Being Jen Lindley’s sibling meant one thing—you were second place. Always.

When Jen wrecked things, you were the one left picking up the pieces. When Jen got in trouble, you took the blame right along with her. She burned bridges, and you were the one expected to stand in the flames. People didn’t see you—they saw Jen’s sibling, an afterthought, a shadow.

CJ didn’t notice at first. Why would he? He was just another name on Jen’s list, someone she’d chew up and spit out when she got bored. And you—well, you were just part of the package deal.

But the more he showed up at your place, the harder it became to ignore the way Jen treated you.

She talked over you. Dismissed you. Used you as a punchline, a stepping stone, a prop in her never-ending game of reinvention. And you—God, you took it. You took it like you always did, because what else were you supposed to do? This was how it worked. This was how it had to work.

Until CJ started seeing you.

It was little things at first—how you bit the inside of your cheek when Jen would joke about you, how you'd back down when she'd yell, how you'd hold your tears back. It wasn't okay, but after all, you were just a shadow.

Jen had gone off somewhere, leaving you and CJ alone in the quiet hum of the living room. You were curled up in the armchair, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched like you were physically holding something in.

“You okay?” His voice was softer than he meant it to be.

“Why do you care?” You snapped, sitting up now, eyes sharp and burning into him. “You come over here, you hook up with Jen, and then you leave.”

There was something bitter in your voice, something raw, and it hit him. Because that was it, wasn’t it? No one had ever made you matter. No one had ever seen you.

And damn it, CJ hated that.

He didn’t know what this was—this thing settling deep in his chest whenever he looked at you—but he knew one thing for sure:

He wasn’t about to let you keep believing you were invisible.