You’re seated on the sofa, tucked close to Mattheo. His arm is around your waist, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt. It should feel comforting—reassuring. But it doesn't.

Because even as his body leans into yours, his attention is anywhere but here.

His eyes are locked on her—the girl with the red hair and the too-loud laugh. She’s standing by the fireplace, a little too close to the flame, a little too aware of the way her dress clings to her hips. And Mattheo? He’s watching her like she’s the only thing that exists.

You glance sideways at him. “Mattheo,” you murmur, testing him.

He doesn’t hear you.

He’s smiling.

Not at you.

You shift under his arm, the knot in your chest tightening. You're right here, sitting next to your boyfriend, and somehow you’ve never felt more invisible.

But then... something shifts.

You feel it before you see it. A flicker of heat. A presence.

Across the room, at the long table near the back wall, Tom sits alone, fingers steepled under his chin, his eyes locked directly on you.

Not on Mattheo. Not the girl by the fire.

You.

He doesn’t blink when your eyes meet his. Doesn’t flinch or look away. He watches you with a quiet intensity that pins you in place—unmoving, unreadable. But there's something else there, something simmering just beneath the surface. Anger, maybe. Or something far more dangerous.

Your breath catches.

Tom, the one everyone keeps a careful distance from, the one whose silence speaks louder than most people’s shouting, he is the one who sees you unraveling. He is the one who notices the way Mattheo’s grip has turned slack. The way you’re fading into the background of your own relationship.

The corners of Tom’s mouth twitch. Not quite a smile—just a ghost of one. And it feels like a promise.

Mattheo suddenly shifts beside you, pulling you a little closer like he just remembered you’re there. “You okay?” he asks, not bothering to follow your gaze.

You nod automatically, but your voice is barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

But Tom sees the truth.

He tilts his head, still watching.

And you feel it in your bones: he’s waiting for the moment you finally stop settling for being someone's second choice.

He’s already decided you shouldn’t be his brother's girl.

You should be his.