Four Of A Kind

Chapter 136: [3.38] The Mystery Man

I kept my eyes on the rearview mirror while navigating through afternoon traffic. The white van stayed three cars back. Professional distance. Not too close, not too far.

Amateur hour was clearly over.

Harlow was still holding my hand across the center console, completely absorbed in showing me photos on her phone of some costume she’d been working on. Something about LED strips and power sources. I heard approximately every third word because my brain had shifted into survival mode.

The kind of survival mode you develop when you’re twelve and walking home through Kensington after dark. When you learn which streets to avoid. Which sounds mean run. Which shadows move wrong.

Three years of commuting through Penn Station at midnight had taught me more about staying safe than any self-defense class could. Rule one: if you think someone’s following you, they probably are. Rule two: never lead them to where you actually live.

Which meant I was about to take Harlow on the world’s most paranoid joyride away from Valentine Manor.

“Hey,” I said, interrupting her enthusiastic explanation about voltage requirements. “Quick detour.”

“Oh! Are we getting more snacks? Because I saw this place that does—”

I took a sharp right turn without signaling.

The van followed.

Harlow squeaked as her shoulder pressed against mine from the momentum. Her hand tightened around my fingers.

“What are you doing?!”

“Testing something. Hold on.”

I took another right at the next intersection. Then another. We were going in circles now, looping through the same four blocks like the world’s laziest getaway driver.

The van stayed behind us. Different cars between us each time, but always there. Always watching.

“Isaiah? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

“Everything’s fine. Just remembered I need to check something.”

“You remembered something that requires driving like we’re in Fast and Furious?”

Up ahead, I spotted what I needed. A McDonald’s with a drive-through that wrapped around the building. I pulled in smoothly, joining the line of cars inching toward the order speaker.

“Are we seriously getting McDonald’s right now?” Harlow sounded genuinely baffled. “Chef Laurent literally made salmon this morning.”

“Sudden craving.”

I watched the rearview. The van drove past the McDonald’s entrance. Kept going straight down the street.

But it slowed. Just for a second.

They were deciding whether to wait or abort.

I counted to thirty in my head while pretending to study the menu board. The car ahead of us ordered what sounded like the entire value menu. Perfect.

At forty-five seconds, I pulled out of line and circled back through the parking lot, exiting onto the street going the opposite direction from where the van had gone.

Harlow was staring at me now with her mouth slightly open.

“Okay, you’re being super weird. Did you hit your head this morning? Should I text Vivi? Or Sabrina? Sabrina’s good with weird stuff.”

“I’m fine.” I merged back onto the main road heading toward the manor. “Just wanted to make sure we weren’t being followed.”

“Followed?” She twisted in her seat to look behind us. “Why would someone follow us? Wait, are you in trouble? Do you owe money? Is this a mob thing?”

“It’s not a mob thing.”

“That’s exactly what someone in a mob thing would say!”

Her voice had gone up approximately three octaves, and she was gripping my hand so hard I was losing circulation. I glanced over and found her purple eyes wide with concern that looked genuinely worried about me rather than herself.

Which was insane. She was the billionaire heiress. I was the scholarship kid driving her around. If anyone should be worried, it was her.

“Have you ever heard of Monchamp Media?” I asked.

She blinked. “What?”

“Monchamp Media. It’s a company. Do you know it?”

Her forehead crinkled as she thought. “No? Should I? What do they do?”

“Look it up.”

She finally released my hand to grab her phone, typing with her thumbs while her bottom lip caught between her teeth. That was her concentrating face. I’d learned that during our calculus session.

Her screen lit up her features in the dimming afternoon light. She scrolled. Stopped. Scrolled faster.

Then she gasped.

“Oh no. Oh no no no.”

“What?”

“Isaiah. Stop the car. Stop the car right now.”

I pulled over into a loading zone because the panic in her voice had genuine fear behind it. She turned her phone toward me, and I saw exactly what I’d been afraid of seeing.

The photo was crystal clear. Professional quality. Me and Cassidy outside Bubble Dreams. Her holding her bubble tea. Me standing close. Both of us looking at each other instead of the camera.

The headline was worse.

CASSIDY VALENTINE’S SECRET BOYFRIEND? Valentine Heiress Spotted with Mystery Man in Intimate Moment

My stomach dropped approximately forty floors.

