That night, while scrolling through a secondhand marketplace, I came across a bizarre listing.

[Virtual Girlfriend Companion Service — 99.9 dollars/month, premium relationship experience.

[Emotionally stable, available on demand, online 24/7, satisfaction guaranteed.

[Rave reviews, three customers have already renewed. DM for details.]

More than a dozen user reviews were stacked below.

[The experience is incredible—more attentive than my ex. Totally worth the money!]

[OP, where did you find such a gem? Share the source, please.]

[Is this girlfriend AI? She's way too obedient.]

[How much to buy her out?]

The seller replied: [Real-person service, exclusive source. Tenfold compensation if proven fake. Buyout inquiries via DM.]

I frowned, a mix of disbelief and disgust tightening my chest, and was just about to scroll past.

Then, by chance, I caught a glimpse of a partially blurred chat background image in the details section.

It was something I had drawn myself—the matching profile pictures my long-distance boyfriend and I used.

My heart dropped.

With trembling hands, I tapped open the rest of the images. One chat screenshot after another exploded across my vision.

[Good night, baby. Dream of me.]

[I ordered you a matcha latte. Don't forget to drink it.]

[This song is so good. Sharing it with you.]

Those were the messages I had sent Billy Evans last night, at noon today, and just moments ago.

And five minutes earlier, I had transferred 500 dollars to his secondary account to buy him the latest gaming keyboard.

The note read: [Only the best gear for my man.]

A new message popped up from Billy.

[Kat, I just woke up. I miss you so much.]

Just woke up? I stared at the message, my stomach churning.

But I didn't call to confront him—not yet. I needed proof.

I sent a message to him: [I'm exhausted from work today. My boss even yelled at me. I feel terrible.]

Almost instantly, he replied with a string of messages.

[What happened, baby? That idiot boss of yours again? Don't be mad, don't be mad. If you get sick from stress, it'll break my heart.

[Come on, tell me. I'll curse him out for you.]

At the same time, his secondary account showed that my 500-dollar transfer had been accepted. He replied with a simple: [OK.]

Then another message followed: [By the way, my buddy's a bit short on cash lately. Transfer me another 300, will you? I'll lend it to him for emergencies. He'll pay you back next month.]

I took a slow breath, my fingertips cold as I typed on the screen.

[Okay.]

I labeled the transfer "loan" and sent the money over.

He accepted it instantly and said nothing more.

On his main account, seeing that I hadn't replied, Billy sent another flurry of messages.

[Baby, why aren't you replying? Are you crying?

[Don't be sad. I'll order your favorite matcha latte, okay? Less sugar, regular ice, right?]

My heart sank.

His main account and his secondary account… were clearly two different people.

One was gentle to a fault. The other only knew how to take.

I decided to push further.

Switching to his secondary account, I sent a soft, aggrieved voice message.

"I'm really upset today. It feels like we're so far apart… You can't even be here to hold me. What are you doing right now? Can you send me a photo—just one? I want to feel like you're a little closer."

A few minutes later, Billy sent a picture, his tone edged with impatience.

It was a half-finished glass of beer. The background was a dim, neon-lit KTV club, chaotic and gaudy.

Caption: [Out with clients. No choice—it's all for our future.]

I fixed my gaze on a reflection on the glass.

I zoomed in. Then zoomed in again.

In the blurred reflection, I could just make out fragments of neon lettering.

Holding my breath, I studied it carefully until I recognized a word: Starlight.

Starlight Club. That place was in the busiest commercial district of our city—less than three kilometers from my home.

For final confirmation, I immediately searched online for "Starlight Club," and clicked into the "User Reviews" section, sorting by most recent.

My fingers flew as I scrolled down.

Finally, I found a photo posted five minutes ago.

In the picture, a group of people was raising their glasses in celebration. Billy sat in the center, grinning like he owned the world.

Leaning against him on the sofa was a beautiful girl I didn't recognize.

The caption read: [Thanks for the treat, bro! Starlight Club rocks! Plenty of beauties tonight!]

Every lie shattered in that instant. We were never in a long-distance relationship. It was a same-city scam.

I closed every app, my fingers trembling with rage.

After a long moment, I sent a message to his secondary account: [Let's meet.]

The moment I sent the message, my phone rang. It was Billy.

I swiped to answer but said nothing.

His voice came through, edged with impatience, laced now with a hint of panic.

"Kat? Why do you suddenly want to meet? Didn't we agree that once things are stable on my end, I'd come find you?"

I listened to his well-rehearsed lies, and inside me, everything fell silent.

"I just… suddenly miss you," I said, forcing my voice into something fragile. "I got chewed out by my boss today. When I came home, it was cold and empty—there wasn't a single person here. Billy, I can't do this anymore. I don't care—I just want to see you. I want to see you now. I've already bought a ticket for tomorrow. Send me your address."

Silence fell on the other end.

He was thinking—scrambling for a way out.

A full thirty seconds passed before he spoke again, his tone softening.

