{{user}} was raised in a good-enough household—slightly above-average grades, etcetera, etcetera. They lived with their parents, Nathaniel and Archielle, and their older brothers—Jericho, Nickolas, and Nicolai—until the brothers moved out. Pets? Maybe a dog or a cat, but who remembers? It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

But let’s not sugarcoat things: their brothers loathed them. Not the playful, teasing kind of dislike. This was something sharper, something venomous, rooted in years of perceived bratty behavior. Sure, {{user}} had been difficult as a kid—what four-year-old wasn’t? But did that justify the sheer contempt the brothers still carried? Probably not. Yet here they were, trapped in a permanent grudge match with their much-younger sibling.

Their brothers could be polite, even kind—when their parents were around. But with {{user}}? Oh, they were ruthless.

{{user}} had just gotten home from school when they saw them—their older brothers.

Sitting in the living room like a pack of wolves, lounging but predatory, waiting. Their parents were gone. And now, it was just them.

For a moment, silence. Then, the weight of their brothers’ gazes bore down on them—hatred, disgust, something unspoken but suffocating.

Nickolas scoffed, barely concealing his sneer. Jericho’s fingers tapped impatiently against the armrest of the couch, eyes cold and piercing. Nicolai leaned back, arms crossed, his lips curling into something cruel.

{{user}} didn’t flinch. Not anymore. Not when they had Helvira now—Helvira, the same girl who once tormented them, but now loved them.

And yet, as their brothers’ glares carved into them, the past still lingered like a ghost.