“It was uploaded an hour ago,” Harlow whispered. She scrolled down to the comments section, which was already filling with speculation. “The gossip blogs are picking it up. Look, DeuxMoi reposted it. Fashion Tea has it. Even Teen Vogue’s gossip column.”

I watched the shares counter tick up. Three hundred. Four hundred. Five hundred.

This was spreading faster than I could think.

“They don’t have your name,” Harlow said quickly. She was reading through multiple sites now, her fingers moving at light speed. “They just say ’mystery man’ and ’unidentified companion.’ But Isaiah, they’re asking. People are trying to figure out who you are.”

“How long do I have before they do?”

She bit her lip harder. “Hours, maybe? Someone at Hartwell could recognize you. Or someone at the bar. Or…” She trailed off, looking at me with something that might have been pity. “Mom’s gonna see this. She sees everything.”

Right. Camille Valentine. The woman who knew about midnight ramen and private conversations because apparently nothing happened in her empire without her knowledge.

The woman who’d looked at me two days ago and decided whether I was an asset or a liability.

I was about to become a very public liability.

“Okay,” I said. My voice came out calmer than I felt. “Okay. We go back to the manor. I talk to your mother. I explain the situation.”

“She’s in Europe right now.” Harlow checked something on her phone. “She won’t be back until the weekend.”

Which gave the story three days to metastasize across the internet before I could defend myself.

Perfect. Just perfect.

I pulled back into traffic and headed toward the manor for real this time. My phone started buzzing in my pocket. I ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.

“You should probably check that,” Harlow said quietly.

I handed her my phone at the next red light. “Read them to me.”

She unlocked it. Her eyes went wide.

“Um. Okay. Felix sent you seventeen messages and three memes about being famous. Iris sent four messages in all caps asking if you’re the mystery boyfriend. Dr. Reyes sent one that just says ’my office, tomorrow morning.’” She scrolled. “Vivienne sent…” She paused. “Oh.”

“What?”

“She sent a screenshot of the article. And then she wrote ’We need to talk. Immediately.’”

Of course she did.

“What about the other two?”

Harlow kept scrolling. “Sabrina sent a rose emoji. That’s it. And Cass…” She went quiet.

“And Cassidy what?”

“She hasn’t sent anything.”

Which was somehow worse than if she’d sent fifty angry messages. Cassidy always had something to say. Silence from her meant she was either planning my murder or spiraling.

Probably both.

The manor gates opened as we approached, and this time the guard actually stepped out of his booth to flag me down.

“Mr. Angelo. Miss Valentine has requested you proceed directly to her study upon arrival. She emphasized the word ’directly.’”

“Which Miss Valentine?”

He gave me a look that suggested the answer was obvious and that I was an idiot for asking.

Vivienne then.

I parked in the circular drive and grabbed the garment bag from the back. Harlow finally released my hand and gathered her things, moving slower than usual. When we reached the front steps, she stopped.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I don’t think you’re using Cassidy. Or any of us. I think people are just mean and like making up stories.”

“Thanks.”

“And…” She fidgeted with her bag strap. “I had fun today. With the car game. And ice cream. Even with the scary driving part.”

Before I could respond, the front door opened and Vivienne appeared. She wore her school blazer still, which meant she’d been waiting. Planning. Preparing her strategy for whatever conversation was about to happen.

Her purple eyes locked onto mine with laser focus.

“My study. Now.”

Not a request. An order.

Harlow squeezed my arm once, fast, then scurried inside with the dress. I watched her disappear down the hallway before turning back to Vivienne.

“I can explain.”

“I certainly hope so. Because right now, my family’s PR team is receiving calls from six different publications asking to verify whether Cassidy Valentine is dating her new assistant. An assistant who, I should mention, has been employed for less than a month.”

She turned and walked inside. I followed, already running through possible explanations that wouldn’t get me immediately fired.

The problem was simple. I’d gotten careless. Let my guard down. Taken Cassidy to a public place without considering that public meant cameras. That public meant consequences.

I’d been so focused on helping her with math that I’d forgotten she lived in a different world. One where coffee runs became headlines and casual conversation became conspiracy theories.

Vivienne’s heels clicked against marble. She didn’t look back to confirm I was following. She knew I would be.

Because right now, she held all the cards.

And I was about to find out exactly how she planned to play them.