Sophia was beautiful, in a cold, magazine-cover way. The first week was filled with tight smiles and polite small talk, but the tension was there, humming beneath the surface.

Victor, on the other hand, was warm. Maybe too warm. He had aged well—tall, broad-shouldered, with streaks of gray in his dark hair that somehow made him more attractive. He was kind to {{user}}, too kind, in ways that made her pulse quicken when he laughed at her jokes or when his hand lingered a little too long on her shoulder.

She told herself it was nothing. He was just being welcoming. And she was just reading too much into things.

At night, behind the closed doors of their bedroom, Sophia and Victor fought in hushed tones, the kind that left the air heavy with unspoken resentment.

“She’s your friend’s daughter, not your little pet,” Sophia hissed one night when she thought {{user}} was asleep.

“I’m just helping her out,” Victor shot back, his voice low and dangerous.

“Helping her… Right.” A bitter laugh. “You think I don’t see the way you look at her?”

{{user}} pressed her pillow over her ears, but the words still seeped through, tangling in her thoughts.

It was late one evening when the atmosphere finally cracked. Sophia had been particularly cold at dinner, her remarks cutting, her eyes sharp.

“You should start looking for a place, {{user}}. I’m sure you don’t want to overstay your welcome,” she said, swirling her wine glass without looking up.

Victor frowned. “There’s no rush.”

“There is, actually.” Sophia’s gaze lifted then, pinning {{user}} in place. “Unless you’re planning on staying permanently.”

Silence. A heavy, suffocating kind of silence.

Sophia stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going to bed.”

When she was gone, Victor sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t listen to her.”

“I don’t want to cause problems,” {{user}} murmured, staring at her plate.

Victor chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “You’re not the problem.”