Four Of A Kind

Chapter 53: [2.26] Rule Number One: Always Check the Schedule

[Week 3: Wednesday – 6:45 PM.]

I was walking through the manor toward the library when something stopped me in the hallway.

Not a person. Not a sound. Just the light itself.

Golden. Too golden for artificial bulbs. Natural evening sun filtered through somewhere nearby.

The entrance to the Japanese wing sat open, the shoji screen pulled back on its track. I’d walked past this entrance a dozen times before and it had always been closed. Private. Do not enter without invitation.

Now it gaped wide.

Through the opening, I could see straight through to the veranda. The engawa, Mrs. Tanaka had called it. A wooden deck that overlooked the zen garden.

And sitting on that deck, framed perfectly in the doorway like a painting hung in a museum, was Sabrina.

My brain tried to process the image.

She wore a silk robe. Kimono-style, deep purple with white cherry blossoms embroidered along the hem. The garment draped across her frame loosely, tied with a simple white sash at her waist. One pale shoulder had escaped the fabric entirely, exposed to the evening air. The neckline had slipped low enough to reveal her collarbone, the elegant curve of her throat, the shadowed valley between her breasts.

A book sat open in her lap. Something thick, leather-bound. Her wine-red hair fell across her face, obscuring one purple eye while she read.

A teacup rested beside her on the wooden boards. Steam had stopped rising from it ages ago.

Behind her, the zen garden stretched out in perfect composition. Raked gravel forming concentric circles around carefully placed stones. A red maple tree providing shade. Stone lanterns casting long shadows across the path.

The whole scene looked like something out of a period film. Timeless. Untouchable.

I should’ve kept walking.

I had a tutoring session to prep for. Materials to organize. A strategy to plan after last night’s disaster.

Instead, I stood there like an idiot, staring through the doorway at a girl who probably hadn’t even noticed me.

“You’re hovering.”

Her voice carried across the space between us. Soft. Unbothered.

She still hadn’t looked up from her book.

“It’s distracting,” she continued, her finger trailing down the page, marking her place in the text. “Sit. Or leave. But stop lingering in doorways like a ghost.”

My survival instincts screamed at me to choose option two.

My feet betrayed me and carried me toward option one.

I stepped onto the engawa, my shoes coming off at the threshold without conscious thought. The wooden boards felt smooth beneath my socks, still radiating warmth absorbed from the day’s sunlight.

I settled down at what I judged to be a respectful distance—about three feet of space between us—and waited.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of us spoke. The garden filled our silence with its own language: water trickling from an unseen source, bamboo leaves whispering against each other in the breeze, a solitary bird calling out from the maple tree.

It should have been uncomfortable—two people sitting in silence, one clearly uninvited. Yet somehow, it wasn’t.

“You went shopping with Harlow today,” she finally said. Not phrased as a question. Simply a statement of something she’d observed.

“I carried bags,” I replied. “It’s not a superpower.”

“Presence is a superpower.” She turned a page without even glancing at it. “Most people are background noise. White static filling space between moments that actually matter. You are not background noise.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Sabrina moved just enough to reach her teacup. Her robe slipped lower with the motion, silk cascading down to gather at her upper arm.

The movement unveiled another inch of porcelain skin against dark fabric, like moonlight caught on water.

She lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. Made a small noise of displeasure.

“Cold.”

She set it back down. Made no move to adjust her robe.

My brain tried very hard not to notice the way the silk draped across her chest. The way the fabric caught on certain curves. The way her collarbones created shadows that drew the eye downward.

This girl was my employer’s daughter. Completely off limits in every possible way.

My brain understood this.

My eyes had apparently missed that memo.

“Do you know why I sit here every evening?” Her purple gaze finally lifted from the book. Met mine directly.

I shook my head.

“Because this is the only place in this house that my father built purely for peace.” She looked back at the garden.

She paused, lifting the cup to her lips again, drinking the cold tea without seeming to mind its temperature anymore.

“He understood that beauty without rest becomes a prison,” she murmured. “That constant perfection is its own kind of cage. This wing was his sanctuary from the Valentine name.”

