Catfishing the Queen: My Brother's Face

My online boyfriend finally sent me a picture of himself. I stared at the screen. Why did this guy look so damn familiar?

Wait a minute. That was my brother!

I opened my mouth, ready to rip my brother a new one, but my phone buzzed with another text.

[I sent you the pictures. Now can we meet up IRL?]

I glanced at my brother standing next to me. He was chugging a protein shake, his perfect abs flexing under his gym shirt. A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth. "How about you go stir up this little mess for me?"

Chapter 1

"Hayes! Are you playing me? You made a burner account to date me online?" I marched right up into his personal space, pointing a finger at his chest.

Hayes blinked, his brow furrowing. "Online dating? What the hell are you talking about?"

Oh, so he wanted to play dumb. I shoved my phone right up to his nose. The chat history displayed two crystal-clear photos of him.

Hayes snatched the phone from my hand. The three little typing dots bubbled up on the screen.

[Baby, what do you think? Am I your type?]

Hayes and I locked eyes. The good news? I wasn't accidentally cyber-dating my own flesh and blood. Our family therapy bills were safe.

The bad news? My so-called boyfriend was a catfish, and he was stealing my brother's identity.

My phone vibrated again.

[I just noticed we actually look pretty good together. We've got that couple vibe going.]

No shit. He's my biological brother. Of course we share genetics.

[I sent the pictures. So, can we finally meet up?]

Oh, crap. I shifted my gaze, trying to gauge Hayes's reaction. His eyes snapped up, pinning me to the spot.

"Meeting a guy from the internet? Harlow, you better give me a flawless explanation before I freeze all your credit cards."

I met Wyatt on an MMORPG. He knew the meta, his mechanics were decent, and we ran dungeons together all the time. To get those exclusive co-op buffs and rare loot drops, we linked our accounts as in-game partners. At first, we were just gaming buddies.

But then we exchanged Discord handles, and the vibe shifted. He started dropping flirty comments, checking in on my day, and even grinding my daily quests for me. I wasn't totally against the idea of an online fling, and Wyatt seemed like a decent catch. Eventually, we made it official.

Lately, Wyatt kept pushing to meet up in person. I dragged my feet and turned him down. I barely knew the guy, aside from the fact that we both lived in New York. Grabbing coffee with a stranger from the internet wasn't something I took lightly.

I needed more than just text messages to feel safe. But Wyatt wouldn't drop it. He brought it up constantly. It was starting to set off my alarm bells.

So, I typed out a quick test.

[You need to send me a picture first. I need to know who I'm actually talking to.]

The typing indicator flashed, vanished, and flashed again. Two whole minutes dragged by before his excuse popped up.

[I just wanted to keep the mystery alive. I want you to be surprised when we finally meet.]

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. He was the one begging for a date, but he couldn't even drop a selfie? What was his master plan? Trap me at a Starbucks and hit me with a "well, you're already here"?

When I didn't reply, he doubled down.

[If my baby really wants to see me, I'll send one right now.]

He stalled for another minute, and then boom. He dropped those two photos of Hayes.

The blood drained from my face. Sure, the internet was full of catfishes, but stealing my own brother's face? That was a whole new level of twisted. I'd rather take my chances with a real-life goblin.

Hayes listened to my entire breakdown, clutching his stomach as he laughed until he gasped for air.

I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, you're dead meat!"

I must have lost my damn mind agreeing to date this loser.

Hayes wiped a tear from his eye, his laughter echoing in the room. "Alright, alright, my lips are sealed."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "But seriously, he wants to meet up. What's your game plan?"

What was my game plan? I slowly turned my gaze back to Hayes, letting a sweet, poisonous smile spread across my face. "Oh, brother deaaarest"

Hayes visibly shuddered, taking a step back. "Knock it off. Stop looking at me like that."

Chapter 2

I let out a low, mischievous chuckle. "So, how about you take this little blind date for me?"

Hayes froze. Just as I thought he was going to shut me down, a twisted, almost predatory gleam flashed in his eyes.

"Sure. I've been dying to see what kind of bottom-feeding species your internet boyfriend actually is."

Wow. Okay. Good to know my brother had a dark side.

Hayes told me those two pictures were taken during a campus event and were only posted on Columbia University's exclusive student portal. We put two and two together. Wyatt was highly likely a student at Columbia, just like my brother.

