Four Of A Kind

Chapter 54: [2.27] My Terms Are Non-Negotiable (And So Are Yours)

Cassidy’s room was her sanctuary. Her fortress. Her controlled chaos where she could sprawl across her king-sized bed with her legs kicked up against the wall while TikTok played an endless stream of garbage directly into her brain.

Perfect.

The “Vivienne” trick had worked like magic. One perfect ponytail, borrowed blazer from her sister’s closet, and a mimicry of that stick-up-the-ass posture that made teachers wet themselves. Isaiah had bought it completely. Probably halfway to Manhattan by now, searching for her in some karaoke bar while she enjoyed a night of zero studying and maximum relaxation.

Idiot. Why didn’t I try that weeks ago?

Her phone showed another video. Some influencer doing the “bottle flip but make it sexy” challenge. Cassidy snorted and scrolled past.

The manga stack on her nightstand had grown since this morning. Harlow kept “accidentally” leaving volumes in Cassidy’s room. Today’s addition was something with a shirtless vampire on the cover. Pass.

An empty Monster can sat next to the manga. Her fourth one today. Maybe fifth. Who was counting?

A chat notification.

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.

Her stomach dropped through the floor.

Wait.

How?

How the hell did he figure it out?

She sat up too fast. The blood rushed from her head. Her phone tumbled onto the sheets.

No. No no no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to drive around the city like an idiot while she enjoyed her evening in peace.

Cassidy scrambled to her feet. Maybe she could actually go to the library now. Pretend she’d been there the whole time. Say she’d been in the bathroom when he texted.

Yeah. That could work.

She grabbed her blazer off the chair.

A sharp knock hit her door.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, it’s open,” she called without looking up. Probably Harlow coming to borrow her favorite hoodie again. Or Mrs. Tanaka doing her nightly rounds.

The door opened.

Cassidy turned around.

Isaiah stood in the doorway.

Not in the hallway. In the actual doorframe. Arms crossed. Filling the entire space with his stupid tall frame and his stupid calm expression that made her want to punch something.

Her brain short-circuited.

What. How. He was in Manhattan. He should be in Manhattan. That’s where Manhattan is. Far away from here.

“You.” The word came out strangled. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t move. Just leaned against the doorframe like he owned the place. Like this was his room and she was the intruder.

“Library session,” he said. His voice was flat. Cold. “Remember? Seven o’clock.”

Her fight response kicked in. Attack first. Always attack first.

“I was waiting for you!” She jabbed a finger at him. “For like, an hour! Where the hell have you been?”

His expression didn’t change.

That was worse than if he’d gotten angry.

“Vivienne’s student council dinner is from seven to nine,” he said. Each word landed like a hammer. “At The Plaza.”

Her stomach twisted.

“She wouldn’t have been on the staircase.”

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. No excuse was going to work. He’d already figured it out.

And then she noticed something else.

He was angry.

Not yelling angry. Not throwing things angry. But there was something cold radiating off him. Something dangerous. His jaw was tight. A muscle ticked near his temple. His dark eyes looked darker than usual.

He’s really hot when he’s pissed.

Wait.

What?

No.

Ew.

Stop.

He was the help. The scholarship kid who couldn’t even afford decent shoes until a week ago. She’d seen his ratty sneakers. She’d noted the way he ironed the same three shirts in rotation.

He wasn’t hot.

He was annoying.

And yet her stomach was doing that weird flutter thing again. The same thing that happened in the shower stall. The same thing that happened every time he looked at her with those calm, unbothered eyes.

I’m going to throw up.

Isaiah pushed off the doorframe. Walked into her room without asking permission.

“The old method isn’t working,” he said. His voice was quiet. Firm. “You get bored. You get frustrated. You run. So we’re changing tactics.”

“Changing tactics?”

“We’re competing.”

That made her pause.

“Competing? What are you talking about?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “Every problem is a challenge. You solve it right on the first try, you get a point. You get it wrong, or I have to explain it, I get a point. End of each session, whoever has more points wins.”

Something clicked in her brain.

Not a lesson.

A game.

She hated lessons. Hated being talked down to. Hated feeling like the dumb one who needed everything explained slowly.

But a game?

Games she could do.

Games she could win.

The fear from getting caught started dissolving. Replaced by something sharper. Hungrier.

A slow smirk spread across her face.

Oh, scholarship boy. You just made a mistake.

She uncurled from her defensive posture. Let one leg slide off the bed. Shifted her weight so her hip cocked out.

“A contest?” She stood up. Moved toward him with deliberate slowness. “Fine. But points are boring. We need real stakes.”

She stopped just inches from him. Close enough to smell that soap and coffee scent. Close enough to see the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

“My report card,” she said. Her voice dropped lower. Softer. “If I get at least a B…” She tilted her head up. “You have to be my pet for a day.”

She started circling him.

“You’ll do whatever I say. No questions. You’ll call me Master. Maybe fetch my drinks. Carry my books.” She stopped behind him. “Maybe even give me a foot rub if I’ve had a long day.”

That’ll make him squirm. That’ll put him back in his place.

She moved around to his front again. Her finger traced down the front of his shirt. Stopped just above his belt.

“But if I don’t get at least a B…” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Then I’ll be your pet for a day.”

She leaned in closer. Her lips almost brushed his jaw.

“And you can make me do whatever you want. No complaints. No attitude.” Her eyes raked down his body. Back up. “I’ll even wear a collar if you ask nicely.”

She stepped back. Crossed her arms under her chest. The position pushed everything forward.

Checkmate.

He’d back down now. Get all flustered and embarrassed and refuse the bet like a good little employee.

Then she could laugh at him for being a coward.

Isaiah didn’t blush.

Didn’t stammer.

Didn’t move.

He just looked at her. Those dark eyes completely unreadable.

The silence stretched for way too long.

Then his mouth curved up.

A real smile. Not the polite customer service one he used with everyone else. Not the tired half-smirk he wore like armor.

A genuine, dangerous smile that showed teeth.

“You’re on.”

The words hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Wait.

What?

He wasn’t supposed to say yes.

He was supposed to get nervous and back down and prove she’d won their little power struggle.

But he didn’t.

That smile stayed on his face. Confident. Almost predatory.

“First report card. You get a B, I’m yours for a day. You don’t…” He paused. Let the silence stretch. “Well. I guess we’ll find out what kind of collar you look good in.”

Did he just. Did this scholarship kid just. Did he actually just agree to. To.

Her brain couldn’t finish the thought.

He turned toward the door.

Stopped.

Looked back over his shoulder.

That smile was still there.

“Oh, and Cassidy?” His eyes dropped. Traveled down her body in one slow, deliberate sweep. Lingered. Came back up.

“You should probably think about what color collar goes with your hair. Just in case.”