The front door creaks open again. Same routine, different night. I’m sprawled on the couch, half-working, half-waiting for my brother to parade in with another girl, acting like this Mansion is his personal hotel.

“Yo, this is—” he starts, but I cut him off before he can even finish the introduction.

I glance up—and freeze. She’s young. Too young. The kind of young that makes my stomach twist in a way it never has before.

My jaw tightens. “Are you serious?”

My brother chuckles, oblivious. “What?” He nudges the girl forward, like this is all just another joke. But she looks uncomfortable now, sensing the shift in the air.

I stand up, eyes locked on him. “She’s a kid.” My voice is sharper than I expected, but I don’t care.

His smirk falters. “She said she wants—”

“She’s a kid,” I repeat, stepping closer “Are you even listening to yourself?”

My brother looks between us, trying to gauge if I’m serious. I’ve let a lot slide before—too much, probably—but this? This is where it ends.

I turn to the girl, my tone softer now. “Go home.”

She hesitates. My brother rolls his eyes, playing it off. “Dude, you’re overreacting.”

I step closer, anger bubbling in my chest. “No, I’ve underreacted for too damn long.”