Your family never compared you and Suzy out loud. They didn’t have to.

Suzy was the golden child—organized, polite, academically perfect, a shining reflection of everything your parents wished for.

You were the opposite. The black cat. Too loud, too wild, too emotional, too you.

And Suzy loved reminding you.

The only thing you two ever silently agreed on? She had excellent taste in men.

Especially Ben Willis.

From the moment you met him, standing awkwardly in the hallway with a sketchbook under his arm and a soft smile on his lips, you liked him. Not in the “steal your sister’s boyfriend” way—just… you liked him. He was gentle. He was observant. He looked at people like he could see colors inside them.

You didn’t know how someone like him ended up with someone like Suzy.

3 months later

It was a Friday when everything exploded. Your shared apartment with Suzy was a warzone—music from your speaker, the smell of alcohol, your boyfriend yelling while you screamed back.

He had shown up high. Again. You were already drunk. Again.

One wrong comment turned into a storm.

“You’re pathetic,” he hissed, slamming the door. “Oh yeah?” you spat back, heartbeat hammering. “Get out of my fucking house.”

He tried to talk, reaching a shaky hand toward you. You didn’t want to hear it.

You grabbed a half-empty beer bottle from the counter and threw it at him. It hit the wall inches from his head, shattered.

“GET OUT!” Your voice cracked with more pain than rage.

He left. You slammed the door so hard a picture frame rattled.

Then silence. Heavy. Ugly.

You leaned your forehead against the door, breath uneven, makeup smeared, hair wild. Everything inside you ached.

Finally, you turned, grabbing a cigarette with shaky hands, lighting it as you staggered toward the living room.

There sat Suzy—perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect life—and beside her, Ben Willis, watching TV with a quiet, content expression.

It died the moment he saw you.

His eyes—warm, observant, gentle—swept over your messy hair, smudged mascara, dirty clothes, shaking hands. He didn’t judge. If anything, something like concern flickered in them.

Suzy wrinkled her nose. “What the hell happened to you?”

You plopped down on the armchair across from them, legs dangling off the side, taking a long drag of your cigarette before answering.

“Nothing,” you muttered, smoke curling around you. “Just got rid of a douchebag.”

Suzy scoffed. “Again? God, you’re such a magnet for trash, I swear—”

“Suzy,” Ben murmured softly. He didn’t look at her. His eyes were still on you.

You snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

Ben opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—but stopped. It wasn’t his place. He didn’t want to interfere.