I watched my fourteen-year-old sister destroy any remaining dignity I might have possessed while four billionaire heiresses nodded along like she was presenting irrefutable evidence in court.
Which, honestly, she basically was.
"Alright," I said, raising both hands in surrender. "You win. All of you. Congratulations on breaking the last functional brain cell I had left."
Cassidy’s grip on my shirt tightened. "So you’re saying yes?"
"I’m saying I’ll try." The words felt foreign in my mouth. Like speaking a language I’d never learned but sohow understood. "After Halloween. Give until then to figure out how to quit without destroying everything, and then we’ll do your insane trial run thing."
The silence lasted exactly three seconds before Harlow launched herself across the room and tackled in a hug that nearly sent us both crashing into the breakfast table.
"You said yes!" She squeezed my ribs hard enough to crack bones. "You actually said yes! I knew you would! I KNEW IT!"
"I said I’d try—"
"Sa thing!" She pulled back just enough to look at my face, her purple eyes bright with tears. "We’re gonna be so good at this! I have PLANS!"
Of course she did.
Vivienne stood slowly, her expression unreadable but her hands shaking slightly as she smoothed her silk robe. "The trial period will need structure. Guidelines. Clear expectations and boundaries for all parties involved."
"She wants to make a contract," Sabrina translated.
"It’s not a CONTRACT, it’s a frawork for healthy relationship dynamics—"
"Contract," Cassidy confird. "She’s gonna make us sign papers."
Vivienne’s cheeks burned. "Maybe there will be so docuntation—"
"PAPERS!" Harlow bounced against my chest. "Can we use the fancy letterhead? The one with the gold embossing?"
"This is not a business transaction—"
"Says the girl who made a feasibility analysis," I pointed out.
Vivienne’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.
Sabrina’s smile turned sharp. "He has a point."
"I hate all of you," Vivienne muttered.
"No you don’t," Harlow sing-songed. "You love us! And now you love Isaiah too! It’s perfect!"
My brain made a strange buzzing noise at the L-word. Too fast. Way too fast. We were talking about trial runs and fraworks, not whatever Harlow’s sunshine brain had conjured up.
But looking at Vivienne’s burning face and the way she couldn’t quite et my eyes, I wondered if maybe Harlow wasn’t completely wrong.
Dangerous thought.
"So," I said, extracting myself from Harlow’s octopus grip and stepping back far enough to think clearly. "How exactly does this work? Do we just wing it, or is there so kind of billionaire heiress dating manual I should be studying?"
"We take turns," Cassidy said imdiately. "Two weeks each. Standard Valentine trial period."
"Why two weeks?"
"Because that’s how long it takes to know if soone’s worth keeping," Sabrina explained. "Family rule."
"Harsh but effective," I admitted.
"Also," Vivienne added, her corporate voice sliding back into place, "two weeks provides adequate ti for comprehensive evaluation without excessive emotional investnt if compatibility proves insufficient."
Everyone stared at her.
"She ans it’s long enough to know if you want to keep sleeping with soone without catching feelings," Cassidy translated.
"That is NOT what I ant—"
"That’s exactly what you ant."
"It is absolutely NOT—"
"Then why did your face just turn the sa color as your hair?"
Vivienne’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I am going to murder you with a salad fork."
"Good luck finding after I hide in Harlow’s plushie collection."
"Hey!" Harlow protested. "Don’t drag my children into your murder plots!"
"Children?" I asked.
"Her stuffed animals," Iris explained. "She nad them all. There are like fifty."
"Thirty-seven," Harlow corrected. "And they’re not just stuffed animals, they’re emotional support companions with distinct personalities and rich backstories—"
"You wrote fanfiction about your teddy bears," Cassidy interrupted.
"It was character developnt!"
"It was weird."
"YOU READ IT!"
"Because you made !"
"Nobody MADE you do anything! You could have said no!"
"When have I ever been able to say no to your stupid puppy eyes?"
I watched the four of them descend into chaos and felt sothing settle in my chest. This. This ridiculous, warm, completely insane thing they did where they argued about everything but sohow still ended up taking care of each other.
I could get used to this.
Maybe.
Probably.
Definitely.
"So," I said loud enough to cut through the bickering. "Who goes first?"
Four identical faces turned toward with identical expressions of surprise, like they hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.
Then Cassidy’s expression shifted into sothing predatory.
"," she said.
"Absolutely not," Vivienne countered imdiately.
"Why not?"
"Because you’ll scare him off in the first three days and ruin it for the rest of us."
Cassidy’s eyes narrowed. "What’s that supposed to an?"
"It ans you have the emotional regulation skills of a caffeinated toddler with abandonnt issues."
The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees.
"Take that back," Cassidy said quietly.
"Which part? The caffeinated toddler part or the abandonnt issues part?"
"Both."
"No."
Cassidy took a step toward Vivienne. Then another. The air between them crackled with the kind of tension that usually ended with soone getting thrown through a window.
"Ladies," I said carefully. "Maybe we should—"
"Stay out of this," they said in unison without breaking eye contact.