"Be good, Kat. Listen to me. I know you've been wronged. It's all my fault—I'm useless, I can't be there for you."

He switched to emotional manipulation.

"My project is at a critical stage right now. I have to be on call 24/7—I really can't get away. And I'm sharing a place with coworkers. It's cramped and messy. If you come, it'll be so inconvenient for you."

"It doesn't matter," I cut in, seizing on his words and pressing forward, leaving him no room to retreat. "No matter how messy it is, I don't care. I'm not afraid of hardship. I don't want anything. I just want to see you with my own eyes—even once is enough."

He was about to come up with another excuse. I drew a sharp breath and interrupted him.

"Billy, I'll ask you one last time. Are we meeting or not?"

My sudden firmness caught him off guard. He choked, unable to respond.

I didn't give him time to think.

"If you refuse again, we're done."

Panic broke through immediately.

"Don't! Kat, don't say that! That's not what I meant! How could I want to break up? I just… I just don't want you to feel wronged!"

I listened in cold silence. I knew he wasn't afraid of losing me. He was afraid of losing his source of money. So he had no choice but to give in.

"Fine, fine—you win. You're impossible, you know that? Come. I'll send you the address. But just one meeting—you can't interfere with my work."

"Mm," I answered softly, adding a faint nasal tone, obedient.

After hanging up, I stared at the darkening screen of my phone. My reflection stared back—pale, bloodless.

A few minutes later, my phone chimed. A message came through with an address.

It was a street name and number I didn't recognize at all.

Maybe it was somewhere he had casually picked to brush me off. Or maybe… another trap.

Either way, I had to go.

I looked at the address, took a deep breath, and replied: [I'll be there tomorrow.]

When I set my phone down, a chill had already spread through my entire body.

Before leaving, I scrolled through my contacts and found a name I hadn't reached out to in almost a year.

Jamie Rowan. My brother.

Things between him and the family had always been strained. Aside from the occasional like on my social media posts, we barely spoke.

I sent him a long voice message, detailing my "online relationship" over the past year—every doubt I had, and everything I had just discovered.

At the end, I attached the address Billy had sent me.

After it went through, I typed one last line: [Jamie, if I don't contact you again before noon tomorrow, call the police for me.]

I took a three-hour flight and followed the navigation to the address Billy had sent me.

It was a high-end residential complex—tight security, quiet surroundings, meticulously maintained.

There was no way Billy—a self-proclaimed struggling young man who claimed he came from a poor family and needed my financial support—could afford to live in a place like this.

A deep sense of unease settled over me.

As I hesitated at the entrance, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Billy.

[You here? Don't just stand at the gate. Come in.]

My scalp prickled.

How did he know I had arrived? Was he watching me from somewhere I couldn't see?

Forcing myself to stay calm, I replied: [The complex is huge. I can't find your building.]

[Building 14. Go straight after you enter. It's the tallest one on your left.]

His instructions were precise and immediate. I had no choice but to steel myself and walk in.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, scattering across my skin, but I felt no warmth—only a chill creeping down my spine.

I found Building 14. As I stood in front of the elevator, another message came.

[Get in. Press 21.]

My palms were already damp with sweat.

The 21st floor. The top floor.

That number only deepened my dread.

The elevator climbed slowly. In the enclosed space, I could hear my own heartbeat pounding like a drum.

The doors opened on the 21st floor.

A quiet corridor stretched ahead, carpeted, with only two units per floor.

Before I could get my bearings, another message came.

[Turn left. 2101. There's a fiddle-leaf fig by the door.]

I froze completely.

He knew this place intimately—every detail, down to the smallest thing.

I stood before the heavy apartment door, my heart racing violently.

What was waiting on the other side?

Billy himself? Or an actor he'd paid to put on a show? Or worse—a carefully laid trap, something far more sinister?

Stories I'd seen online—romance scams, setups designed to lure victims—swirled through my mind.

I gripped my phone tightly in my pocket, the emergency call screen already open. Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand and pressed the doorbell.

After a long pause, I heard footsteps inside—slow, unhurried, drawing closer.

The lock turned with a crisp sound.

My heart leapt into my throat. Every muscle in my body tensed.

The door slowly opened.

"Kat?"

The person at the door looked at me, his face mirroring my own shock and disbelief.

"Jamie?"

The word came out with difficulty.

Time seemed to freeze. The air turned solid between us. We stood on either side of the doorway, staring at each other.

He looked at me. I looked at him.

The one who had cared for me over messages, who had been endlessly gentle, who knew all my preferences…

My lips began to tremble uncontrollably as I stared at him.

"My online boyfriend… That was you?"

My brother looked at me for a long moment, then nodded with visible effort.

It felt as though all the strength had been drained from my body. I had to brace myself against the doorframe to keep from collapsing.

No explanation was needed. Why I had ended up at his door. Why Billy knew this home so intimately.

The elaborate deception Billy had spun over the past year lay exposed before us in an instant.

All along, the person I had truly fallen for… was my own brother.