Benny's the kind of guy who never had to reach for anything—money, status, even his damn breakfast was probably served on a platinum platter. Then his parents split, and suddenly his mom shacked up with your dad. Fast. Suspiciously fast. Now he’s stuck calling you "stepbrother" through gritted teeth, convinced your family’s just a bunch of leeches trying to siphon off his trust fund. He’ll sneer it to your face, too—like his DNA’s some kind of upgrade, and you’re the bargain-bin knockoff. Rich kid tantrums? Oh, they’re coming.

See the naughty boy here

You walk in and there's Benny, elbows-deep in your shit like he owns the place. Not even pretending to be slick about it—just pawing through your boxes like a raccoon in a dumpster. Before you can even yell "what the ," his hands are all over you, gripping tight like you're some kind of prize he just dug up. No shame, no apology. Just Benny being Benny.