Bingo. When it came time to pick a spot, Wyatt immediately dropped the campus name.

[I go to Columbia. Let's meet up on campus this weekend.]

[It's Ivy League, super exclusive. Security doesn't just let anyone in. I bet you've never been.]

[Since you know me now, I can swipe you in and give you the grand VIP tour.]

The sheer arrogance oozing from those texts made me want to gag. How did I never notice he was such a pretentious douchebag?

Hayes shook his head, staring at the screen. "See that? These bottom-feeding, insecure losers will desperately flaunt any tiny shred of superiority they can find in the real world, strutting around like peacocks trying to overcompensate."

"If he was actually hot, he would have bombarded you with selfies on day one. The fact that he kept hiding behind a screen means he looks like a troll. Learn your lesson."

I nodded aggressively, playing the perfect, obedient little sister. "Preach, Hayes! You're absolutely right."

As long as he didn't expose my embarrassing lapse in judgment to the rest of the world, he could spout whatever philosophy he wanted.

Wyatt kept firing off texts, bragging non-stop about Columbia. He transitioned seamlessly into boasting about how favored he was by the dean, how many national tournaments he represented the school in, and how many trophies he'd racked up. To top it off, he dropped another photo of "himself" holding a championship cup.

Holy shit. It was Hayes again. This creep wasn't just stealing my brother's face; he was trying to hijack his entire life.

Hayes let out a sharp bark of laughter. He snatched the phone from my grip and fired back a single text.

[I go to Columbia too.]

The influx of texts abruptly stopped. Two agonizingly long minutes passed before Wyatt finally replied.

[Oh, baby goes to Columbia too? We're so meant to be.]

Hayes wasn't done playing with his food.

[You look super familiar. Have we met on campus before?]

Radio silence. The awkwardness radiating through the screen was practically suffocating. A solid five minutes later, a reply finally popped up.

[Probably just saw me at one of my tournaments.]

[Something came up. We'll talk more when we meet.]

Those two lines reeked of a rat scurrying back into the sewer. I couldn't even begin to imagine the look on his face when he actually met "me" and saw Hayes standing there. Suddenly, I was counting down the seconds to this weekend's meetup.

Chapter 3

That night, Camille, a girl from my guild who I actually liked, begged me to carry her through a dungeon. I logged on. Just as I was about to queue up for the instance, a party invite popped up on my screen.

I checked the detailsit was the exact run I needed. Figuring a full squad would make the grind go faster, I clicked accept.

[System Message: Player "Camille" has joined the party.]

Once inside the lobby, I realized it was a pre-made group. Their mics were already hot, voices overlapping over the game audio. And of course, Wyatt was in here too.

"Wyatt, Camille still hasn't cleared this one. You don't mind that I pulled her in, right?" one of the guys asked over the voice comms.

"It's chill," Wyatt's voice crackled through the headset. "I was about to carry Kenzie through anyway. Might as well drag you all to the finish line."

The first half of the dungeon was a breeze. Everyone was just button-mashing, putting in minimal effort while shooting the shit over the mic.

That's when someone casually dropped the bomb.

"Hey Wyatt, did Harlow finally agree to meet up IRL?"

Wyatts tone instantly puffed up with pure arrogance. "Bro, you think she could actually say no to me? We're meeting up this weekend."

The other guy snorted, clearly not buying it. "Come on, man. The whole guild knows she's been curving you for weeks."

Wyatt's fragile ego clearly took a hit. "She was just playing hard to get, bro. The second I dropped my selfie today, she was practically begging to see me."

I actually choked on my own spit. Was this guy for real? How did I never notice this impenetrable layer of delusion?

Kenzie's voice chimed in. "Wyaaaatt I see so many catfishes online who look pretty in photos but are totally busted in real life. What if Harlow is a catfish?"

What the actual fuck? Who does she think she is, faking that high-pitched baby voice like that to play the innocent, little Pick-me girl?

Predictably, her pathetic little act immediately got the pack of wolves riled up.

"Yeah, her pics are photoshopped to hell. There's a reason she's been dodging a meetup. She's probably some two-hundred-pound fat bitch hiding in her basement stuffing her face with fried chicken," one of the guys sneered.

