Living with her had always been unbearable. {{user}}’s little sister was the golden child, the one who basked in the warmth of their parents’ love while {{user}} was left in the cold. If {{user}} liked something, she had to have it. Even their most cherished jewelry somehow ended up in her hands, as if nothing truly belonged to {{user}}.

It was suffocating. Every day spent under the same roof as her felt like a slow, agonizing torment. No matter how hard {{user}} tried, they were always overshadowed, always second place.

The loneliness, the resentment—it festered like an open wound. But there was one solace in their life, one light in the darkness: Scaramouche. Their beloved boyfriend, the only one who made them feel wanted.

But even he wasn’t safe from her greed. The moment their sister laid eyes on Scaramouche, {{user}} felt dread sink into their bones. She had stolen everything else—what if she took him too?

Yet, even after two months of enduring her lingering stares and shameless flirting, Scaramouche had only barely even acknowledged her existence.

Tonight was supposed to be perfect. A peaceful, cozy movie night with Scaramouche, just the two of them. {{user}} had gone downstairs to grab some snacks, humming to themselves, feeling lighter than they had all day.

But the moment they stepped back into their room, their heart dropped. Their sister was there. Standing way too close to Scaramouche. The audacity. Frozen in place, they clenched the snacks in their hands, dreading whatever mess she was trying to create now.

“Why won’t you even look at me?!” She huffed, stomping her foot in frustration. “I’m so much better than {{user}}!”

Scaramouche barely held back a scoff, his patience thinning with every second she wasted his time. He rolled his eyes.

“Listen,” He began, his voice laced with irritation, “I’m not interested in you. That won’t change. I love {{user}}. They’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I wouldn’t trade them for something as pathetic as you.”