Four Of A Kind

Camille closed her eyes. This was exactly what she’d feared. Not that Isaiah would seduce her daughters—though that remained a concern. No, the real danger was that her daughters would fall for him completely and never recover when he inevitably revealed his true intentions.

She’d seen it before. Richard’s business partner, Claude Beaumont, had married three different heiresses over the course of two decades. Each marriage ended when the trust funds were safely transferred and the prenups proved worthless against skilled legal manipulation. Claude was currently living in Monaco with wife number four, a pharmaceutical heiress barely older than Camille’s daughters.

Men like that were parasites. They identified vulnerable women with substantial assets and played the long game. Patient. Charming. Perfect boyfriends until the wedding rings were safely in place and the financial transfers were complete.

Isaiah Angelo fit the profile perfectly.

Scholarship student from North Philadelphia. Working multiple jobs to support a younger sister. Smart enough to recognize that four billionaire heiresses represented the ultimate lottery ticket, but clever enough to play the reluctant hero instead of the obvious gold digger.

The performance was flawless. Even Camille had to admit she was impressed by his commitment to the role. The exhaustion, the genuine care for his sister, the reluctance to get involved with her daughters—it was all so convincing that she’d almost believed it herself.

But Camille had learned to trust patterns rather than performances. And the pattern was clear: broke boy meets rich girls, rich girls fall head over heels, rich girls hand over their trust funds, broke boy becomes very wealthy ex-boyfriend.

Her daughters were too young and too sheltered to see the manipulation. They’d grown up in a world where money solved problems and love conquered all because Camille and Richard had worked hard to give them that kind of innocence. But innocence was a luxury she could no longer afford to let them keep.

On screen, Vivienne was crying again. But these weren’t the desperate tears from earlier. These looked almost… relieved? Like something heavy had been lifted from her shoulders. Isaiah’s hand moved to her back in small, comforting circles that spoke of practice with emotional scenes.

How many rich girls had he practiced on before her daughters?

“Mrs. Tanaka,” Camille said without opening her eyes. “I want a complete background check on Isaiah Angelo. Financial records, employment history, social media activity, academic transcripts. Everything.”

“Ma’am, we already conducted—”

“Deeper. I want to know every debt he’s accumulated, every job application he’s submitted, every person he’s ever dated. I want to know if he’s ever googled any of my daughters’ names or researched their net worth. I want phone records and text messages and browsing history.”

Silence stretched across the satellite connection. Mrs. Tanaka was professionally discrete, but even she had limits on the invasion of privacy she was willing to facilitate.

“Ma’am, such extensive surveillance might be considered—”

“Necessary.” Camille’s voice carried the authority that had cowed Fortune 500 CEOs and foreign ministers. “My daughters are worth eight billion dollars. That makes them targets for every charming sociopath with a student loan payment. I won’t apologize for protecting them.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll make the necessary calls.”

Camille ended the connection and returned her attention to the security feed. The Archive camera showed Isaiah helping Vivienne to her feet, his hands careful and respectful even as her daughter swayed slightly from exhaustion. They were talking now, their faces animated in ways that suggested actual conversation rather than the stilted small talk that usually passed for communication in her household.

When was the last time any of her daughters had talked to her like that? When was the last time they’d looked at her with anything other than polite distance or barely concealed resentment?

The question hurt more than it should have.

But hurt feelings were irrelevant. Her job wasn’t to be her daughters’ friend. Her job was to protect them from a world that would destroy them the moment they showed weakness. Richard had been the soft parent, the one who offered unconditional love and emotional support. Camille was the hard parent, the one who taught them that strength was survival and weakness was death.

It was a thankless role, but someone had to play it.

On screen, Isaiah was buttoning his vest while Vivienne fixed her hair. The intimate domesticity of the moment made Camille’s teeth clench. They looked like a couple preparing to face the world together, united against whatever challenges awaited them.

It was a beautiful lie.

But lies could be beautiful. That’s what made them so dangerous.

Her laptop chimed with an encrypted message from her head of security. Marcus Kane was former CIA, the kind of man who could make problems disappear without leaving fingerprints. His services were expensive, but thoroughness always came with a premium price tag.

Background check initiated. Preliminary financial records attached. Subject appears to be exactly what he claims—broke scholarship student with significant family obligations. No red flags detected at surface level. Will dig deeper per your instructions.

Camille opened the attached files. Isaiah’s bank account showed a balance that made her feel almost guilty for suspecting him. Three hundred and twelve dollars. His employment history was exactly what he’d claimed—waiter, bartender, occasional tutoring. His academic record was impressive but not suspicious. High grades, perfect attendance, the kind of consistent excellence that suggested genuine intelligence rather than grade manipulation.

Her fingers paused over the medical records that Marcus had somehow obtained. Iris Angelo had been hospitalized twice in the past three years. Once for a severe allergic reaction to something she’d eaten at school. Once for a broken arm sustained during what the report listed as “playground altercation.”

Both times, Isaiah Angelo was listed as the primary contact and financial guarantor. Both times, he’d apparently sat in hospital waiting rooms for hours while doctors worked on his sister. The bills were substantial relative to his income, but they’d been paid promptly and in full.

Either Isaiah Angelo was the most committed method actor in criminal history, or he genuinely cared about his sister’s wellbeing.

The distinction mattered because it suggested he might genuinely care about her daughters too.

But caring and using weren’t mutually exclusive. The most effective parasites always cared about their hosts. It kept them alive longer.