chin up to meet my gaze. "Remember this: I am Linda White, Calvin Scott's girlfriend. Now, go pour me a drink." I stared at the necklace resting on her collarbone—a platinum chain with a flawed diamond pendant, glaringly cheap. "This house—the property deed has my name on it." Linda White's smile froze on her face. Three seconds later, she suddenly raised her hand, and a sharp slap echoed through the living room. My cheek burned fiercely. I didn't move, only slowly lifted my eyes. She took a half step back, startled by my gaze, but immediately straightened her neck and shouted, "You dare glare at me? A nanny from the countryside dares to talk back? Believe it or not, I'll have Calvin Scott kick you out of the Capital City!" I pulled out my phone; the screen lit up, showing the chat with Calvin Scott. The last message was from three days ago: "Sis, waiting for you to come home." I pressed the dial button, and the moment the call connected, Linda White suddenly lunged forward to snatch the phone. "Who are you calling?" The phone fell onto the carpet; the screen didn't crack, but the call was cut off. She stepped on my phone, the heel of her stiletto crushing the screen. "Stop pretending. You're the third one today trying to pass off as Calvin Scott's sister. Do you really think I'm that easy to fool?" I bent down, picked up the phone, unlocked it with my fingerprint, and redialed. Linda White kept chirping, "Let me tell you, Calvin's sister died abroad long ago. She went to Sea Country back then as a purchasing agent and was supposedly kidnapped by gangsters. Now, this house? I'm the one who calls the shots!" The call connected, Calvin's voice groggy with sleep. "Sis?" "Ten minutes. Get that woman you brought out of my house, or forget about the shares you hold." I cut him off, my voice cold as ice. Linda White's expression flickered when she heard the word "shares," but she still put on a tough front: "Don’t threaten me. The shares Calvin Scott holds are worth over a hundred million. You think he's afraid of you?"