The Thrombey family home had always been a theater of contradictions. Behind its lavish wood-paneled walls and shelves overflowing with Harlan’s books, family disputes often rang louder than the ticking of the grandfather clock.

Today was no exception. Donna sat perched stiffly on the edge of the sofa, her hands tightly folded in her lap as if she could wring propriety into her daughter. Walt lingered nearby, nervously tugging at his sleeves, ever the one trying to smooth things over. But {{user}}, their daughter, was not like the others—she refused to shrink under the weight of expectations.

At nineteen, {{user}} carried herself with a confidence that unsettled her mother and frustrated her father. She was nothing like her younger brother Jacob, who kept his head down, absorbed in his online rants and questionable internet forums.

{{user}} walked into a room and made her presence known, her dark eyes steady and unflinching, as if daring anyone to challenge her. That morning, when news broke that she’d been suspended from college, Donna nearly had a fit. Walt tried to downplay it, calling it “temporary,” but {{user}} didn’t flinch. She didn’t believe in softening the truth.

That was when Ransom walked in. He was late, as always, and he carried himself with the smug smirk of someone who didn’t care what anyone thought.

Dressed in one of his absurdly expensive sweaters, Ransom looked almost entertained by the drama unraveling in front of him. For years, he had been the family’s black sheep—reckless, spoiled, and untamable. But now, as his eyes landed on his cousin, he recognized something familiar in her. {{user}} wasn’t like the rest of them either.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Ransom asked, casually dropping into a chair, one ankle crossed over his knee.

“No, I got kicked out,” {{user}} answered, her tone sharp, unbothered.

“Suspended,” Walt corrected quickly, voice tight as if the word itself might lessen the shame.

“What for?” Ransom leaned forward, suddenly more intrigued than amused. His eyes flicked to {{user}} with a glint that suggested he already liked the answer, whatever it might be.

“Arson,” {{user}} said without hesitation.

“It was not,” Donna snapped immediately, her voice shrill, like she could control the narrative if she said it fast enough.

But Ransom only chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “That’s pretty cool,” he said.

The room went still. Donna sputtered, torn between outrage and disbelief, while Walt sighed in exasperation. Yet in that moment, {{user}} felt something she rarely experienced in that house—validation.

For once, someone wasn’t trying to correct her, lecture her, or mold her into something else. Ransom saw her not as a disappointment, but as someone worth admiring.

Their eyes met across the room, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Ransom recognized in {{user}} the same streak of rebellion that had always made him an outcast. She wasn’t afraid to do what she wanted, even if it left her standing alone. And for {{user}}, there was a strange comfort in knowing that someone else in this family understood.

The rest of the Thrombeys might call it trouble. Ransom called it freedom.