"Plus, she's way too sweaty at the game, and she never uses voice comms. Probably some dude catfishing us."

"Right? Kenzie is what a real gamer girl is supposed to be. Cute, a little clueless, always needing a real man to carry her, hahaha."

Kenzie's voice somehow hit an even higher, more grating octave. "You guys are so meaaan! Wyatt is just so good at the game, what's wrong with wanting him to carry me?"

My stomach lurched. I dry-heaved, my fingernails digging into the armrests of my gaming chair. Typical.

These bottom-feeding basement dwellers loved using their walnut-sized brains to box in women they could never score in the real world. The second a girl stepped out of their fragile, predetermined boundaries, they tore her down with the most toxic, malicious garbage they could vomit up.

If a woman dressed well and had nice things, they instantly sneered, Who knows what she had to do on her knees to pay for that. If she posted a shiny Ivy League degree online, they branded her a diversity hire or accused her of sleeping with the professor. They used rumors and slut-shaming as a cheap shield to hide their own pathetic, deep-seated insecurities. In their twisted, incel reality, women were supposed to suck at video games, fail at math, and blindly follow orders from "Alpha" males.

But you know what the real tragedy was? Some girls actually trapped themselves in that exact same cage, basking in the cheap validation. Take our resident Pick-me girl over heregetting called a clueless idiot by a bunch of losers, and she was practically purring.

Right at that moment, my phone buzzed on my desk, violently shattering my train of thought.

Chapter 4

I unlocked the screen. It was a text from Wyatt.

[Baby, can you send me a voice memo? I don't think I've ever heard you speak.]

Are you freaking kidding me? This loser was hiding behind a stolen face, and he had the nerve to interrogate me? Just acknowledging his existence made my skin crawl. I shot back a dismissive reply:

[You'll hear it when we meet.]

I tossed the phone onto my desk, done with him.

Turns out, I severely underestimated Wyatt's sheer audacity. The second I hit send, his smug voice blared through my headset.

"Relax, boys. Your girl already sent me a voice note. Her voice definitely matches the face."

The virtual locker room erupted again.

"No way! Wyatt actually scored a baddie?"

"I still don't buy it. You never see a chick who looks good, sounds good, and actually knows how to game. Even if Harlow is actually a girl, she's probably built like a tank."

"Hey Wyatt, did her voice have that wheezy sound? You know, like her vocal cords are being crushed by pure neck fat?"

Kenzie's shrill, grating giggle sliced through the audio. "You guys shouldn't say that! Harlow will get mad if she hears you!"

My face contorted in pure, unadulterated disgust. Mad? Not even close. I just felt like I was wading through raw sewage.

The second the raid boss dropped, I instantly logged off. Breathing the same digital air as these creeps for one more second was actual torture.

The highly anticipated weekend finally arrived. I pulled a black baseball cap low over my face, slid on a pair of oversized sunglasses, and trailed a safe distance behind Hayes. Obviously, I wasn't going to miss this trainwreck in person. Live entertainment was way better.

I had set the meetup spot right in front of the Columbia University library. Even on a weekend, the campus courtyard was packed with students.

A minute later, Wyatt's text lit up my screen.

[Baby, I'm here. Where are you?]

I took my sweet time before typing back:

[I'm waiting right under the bulletin board by the side entrance.]

From my vantage point, I spotted a walking ball of blubber covered in a yellowing, sweat-stained T-shirt lumbering toward the exact bulletin board where Hayes was standing. He was barely five-foot-five, definitely pushing over two hundred and fifty pounds. Even from a distance, I swear I could smell the sour stench of unwashed body odor radiating off him.

He waddled over to the spot and started looking around, his beady eyes darting across the courtyard. A sickening realization hit methat was Wyatt. He stood there for a second before pulling out his phone and frantically jabbing at the screen with his thick thumbs. My phone vibrated.

[Baby, I don't see you anywhere?]

I stared at Hayes, who was standing just a few feet behind him, and fired off my reply.

[Turn around.]

The giant meatball slowly pivoted on his heels.

Hayes had his phone tucked securely into his breast pocket, running a live video call directly to me. A massive, greasy face shoved its way into the camera frame, filling my entire screen. I physically recoiled, stumbling a half-step back in pure shock