Four Of A Kind

Chapter 36: [2.9] Who The Hell is Mira?

The East Wing was a maze designed by someone who hated visitors.

I turned left at the painting of a man who looked like he’d never smiled in his entire life. Then right at a suit of armor. Then left again at a vase that probably cost more than my apartment building.

And there was the painting of the man who’d never smiled again.

Third time. I’ve passed this angry ancestor three times now.

This house didn’t have a floor plan. It had a conspiracy. Someone had specifically engineered these hallways to trap outsiders in an endless loop of expensive art and disapproving portraits. I was going to need breadcrumbs. Or a GPS satellite. Or maybe one of those search and rescue dogs they send after people lost in the wilderness.

The boba in my left hand had started to sweat. Condensation dripped down the cups and onto my fingers. The paper bag with the Pocky and Buldak ramen crinkled every time I shifted my grip.

I stopped in front of the angry ancestor painting.

Okay. Think. Vivienne’s study was on the second floor, west side. Harlow mentioned her room was in the East Wing, near the corner with the good morning light. Sabrina’s room was… somewhere. She hadn’t specified. Probably on purpose.

I pulled out my phone and opened the group chat I’d created earlier. Typed a message.

Directions to Harlow’s room?

Three dots appeared immediately.

Harlow responded with a series of emojis that included a house, a heart, a sparkle, and what appeared to be a dancing cat. Not helpful. She followed this with: Turn left at the scary painting! Then right at the pretty flowers! Then straight until you see my door! You can’t miss it!!!

I looked at the scary painting.

There were approximately twelve scary paintings within my immediate line of sight.

Which scary painting?

The one with the guy who looks like he ate a lemon!!! He’s SO grumpy looking haha.

I looked at the angry ancestor.

He did, in fact, look like he’d eaten a lemon.

I turned left.

Harlow’s door was unmistakable.

A small wooden plaque hung at eye level, hand-painted with her name surrounded by hearts and flowers. The lettering had the slightly wobbly quality of something done by hand rather than machine. Probably Harlow’s own work. Below the plaque, someone had stuck a collection of stickers that formed a border around the frame. Anime characters. K-pop idols. A corgi wearing sunglasses.

I knocked twice.

“Come in!” The voice from inside practically vibrated with enthusiasm.

I opened the door.

And stepped into what could only be described as an explosion of pink.

Fairy lights hung from every available surface. The strings crisscrossed the ceiling like a luminescent spider web, casting the entire room in a soft rosy glow. Plushies covered the bed. Not a few plushies. An army of them. Bears and bunnies and characters I vaguely recognized from anime that Iris watched. Posters plastered the walls. K-pop groups with perfectly styled hair. Anime characters in dramatic poses. A full-length mirror stood in the corner, its frame decorated with more stickers.

The room looked like a twelve-year-old’s dream. Like someone had taken the concept of “cute” and weaponized it.

And then there was Harlow.

She lounged on her massive bed, legs tucked under her, wearing a fuzzy pink pajama set. The top was cropped. A strip of her stomach was visible, toned and smooth. The shorts were… very short.

Her laptop sat open in front of her, and I could see multiple faces on the screen. A video call. Her friends, presumably. All of whom had gone completely silent the moment I walked in.

One girl’s mouth hung open.

Another had frozen mid-sip of something.

A third was very clearly pressing buttons on her phone. Recording, probably.

“Boba delivery,” I announced, holding up the carrier.

Harlow squealed.

The sound was high-pitched enough that I was moderately concerned for the structural integrity of nearby glass objects. She scrambled off the bed, her bare feet padding across the carpet, and launched herself at me with all the subtlety of a guided missile.

“You’re the BEST, Assistant-kun!”

She grabbed the strawberry milk tea from the carrier, wrapped her lips around the straw, and took a long sip. Her eyes closed. Her cheeks hollowed slightly as she drew the liquid up through the straw.

Then she let out a moan.

“Mmmm! Yummy!” She took another sip. “This is perfect! The lychee jelly is SO GOOD!”

The faces on the laptop screen had not recovered. I could see one of them typing furiously. Probably in a group chat somewhere, alerting others to the apparent catastrophe of a male presence in Harlow’s bedroom.

Harlow bounced back to her bed, tea in hand, and settled into her previous position. She patted the space beside her.

“Sit! Stay! We’re just hanging out!”

