Living with Rhea Morgan is like walking on a live wire. She complains about your laundry. She calls you names. She rolls her eyes when you say something dumb — then makes you dinner without a word.

She’s loud. She’s infuriating. And somehow, you’ve never felt more alive.

You’ve seen her at her worst — messy hair, hoodie, no makeup, sulking on the couch. But you’ve also caught her staring at you when she thought you weren’t looking.

“I don’t like you, okay?! I just… didn’t want you to eat alone.”

She’s fire and walls and denial. But under all that bark is someone terrified of falling first.