Right. Family dynamics. Got it.
"I should go first," Vivienne continued, her voice perfectly controlled despite the murder in her eyes. "I have the most experience with relationship managent. Strategic planning. Long-term thinking."
"You have the most experience with being a control freak who schedules her emotions like business etings," Cassidy shot back.
"At least I HAVE emotions instead of just throwing tennis balls at problems until they go away!"
"That worked ONE TI!"
"It worked ZERO tis! The window replacent cost fourteen thousand dollars!"
"The window was ugly anyway!"
"It was STAINED GLASS!"
"Ugly EXPENSIVE stained glass!"
Harlow stepped between them with her hands raised like a referee. "Okay! Okay! Ti out! No one’s throwing anything at anyone!"
"Yet," Sabrina murmured.
"Not helping," I told her.
She shrugged. "Wasn’t trying to."
Harlow spun in a circle, her pajama pants decorated with cartoon cats swirling around her legs. "We need a fair way to decide! Sothing objective! Sothing that doesn’t involve violence or property damage!"
"Rock paper scissors," Iris suggested.
"We already used that yesterday for lap privileges," Harlow replied.
"And I won," Vivienne pointed out smugly.
"Because you CHEATED," Cassidy accused.
"I did not cheat! I simply employed superior strategy!"
"You counted Harlow’s tells!"
"That’s not cheating, that’s observation!"
"It’s CHEATING!"
"It’s INTELLIGENCE!"
I could feel a headache building behind my eyes. "Do you all always fight like this?"
"This isn’t fighting," Sabrina said calmly. "This is foreplay."
Everyone stopped talking.
"What?" Sabrina looked around innocently. "It’s true. They’re both getting worked up and breathing hard and standing way too close. Classic sexual tension displacent behavior."
Cassidy and Vivienne looked down and realized they were indeed standing close enough to share body heat, their faces inches apart.
They sprang away from each other like they’d been electrocuted.
"That’s NOT what this is!" Cassidy protested.
"Absolutely not!" Vivienne agreed.
"I was simply making an observation," Sabrina continued with that maddening calm of hers. "The heightened emotional state, the physical proximity, the way you’re both flushed and—"
"SABRINA," they shouted in unison.
She smiled. "Just saying."
Harlow clapped her hands together. "Ooh! I know! We’ll draw straws! Or flip coins! Or—OH! We could do a talent contest! Best talent goes first!"
"What kind of talent contest?" I asked, already regretting the question.
Harlow’s eyes lit up with dangerous enthusiasm. "Well, Cassidy could do tennis tricks! And Vivienne could do ballet! And Sabrina could do that thing where she psychoanalyzes people until they cry! And I could—"
"NO," Vivienne interrupted. "Absolutely not. We are not turning this into so kind of competitive display for male attention."
"Why not?" Cassidy asked. "Scared you’ll lose?"
"I’m scared YOU’LL lose and then spend the next six months sulking about it."
"I don’t sulk!"
"You sulked for three weeks when I beat you at chess."
"That wasn’t sulking! That was strategic regrouping!"
"You hid in your room and listened to angry music!"
"It was STRATEGIC angry music!"
I looked at Iris, who was still recording everything on her phone despite my earlier prohibition.
"This is your fault," I told her.
"My fault? How is this MY fault?"
"You encouraged this insanity!"
"I encouraged you to be HAPPY! There’s a difference!"
"Happy people don’t usually involve themselves in situations where four identical billionaires are arguing about who gets to date them first!"
"Happy people also don’t work themselves to death for their ungrateful little sisters!"
"I’m not ungrateful—"
"You literally just blad for your romantic drama!"
"It’s not romantic drama, it’s a logistical nightmare!"
"Sa thing!"
Sabrina cleared her throat. "If I may interrupt this fascinating display of sibling dysfunction."
We all looked at her.
"I propose we let Isaiah choose."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Absolutely not," Vivienne said.
"Why not?" Sabrina asked.
"Because then soone’s feelings get hurt and we spend the next month dealing with emotional fallout and resentnt and passive-aggressive dinner conversation."
"As opposed to the current plan of fighting until soone draws blood?"
Vivienne paused. "Fair point."
"I still say I should go first," Cassidy muttered.
"And I still say you’ll terrify him," Vivienne replied.
"Will not!"
"Will too!"
"Will NOT!"
"Will—"
"STOP!" Harlow shouted. "This is supposed to be romantic and fun and magical! You’re making it sound like a corporate takeover!"
"Everything’s a corporate takeover in this family," Sabrina observed.
"Not EVERYTHING—"
"Your birthday party last year had a PowerPoint presentation for the itenerary."
"That was Vivienne’s idea!"
"It was an ORGANIZATIONAL TOOL!"
"It had pie charts!"
"Good pie charts!"
"They were about CAKE DISTRIBUTION!"
"Efficient cake distribution!"
I watched four of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen argue about cake charts and felt sothing in my brain finally snap.
"Christmas," I said.
They stopped mid-argunt.
"What?" Harlow asked.
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