Don't Touch My Brother

After a long journey from London, I finally arrived at my home in Las Vegas, intent on visiting my younger brother Ethan who had been unwell.

"I'm here... Mother, Father... Ethan, I've come back," I called out cheerfully.

Yet the house, nestled in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Las Vegas, felt strangely still the moment I stepped inside. The silence hanging in the air instantly washed away the fatigue of a dozen-hour flight from London. Everything smelled the same, a familiar blend of my mother’s scented candles, yet something felt terribly wrong.

"Mother? Father? Ethan?" I called again, my footsteps echoing on the wooden floor of the living room. "I’m home."

Still there was no answer. Only the low hum of the air conditioner broke the quiet. I set my carry-on suitcase down beside the sofa. Before I could head toward the kitchen, Maria, our housekeeper, appeared from the back hallway, her face pale and breath coming in short, hurried gasps.

"Miss Elena?" Maria’s eyes went wide as she saw me. "Good heavens, you have arrived from England already?"

"Maria, where is everyone?" I asked quickly, a heavy sense of unease settling over me. "Why is the house so quiet? Is Ethan still resting in his room? He hasn’t fully recovered yet."

Maria twisted the cloth in her hands, her gaze darting away from mine. "Well... Miss Elena... they are not at home right now."

"Where have they gone?" I pressed, stepping closer. As a strategy manager based in London, I had learned to read people well, and Maria’s expression spelled trouble.

"They have all gone to the Grand Arena downtown," Maria replied, her voice trembling. "Master Ethan... he went to the boxing ring tonight."

"What? Has he lost his mind? He was just released from the hospital with heart complications and severe exhaustion," I said sharply, my voice rising.

"The Miller family challenged him, Miss," Maria explained hurriedly, her tone edged with panic. "Their son has been taunting him and belittling him nonstop on social media and at the clubhouse since last night. Master Ethan could not bear it any longer. Your father and mother forbade him from going, but he insisted on leaving. They went after him to try and stop something terrible from happening."

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, a word I rarely spoke aloud. Marcus Miller and his family had been our bitter rivals for years, but to take advantage of Ethan’s poor health was the lowest kind of cruelty.

I did not waste a single second. My eyes fell on the console table by the front door, where my father’s Ford Mustang V8 keys lay waiting. I grabbed them in one quick motion.

"Miss Elena, where are you going?" Maria called out, worried.

"To stop this madness before my brother gets himself killed in that ring," I said firmly, turning on my heel and rushing out the door.

I tossed my handbag onto the passenger seat and pressed the start button. The V8 engine roared to life, shattering the quiet night. I floored the accelerator, tires screeching as the car pulled out of the driveway.

My work clothes, the tailored blazer and high heels, suddenly felt unbearably restrictive, but I did not care. The speedometer climbed steadily as I drove through the glittering Las Vegas Strip, neon signs blazing all around me. Somewhere amid all that glamour, my only brother was risking his life for a worthless sense of pride.

"Hold on, Ethan... please just hold on," I whispered, gripping the steering wheel tight as I wove through heavy traffic.

Tires squealed against asphalt as I pulled up sharply at the Grand Arena drop-off zone. I left the engine running and jumped straight out of the car. The dazzling lights of Las Vegas overhead felt painfully at odds with the fear churning in my chest.

I burst through the glass entrance doors, ignoring calls from security guards standing by. The air inside was thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and heat, and filled with the deafening roar of thousands of spectators. I followed the noise, pushing my way through the crowd until I reached the front row near the main ring.

What I saw next made my blood boil and run cold all at once.

Ethan was backed into the corner, his face streaked with blood, breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. His heart condition and exhaustion were clearly tearing him apart from the inside out. Yet in his weary eyes there remained a stubborn, desperate resolve. He wanted this win so badly, just to earn a shot at the national championship. Marcus Miller knew exactly how weak he was.

Marcus stood tall and confident, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He drew his right fist back, putting all his strength into a blow aimed straight at Ethan’s temple.

"ETHAN!" I screamed. I kicked off my high heels and left them scattered on the floor. Without a second thought, I climbed over the barrier and pulled myself up through the ring ropes.

I slid across the canvas and caught Marcus’s wrist in both hands, holding him back just before his fist could strike my brother.

The entire arena fell silent. The cheering stopped instantly, replaced by confused murmurs and hundreds of eyes fixed on me.

"What is the meaning of this?" Marcus demanded, stunned that his punch had been blocked. He glared at me as I stood between him and Ethan.

"Leave my brother alone, you coward," I said, my voice low and sharp, meeting his gaze without flinching.

The referee hurried over, his hands raised in alarm. "Miss! What do you think you are doing? This is an official match! Leave the ring right now or I will call security."

I ignored him. I shoved Marcus’s hand away roughly, unbuttoned my blazer in one quick motion, and tossed it out of the ring.

I stood there in a simple black tank top and tailored trousers. I gathered my loose hair and tied it back tight and secure.

Then I heard my mother’s voice calling my name from the crowd. "Elena! Elena, my dear! Come down from there!" She looked pale and distraught, leaning on my father’s arm.

"Elena, do not do anything foolish. Let the authorities handle this," my father pleaded, his voice thick with worry and fear.

I glanced over at them, gave a small reassuring nod, then knelt down beside Ethan and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Elena... what are you doing here..." Ethan whispered, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I... I have to win this..."

"You have done more than enough just by standing here and fighting this long," I said softly close to his ear. "Rest now. I will handle this."

I stood up straight and turned back to face Marcus. He had started laughing, ignoring the referee who was still shouting for me to leave.

"Well, well... look who has shown up," Marcus jeered, rolling his shoulders. "The great savior come all the way from London. Do you think this is some corporate boardroom? This is a boxing ring, not a place for women in tank tops to throw tantrums."

"Marcus Miller," I said, my voice steady and cold with controlled fury. "Do you feel like a big man picking on someone who can barely breathe?"

Marcus stepped forward, puffing out his broad chest. "He challenged me. He is the one who is weak. Just like the rest of your family."

I clenched my fists, feeling heat rise through every muscle in my body. "Then fight me instead."

"Fight you?" Marcus laughed, glancing around at the crowd as if I had told a joke. "Are you serious? I do not hit women. One good punch from me and that pretty face of yours will be ruined forever."

"Or are you just too much of a coward to fight someone on equal terms?" I said, my tone calm but cutting deep.

The mocking smile faded from Marcus’s face, rep

laced by a look of pure anger. "Miss Elena Rose... you are going to regret saying that."