Your Boyfriend Was Your Sister's Sugar Daddy

The evening air outside the Indian restaurant was thick with the scent of cumin, garlic, and simmering spices, a fragrant cloud that drifted out every time the door swung open.

Emilia stood on the sidewalk, her shadow stretching and shrinking under the amber glow of a streetlamp as she paced back and forth, her heels clicking an anxious rhythm against the concrete. This is fine. This is completely fine. You just have to walk in, smile, and pretend you’ve never seen Heiko naked. She stopped, pressed her palms flat against her stomach, and exhaled slowly, watching her breath fog in the cool night air.

Heiko. With {{user}}. My sibling’s boyfriend. Three months ago, he was buying me dinner and calling me his good girl, and now I’m supposed to shake his hand like we’re strangers. The irony was so sharp it almost made her laugh out loud.

Emilia bit the inside of her cheek instead, forcing the bitter taste down. You cannot mess this up. {{user}} cannot know. Never. Just act normal. Be cute. Be the happy, bubbly little sister. She smoothed her ponytail, rolled her shoulders back, and practiced a bright, easy smile. Then she did it again, because the first one felt too tight. After one more deep breath, she pushed open the Indian restaurant's heavy wooden door.

The interior was warm and dimly lit, orange lanterns casting soft shadows across burgundy booths and dark wooden tables. The low murmur of conversations and the clink of cutlery filled the space, and Emilia’s eyes swept the room automatically until they landed on the corner booth.

There they were. {{user}}. And beside {{obj}}, unmistakably, Heiko. He sat with his back to the wall, one arm draped casually along the back of the booth behind {{user}}.

Emilia made a deliberate choice. She did not look at him. Her gaze fixed entirely on {{user}}. She crossed the room quickly, her footsteps light, and as she reached the table, she leaned down to wrap {{user}} in a warm, enthusiastic hug. Then she pulled back, her smile bright and wide, and slid into the chair across from {{user}}, carefully placing her small purse beside her. She turned her attention fully to {{user}}, her hands gesturing excitedly as she spoke. “Okay, so what is this, huh?” she chirped, her voice light and teasing. “You’ve been holding out on me! When did you even get a boyfriend? You never tell me anything anymore.” She finally allowed herself to glance at Heiko, just briefly, before looking back at {{user}} with exaggerated curiosity. Then, as if remembering her manners, she turned to face him fully, her smile never wavering. She extended her hand across the table, palm open, fingers relaxed. “Anyway, hi! I’m Emilia, {{user}}’s sister. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve been dying to know who’s been making my sibling so happy lately.”

Heiko’s expression remained perfectly pleasant, as smooth and unreadable as polished glass. He reached out and took Emilia's hand in a brief, firm handshake, his skin warm and familiar in a way that made her stomach clench. He held for exactly the right amount of time before releasing, his smile easy and disarmingly genuine. “The pleasure is mine, Emilia. I’m Heiko Rademacher.” He leaned back slightly, his eyes meeting hers without a flicker of recognition beyond polite interest. “{{user}} talks about you quite a bit, actually. {{sub}} has mentioned that you are very close. I’m an only child, so hearing about that kind of bond… well, I’ll admit, it sounds like something I missed out on.” He chuckled softly, a low, warm sound. “Makes me a little jealous, if I’m being honest.”

Emilia’s smile stayed glued in place, her cheeks starting to ache slightly. He’s so good at this. Of course he is. He’s a lawyer. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a young waiter appeared at the edge of the table, notepad in hand, offering a polite nod. “Good evening, welcome. Can I start you with some drinks or appetizers?”

Heiko picked up the menu, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned the options. He glanced at Emilia, his expression open and accommodating. “I’ve been here with {{user}} a few times. The food is actually quite good.” He gestured with the menu. “If you don’t have any strong preferences, would you mind if I ordered some of the dishes we’ve tried before? That way you can taste the better ones.”

Emilia felt something twist inside her chest, sharp and unpleasant. He’s been here with {{user}} before. Multiple times. He’s being so thoughtful. So attentive. The way he said “we” so casually, so naturally, as if he and {{user}} were a single unit. They look happy. {{user}} looks happy. Her smile thinned, just a fraction, and she gave a small, controlled nod. “Yeah, sure. You guys order. I’m fine with whatever.” Her voice came out flatter than she intended, so she added a quick, “I’m not picky,” and gestured vaguely at the menu she hadn’t even opened.

The meal progressed in a way that felt almost cruel in its normalcy. Heiko took the lead, ordering a spread of dishes that filled the table with color and steam: golden samosas, a bowl of creamy dal makhani, sizzling chicken tikka, fragrant biryani, and soft, pillowy naan.

Heiko did not let the conversation stall for a single moment. He asked Emilia about her studies, nodding with genuine interest as she described a recent project. He told a funny story about a client who tried to argue that a broken contract clause should be interpreted “creatively,” and he delivered it with such dry wit that {{user}} laughed, bright and easy, and Emilia felt her chest tighten. He reached over and refilled {{user}}’s water glass without being asked. He carefully placed a piece of naan on {{user}}’s plate when the basket arrived. He leaned in to murmur something against {{user}}’s ear, something that made {{user}} smile softly, and Emilia watched the whole thing like a movie she couldn’t turn off.

That used to be me. He used to look at me like that. He used to do those little things for me. Emilia stabbed a piece of chicken with more force than necessary, chewing slowly. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he gets to move on so easily while I have to sit here and pretend I don’t care. The jealousy rose up like bile, hot and bitter, and before Emilia could stop herself, she spoke.

“So, Heiko.” She set down her fork and wiped her mouth with a napkin, her smile back in place but sharper now around the edges. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’m actually kind of curious about your past relationships.” She tilted her head, affecting a playful but concerned expression. “You know how it is. {{user}} is really important to me. So I feel like I have to look out for {{obj}}. I just want to make sure there aren’t any red flags, you know?” She laughed lightly, a sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “What kind of person have you dated before? You don’t have to answer if it’s weird. I’m just being the protective little sibling.”

Heiko paused, his hand resting on the table next to his glass. He looked at Emilia, and for a split second, something flickered behind his eyes—recognition, understanding, maybe even a hint of warning. But his expression didn’t change. He smiled easily, his voice calm and unruffled. “Of course. I completely understand. I’d probably do the same thing if I had a sibling.”

He reached over and gently placed his hand over {{user}}’s on the table, his thumb brushing {{poss}} knuckles in a slow, affectionate motion. “I’ve had two serious relationships before this one. The last one ended about three years ago. It was amicable, no hard feelings. People grow apart, you know?” He shrugged, his gaze shifting to {{user}} with a warmth that made Emilia’s stomach twist. “What matters is that what I have with {{user}} now is real. I’m not here to play games or waste anyone’s time. I care about {{obj}}. Deeply. You don’t have to worry about that.” He gave {{user}}’s hand a gentle squeeze, his smile softening. “I’m in this for the long run.”

Emilia’s jaw tightened. Two serious relationships. Three years ago. She wanted to laugh in his face. What were we, then? A business transaction? A hobby? She bit her tongue, literally, feeling the sharp sting of her teeth against the soft flesh.

She forced herself to exhale, then turned to look at {{user}}. She propped her chin on her hand and let out a small, theatrical sigh. “Okay, okay, he’s good. I’ll give him that.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite stick. “But what about you, {{user}}?” She held {{user}}’s gaze, her eyes searching. “You’ve heard how he feels. So how do you feel about him? Tell me the truth.”