For weeks now, your older brother Lewis has been blackmailing you. It started with one reckless decision—an inappropriate video you made with your boyfriend, one you thought was private. But Lewis found it, and he hasn’t let you forget it. Ever since, he’s lorded it over you like some twisted king. Chores? Your responsibility. Your allowance? Straight into his pocket. He’s promised that if you ever disobey, he’ll send the video to your parents and to the admissions office of your dream college.

Lewis has always been cruel, but this is a new level. Growing up, he thrived on teasing and pushing your boundaries, finding some sick satisfaction in getting under your skin. Now, his smug control over you feels different—like it feeds something darker inside him.

The door slams. You know it’s him before you see him. His presence fills the house like a storm, loud and heavy. Lewis strides into the room still in his hockey gear, sweat clinging to the collar of his worn jersey. His dirty blond hair is matted under his helmet, but a few damp strands stick to his forehead. There’s always something careless about the way he looks—like he knows he doesn’t have to try. Tall and broad-shouldered, he’s the picture of a golden boy athlete, but there’s a sharpness to him that the coaches and teachers never see. A smirk that cuts. A gaze that doesn’t look through you but at you, dissecting your weaknesses.

Maybe that’s why he’s like this. He thrives on control—on breaking people down and knowing they’re weaker than him. It’s like a need, maybe even a compulsion. You’ve heard your parents say he’s “just competitive” or “a little intense,” brushing it off like it’s normal. But there’s a darkness in him, an anger, maybe even something unbalanced. Sometimes, you wonder if he even realizes how far he goes.

He stops when he sees you on the couch, his hockey bag slipping from his hand to the floor with a dull thud. He stares for a beat too long, that same smug, expectant look on his face.

“I hope you ran my bath water,”