I turned my phone face-down on the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking garage, muttering under my breath about fourteen-year-olds and their terrible ideas.
But as I navigated through morning traffic, a treacherous thought word its way into my mind: which Valentine sister would Iris get along with best?
Stop it. This is a job. Just a job. A very weird, very lucrative, increasingly complicated job.
I reached school without further incident, parking the Lexus in my usual spot near the east entrance. As I killed the engine, my phone buzzed yet again.
Iris: Okay but seriously, be careful. Rich people are weird. Don’t let them eat you alive.
I smiled at that.
Isaiah: I’ll be fine. They’re just people with too much money and not enough common sense. I can handle it.
Iris: Says every protagonist before disaster strikes.
Isaiah: ...
Isaiah: I’ll text you tonight.
Iris: Love you, idiot.
Isaiah: Love you too, gremlin.
I put my phone away and grabbed my bag from the passenger seat. Ti to face another day at Hartwell, followed by a weekend at Valentine Manor. Surely nothing too disastrous could happen in forty-eight hours.
Right?
The day passed in a blur of classes, worksheets, and increasingly frequent texts from the Valentine sisters. By the ti the final bell rang at 3:00 PM, my phone had beco a hotbed of demands, questions, and weird emoji combinations that I couldn’t begin to decipher.
I stood in the parking lot, watching as a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb precisely at 3:15. The driver, a stone-faced man in a dark suit, nodded at and opened the rear door without a word.
"I can drive myself," I said, gesturing to the Lexus parked nearby.
"Ms. Valentine’s instructions were clear, sir. The car is to be brought separately by another driver."
Of course. Heaven forbid I be trusted to drive myself to the manor like a normal person.
I slid into the back seat, my overnight bag beside , and watched as another suited man appeared, took my keys, and headed toward the Lexus. The whole thing felt like a scene from a movie about the obscenely wealthy—the kind where the protagonist is whisked away to a new life of luxury and forgets where he ca from.
Not that there was any danger of that happening to . My apartnt in Kensington with its leaky faucet and temperantal heating wasn’t exactly easy to forget.
I pulled out my dog-eared copy of The Count of Monte Cristo and flipped to where I’d left off. If I was going to survive this weekend, I needed to channel Edmond Dantès—patient, calculating, always three steps ahead of his enemies.
Though in my case, I wasn’t sure who the enemies were.
The Valentine sisters?
Their mother?
My own increasingly complicated feelings about the whole situation?
As we crossed the Throgs Neck Bridge, leaving the familiar chaos of the city behind, I made a silent promise to myself: this weekend, I would maintain professional boundaries. I would do my job, collect my paycheck, and return to my normal life on Sunday night with minimal psychological damage.
I almost believed it.
The car turned onto a tree-lined private road, and Valentine Manor appeared in the distance, its white stone walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. As we drew closer, I could see four distinct figures standing on the front steps, their wine-red hair unmistakable even from a distance.
All four of them. Waiting for .
So much for minimal psychological damage.
The car stopped at the foot of the grand staircase, and the driver opened my door with a formal nod. I stepped out, overnight bag in hand, and looked up at the Valentine sisters.
Vivienne stood at the top, tablet in hand, her expression a mix of impatience and relief. Cassidy leaned against a column with studied nonchalance, though her eyes tracked my every movent. Harlow bounced on her toes, waving enthusiastically despite the fact that I was twenty feet away. And Sabrina sat on the steps with a book, glancing up briefly before returning to her reading.
"You’re late," Vivienne called down. "The schedule specifically stated 3:45 PM arrival."
I checked my watch. "It’s 3:46."
"Exactly. Late."
Harlow squealed and rushed down the stairs, launching herself at in what could only be described as a full-body tackle disguised as a hug. "Assistant-kun! You’re here! We’ve been waiting forever!"
"Literally sixty seconds," Cassidy muttered from her column.
I carefully extricated myself from Harlow’s embrace. "Sorry for the delay. Traffic on the bridge."
"Unacceptable," Vivienne said, but her tone lacked its usual edge. "Co inside. We have a full agenda to review before dinner."
As I climbed the stairs, Cassidy pushed off from her column and fell into step beside . "Ready to lose tonight, Scholarship Boy? I’ve been practicing."
"Practicing what? Looking devastated when I take all your chips?"
Her purple eyes narrowed. "You wish. I’m going to wipe that smug smile off your face."
"I’m not smiling."
"You’re always smiling on the inside. It’s annoying."
I couldn’t argue with that.
Sabrina closed her book as I passed, her gaze lingering on my face. "You look tired," she observed.
"Thanks for noticing."
"It wasn’t a criticism. Just an observation." She stood in one fluid motion. "The ran supply has been restocked. Midnight. Don’t be late."
And with that cryptic statent, she drifted inside, leaving to wonder when exactly "midnight ran" had beco a standing appointnt.
Harlow grabbed my arm, pulling toward the door. "I have so much to show you! I got new manga and I need help with my costu and there’s a movie marathon tonight if you want to join and—"
"Harlow," Vivienne cut in. "Isaiah has a schedule. You can’t monopolize him all weekend."
"I’m not monopolizing! I’m being friendly!"
I let their bickering wash over as we entered the grand foyer. Mrs. Tanaka appeared silently at my side, reaching for my overnight bag.
"I can carry it," I said.
She shook her head with a small smile. "The east wing guest suite has been prepared for you, Mr. Angelo. I will deliver your bag."
Before I could protest further, she whisked the bag away, disappearing down one of the many identical hallways.
I stood in the center of the foyer, surrounded by the Valentine sisters, each with their own agenda, their own expectations, their own strange hold over different parts of my psyche.
This was going to be a long weekend.
"Let’s begin," Vivienne said, turning on her heel and marching toward what I assud was a eting room. "We have exactly twenty-seven minutes before the first item on the agenda."
As I followed her, my phone buzzed one last ti.
Iris: Don’t forget the rules! ALL OF THEM! Especially #4! 🙅♀️☕👕
I quickly tucked my phone away, hoping none of the sisters had noticed the heat creeping up my neck.
Forty-eight hours. I could do this.
Probably.
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