“Sounds like a wise man,” I offered.

“He was.”

The words came out quieter than anything else she’d said.

“He also died before he could teach the rest of them that lesson.”

I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if there was anything to say. So I just sat there, watching the evening light turn the maple leaves into stained glass.

After what felt like forever, Sabrina closed her book. Rose to her feet in one smooth motion.

The robe shifted with her. Somehow managed to stay on despite physics suggesting otherwise.

“You have a tutoring session,” she said. “My sister is likely hiding from you. Check the west sitting room first. She thinks she’s clever.”

She walked past me toward the interior of the Japanese wing. Her bare feet made no sound on the wooden boards.

At the threshold, she stopped. Turned her head just enough that I could see her profile.

“And Isaiah? You’re the first interesting thing to happen in this house in years. Don’t get fired too soon.”

Then she disappeared into the shadows beyond the shoji screen.

I sat there for another minute.

Time to find Cassidy.

The west sitting room was empty.

So was the game room.

The gym contained only a bored-looking personal trainer reorganizing dumbbells.

Cassidy had vanished like smoke.

I was walking back through the main hall, debating whether to just text Vivienne and call it a night, when I spotted a familiar figure descending the grand staircase.

Wine-red hair pulled into a perfect ponytail. Immaculate posture. School blazer still on despite it being almost seven o’clock.

Vivienne.

She noticed me and paused on the landing.

“Looking for someone, Mr. Angelo?”

Her tone was professional. Slightly cool. Very Vivienne.

“Cassidy,” I said. “We have a tutoring session.”

“Ah.” A small, helpful smile appeared on her face. “She mentioned something about needing to blow off steam. I believe she went to a karaoke bar in the city. The Blue Note, on West 54th. She does this sometimes when she’s stressed.”

I sighed.

Of course she did.

“Thank you.”

I headed for the door, already pulling up the address on my phone.

Fifteen minutes into the drive.

Traffic was light for once. Manhattan’s skyline glowed in the distance, office buildings lit up like circuit boards.

I was mentally preparing for the confrontation. Walking into a karaoke bar to drag out a rich girl who was probably drunk and definitely going to make a scene.

Great. Fantastic. Exactly how I wanted to spend my evening.

Something was bothering me.

A detail. Small. Insignificant.

I replayed the conversation with Vivienne in my head.

“Looking for someone, Mr. Angelo?”

“She does this sometimes when she’s stressed.”

The helpful smile. The specific address provided without me asking. The immediate solution to my problem.

Vivienne didn’t smile like that.

Vivienne didn’t offer information. She demanded reports, required updates, expected status confirmations delivered in bullet points.

And Vivienne…

My eyes widened.

I grabbed my phone. Opened the calendar app. The one I’d synced with the Valentine household schedule.

There it was.

7:00 PM – 9:00 PM: Student Council Dinner. V. Valentine. No assistance required.

Vivienne was at a dinner right now.

She wasn’t at the manor.

She couldn’t have been on that staircase.

Which meant the girl I’d just talked to was…

“That little…”

I didn’t finish the sentence.

I checked my mirrors. Signaled. Executed what was probably a highly illegal U-turn across two lanes of traffic.

Horns blared behind me.

I didn’t care.

The Lexus accelerated back toward Long Island. Back toward Valentine Manor.

Cassidy had dressed up as Vivienne. Perfect ponytail, perfect posture, perfect blazer. She’d mimicked her sister’s mannerisms well enough that I’d bought it completely.

She’d sent me on a thirty-minute wild goose chase to avoid our tutoring session.

Clever.

Really clever.

But she’d made one mistake.

She’d underestimated how well I knew the schedule.

At a red light, I pulled out my phone. Opened the group chat with all four sisters.

Typed a single message.

Isaiah:Cassidy. I know you’re not at Blue Note. I know you’re not Vivienne. And I know you’re still at the manor. I’m on my way back. You have fifteen minutes to be in the library.

I hit send.

The light turned green.

I drove.