“I need to deliver Sabrina’s order,” I said. “And find her room. Which I don’t actually know the location of.”

“Oh, Brina’s room is easy! Down the hall, last door on the left. But first!” She reached for the paper bag I was still holding. “Pocky time!”

She extracted the box of strawberry Pocky with the reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts. Opened it. Pulled out a single stick.

“Want some?”

I thought of Iris. A box of Pocky would make a nice gift. She’d been asking about the strawberry flavor for weeks. Said she’d seen it in videos and wanted to try it.

“Sure,” I said.

Harlow’s face lit up like I’d agreed to something significantly more substantial than accepting a cookie stick.

She pulled out a single Pocky. Placed one end between her lips. Leaned toward me. Her purple eyes sparkled with mischief. The fairy lights cast a pink glow across her cheekbones.

“Okay!” Her words were slightly muffled by the biscuit stick in her mouth. “You eat the other side! Whoever’s side breaks off first loses!”

I looked at Harlow.

She looked at me.

The Pocky stick dangled between us like a very pink, very edible challenge.

This is a trap. This is obviously a trap. This is the kind of trap that gets documented, shared, and somehow ends up on social media with seventeen million views and a caption like “SCHOLARSHIP STUDENT CAUGHT IN COMPROMISING POSITION WITH HEIRESS.”

I took a step back.

“I’m good.” My expression didn’t change. “Need to deliver Sabrina’s order. Thanks for the directions.”

I turned and walked toward the door.

“Isaiah!” Harlow’s voice followed me, full of theatrical despair. “You’re no fun! We’ll play next time! I’m not giving up!”

I closed the door behind me.

From inside, I could hear Harlow’s friends erupting into excited chatter. Something about “SO CLOSE” and “HE JUST LEFT” and “WHO WAS THAT GUY.”

I stood in the hallway for a moment.

Last door on the left. Sabrina’s room. Deliver the taro boba and ramen. Get out. Simple.

I started walking.

The hallway stretched ahead of me, lined with more paintings and more vases and more evidence of wealth that existed on a scale I could barely comprehend. My gym shoes had finally stopped squeaking, which was a small mercy.

I was halfway to the end of the corridor when a figure stepped out of a shadowed alcove.

Cassidy.

Her clothes had changed since the shower incident. Tiny athletic shorts that ended mid-thigh. A loose tank top that hung off one shoulder, revealing the strap of whatever she was wearing underneath. She held a glass Voss water bottle in one hand, condensation dripping down the sides.

Her expression was a mask of bored disdain.

“Well, well.” She pushed off the wall. “The errand boy. How were the sprinklers?”

“Refreshing.” I kept walking. “You should try them sometime. Might cool you off.”

Her eyes narrowed. She fell into step beside me, matching my pace.

“Aww, running snacks for Sabrina now?” She glanced at the remaining boba cup in the carrier. “How cute. You’re like a little golden retriever. Does she give you treats when you fetch things for her? Belly rubs?”

“The compensation is adequate.”

“God, you’re boring.” She reached out and plucked the boba cup from the carrier before I could stop her. Examined it with the intensity of someone inspecting evidence at a crime scene. “Taro? Seriously? Her taste is so boring.”

“Your opinion has been noted and filed appropriately.”

“Filed where? The trash?”

“I was thinking more like the ’things I don’t care about’ folder. It’s quite extensive.”

Cassidy’s smirk flickered.

And then it faded entirely.

Her gaze had locked onto something on the cup.

Cassidy’s grip on the cup tightened. Her purple eyes lifted to meet mine.

“Who’s Mira?”

I reached out and took the cup back from her hand.

My fingers brushed against hers. Her skin was warm. Soft. I didn’t pull away quickly. I held her gaze.

“The cashier at the boba shop.” I tilted my head slightly. “She helped me with the order. Your sister’s specifications were complicated.”

Cassidy’s jaw tightened.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t care. Do whatever you want. Date whoever you want. I couldn’t care less about your pathetic love life.”

“Noted.”

“Just—” She stepped closer.

The distance between us collapsed. Her chin lifted. Her purple eyes burned into mine. Her chest was inches from my own.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Don’t forget who you work for, scholarship boy. We own your time. Not some random boba girl.”

I didn’t step back.

I held her gaze.

“The contract specifies working hours. Outside of those hours, my time is my own.”