The Monday morning sun was hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows of the mansion's breakfast nook, but Dave wasn't looking at the view. He was staring at a bowl of expensive, artisanal granola like it was a complex math equation. His mind was still replaying the alleyway encounter with Silas. The reality of the debt and the "hit" was sinking in, but it was being pushed aside by a new, more immediate problem.
"Chris, you got a visitor," Hood said, walking into the kitchen. He looked a little more sober than usual, his voice dropped to a respectful tone. "She just flew in. Said she couldn't wait for the 'official' family dinner."
Before Dave could ask who "she" was, a woman stepped around the corner.
She was breathtaking. She had the same sharp, striking features as the man Dave saw in the mirror every morning, but softened with an effortless, natural elegance. She was wearing simple leggings and an oversized hoodie, her hair pulled back, yet she radiated a warmth that felt completely alien in this house of glass and chrome.
"Chris," she breathed, her eyes filling with tears.
Dave stood up so fast he nearly knocked his kale smoothie onto the marble. His heart didn't just beat; it somersaulted. He had never seen this woman in his life, but his body—the Chris Brown body—reacted with a jolt of pure, instinctual recognition. But beneath that, the "Dave" part of him was paralyzed. He was looking at her, and for the first time in his life, he felt a "love at first sight" moment so powerful it made his knees weak.
"Hey... you," Dave managed to say. His voice was high, lacking the "Breezy" rasp. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hey. Good to see... you. My sister. Who is related to me."
The woman paused, her foot hovering mid-step. Her brow furrowed, a shadow of confusion crossing her face. "My sister? Chris, it's Lytrell. Are you... are you okay? You sound like you're reading a script."
"I'm just... the crash, Lytrell! The brain, it's like a filing cabinet that got knocked over," Dave said, waving his hands around frantically. "Sometimes I have to label things out loud to find the right folder. It's a neurological technique. Very cutting edge."
Lytrell walked closer, her eyes searching his. "You look healthy, but you're acting so... weird. You're standing there like I'm a stranger. Come here."
She reached out and took his hands. Her skin was warm, and the touch sent a literal spark through Dave's arms. He felt a wave of intense awkwardness. He was holding the hands of a woman he was technically supposed to be related to, but all he could think about was how incredible she smelled—like vanilla and home.
"I was so scared, Chris," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his chest. "When I saw the Lambo on the news... I thought I'd lost my baby brother."
Dave stood there, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. He knew he should hug her back, but he was terrified of doing it wrong. "Yeah. It was a real... bummer. Definitely a one-star experience on Yelp. The car is totally totaled. Very unfortunate."
Lytrell pulled back, her expression shifting from relief to genuine concern. "A 'one-star experience'? Chris, what is wrong with you? You're talking like a... like a white guy from the suburbs who works in IT. And you haven't even hugged me yet."
"I'm just protecting the ribs!" Dave shouted, stepping back. "The doctors said no sudden compressions. My torso is basically a 'Fragile' box right now."
"You were dancing on the pier yesterday! I saw the video!" she challenged, her hands on her hips.
"That was... adrenaline! And high-grade medical tape!"
The silence that followed was thick with her suspicion. She looked at him for a long time, her eyes narrowing as she tried to find her brother behind the tattoos and the jewelry. Dave felt like he was sweating under a spotlight.
The tension was broken by Scott bursting into the room, holding a clipboard like a shield. "Time's up! The soundstage is booked. We have thirty dancers waiting, and the choreographer is on a ten-thousand-dollar-an-hour clock. We gotta move!"
"I have to go," Dave said, feeling a mix of relief and profound disappointment. "Duty calls. The music... it beckons."
Lytrell sighed, her face softening back into that protective sisterly look. "Okay. Go do your thing. But we're talking tonight. Properly."
She stepped in close for one last goodbye. She didn't just hug him; she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, burying her face in his shoulder the way she had done a thousand times since they were kids. It was a deep, familiar, "blood-is-thicker-than-water" hug.
But Dave wasn't her brother.
In that moment, the physical proximity, the scent of her hair, and the "love at first sight" chemical reaction in his brain created a catastrophic biological response. Dave felt his face turn bright red. He tried to pull back, but she held on for a second too long.
A very clear, very undeniable erection made itself known against the fabric of his designer cargos.
Dave's eyes went wide. He felt a surge of pure horror. No, no, no, not now, not with her! his mind screamed.
Lytrell felt him stiffen—not in the emotional way, but the physical way. She pulled back, her eyes dropping down for a split second before snapping back to his face. A look of utter, horrified confusion washed over her.
"Chris...?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I have to go! Right now! Immediately!" Dave yelled. He grabbed a throw pillow from the breakfast nook and held it firmly against his crotch. "I think I left the... the oven on! In the guest house! Very dangerous!"
He turned and bolted toward the door, scuttling sideways like a crab to keep the pillow in place.
"Chris! Wait!" Lytrell called out, but Dave was already in the SUV, slamming the door shut.
As the motorcade peeled away toward the soundstage, Dave sat in the back, his head in his hands. He was panting, his face still burning with shame.
"You okay, man?" Hood asked, looking at the pillow in Dave's lap. "Why you bringing the decor to rehearsal?"
"It's for... lumbar support!" Dave shouted. "I have a very demanding lower back!"
He looked out the window, his mind racing. He had almost survived the sister test, but his own body had betrayed him in the most awkward way possible. She knew something was wrong. She didn't know what, but she knew that the man in that house wasn't her brother.
And as the SUV pulled up to the massive soundstage for the tour rehearsal, Dave realized he had to face thirty of the best dancers in the world while his brain was a mess of forbidden attraction and imposter syndrome.
The "Unity" tour was starting, but Dave felt like he was falling apart.