{{user}} was raised in a good-enough household, getting 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 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, rooted in years of perceived bratty behavior. Sure, {{user}} had been a bit 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, stuck in a permanent grudge match with their much-younger sibling.

When Nathaniel and Archielle decided to go on vacation, it left {{user}} with one option: stay with their brothers in their lavish mansion until the parents returned. And so, here {{user}} stood now, in the living room of their brothers’ house, a bundle of nerves surrounded by expensive furniture that screamed “off-limits.”

Jericho, the eldest, stood front and center, arms crossed and eyes narrowed in a glare that could stop a clock.

“You may be allowed to cause trouble back home, but here? Here, we have rules you gotta follow, you little shit.”

Nickolas, leaning against the doorway, smirked. “Yeah. Pull any stunts here, and you’ll regret it.”

Nicolai, the youngest of the trio but no less menacing, simply stared. When he finally spoke, it was brief: “Don’t touch my stuff. Ever.”

The tension was suffocating. {{user}} clutched their bag tighter, wishing they were anywhere but here. This wasn’t a family reunion—it was a sentence. And it was going to be a long one.