Four Of A Kind

Chapter 88: [2.63] The Final Boss Sits on a Velvet Sofa

The car rolled to a stop at the front steps, and I immediately knew something was wrong.

The guards weren’t just standing at attention. They were coiled. Like springs waiting to snap. One of them had his hand near something I really hoped wasn’t a weapon but probably was.

The driver opened Vivienne’s door first. She stepped out like she’d expected nothing less, her posture perfect, her expression giving away absolutely nothing.

“Is it always like this?” I asked quietly as we climbed the steps.

“Only when Mother’s home.”

The front doors opened before we reached them. Mrs. Tanaka stood there, her face unreadable.

“Miss Vivienne. Mr. Angelo.” Her tone was professional, but her eyes said good luck, you’re going to need it.

The foyer felt colder than usual. The marble floors gleamed under the chandelier’s light, and I swear even the paintings looked more judgmental than normal.

Actually, no. That was just the usual level of ancestral disappointment radiating from the walls.

Vivienne handed her coat to Mrs. Tanaka without breaking stride. I did the same, except my movements were nowhere near as smooth.

“Where are my sisters?” Vivienne asked.

“The library. They were instructed to wait there until dinner.”

“And Mother?”

“The grand salon.”

Vivienne’s jaw tightened for half a second before her mask snapped back into place.

The grand salon. The room we’d been actively avoiding since I started working here because it was the “formal entertaining space” and approximately zero percent comfortable.

“Come,” Vivienne said to me. Not asked. Ordered.

I followed her through the hallway, past the portrait of Richard Valentine, past the sitting rooms and music room and whatever other ridiculous spaces this house had that I still hadn’t memorized.

The doors to the grand salon stood open.

And sitting inside, on a velvet sofa that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood, was a woman who made Vivienne’s intimidation factor look like a gentle suggestion.

Camille Valentine.

She wore a white blouse and black slacks that somehow looked more expensive than most people’s wedding outfits. Her wine-red hair was pulled back in a low bun, not a single strand out of place.

Her purple eyes were locked on a laptop screen, one hand holding a delicate teacup while the other moved across the keyboard with mechanical speed.

She didn’t look up.

Vivienne stopped just inside the doorway. I stopped beside her, feeling like I’d walked into a boss battle I was severely underleveled for.

“Mother.”

“Vivienne.” Camille’s voice was cold. “You’re late.”

“The interview ran over. The digital team requested additional content.”

“I’m aware. I received the analytics thirty minutes ago.”

Camille finally looked up from her laptop. Her eyes swept over Vivienne first, cataloging every detail in a single glance. Then they landed on me.

“It’s nice to meet you properly, Isaiah Angelo.”

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“You may call me Mrs. Valentine.” She set her teacup down with a soft clink. “I understand you’ve been assisting my daughters.”

“Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Valentine.”

“Dr. Reyes speaks highly of you.”

“Dr. Reyes is generous.”

“Dr. Reyes is thorough. She doesn’t give recommendations lightly.” Camille’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Tell me, Mr. Angelo. What do you believe your role is in this household?”

Great. A pop quiz.

“I’m here to provide support to your daughters,” I said carefully. “Academic assistance for Cassidy. Organizational help for Harlow. Administrative support for Vivienne when needed.”

“And Sabrina?”

I paused. Sabrina hadn’t exactly given me a job description beyond feed me ramen at midnight and let me use you as a pillow.

“Sabrina hasn’t required much from me yet.”

Camille’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile if smiles could freeze water.

“That will change.” She closed her laptop with a decisive snap. “My daughters are not easy to work for, Mr. Angelo. I assume you’ve noticed.”

“They’re teenagers with substantial responsibilities. I’d be surprised if they were easy to work for.”

Her eyebrow lifted. Just slightly.

“You worked at the Velvet Lounge before this, yes?”

How did she know that? Actually, stupid question. She probably had a dossier on me that included my favorite brand of instant ramen.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Service industry experience is valuable. You understand discretion.”

“I signed the NDA,” I said.

“The NDA is a legal formality. I’m speaking of something more fundamental.” She stood, and the room seemed to rearrange itself around her presence.

“My daughters are public figures whether they want to be or not. Anything that happens in this house stays in this house. Anything you see, anything you hear, anything you experience. Do you understand?”

“Completely.”

“Good.” She picked up her teacup again. “Vivienne tells me you’ve made progress with Cassidy.”

I glanced at Vivienne. She gave me nothing. Her face was a perfect mask.

“Cassidy’s intelligent,” I said. “She just needs different methods than what she’s been given.”

“Seven tutors have said similar things.”

“Seven tutors tried to force her into a system that doesn’t work for her brain. I changed the system instead.”

Silence.

Camille sipped her tea. Considered me like I was a particularly interesting tax write-off.

“You’re either very confident or very stupid.”

“Little bit of both, probably.”

Vivienne made a sound. Small. Strangled. Like she’d just watched me commit career suicide and couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or horrified.

But Camille smiled. Actually smiled.

“You have a week remaining in your probationary period, Mr. Angelo. If Cassidy’s grades improve, we’ll discuss making your position permanent.” She set her cup down. “If they don’t, you’ll be compensated for your time and released from service. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Vivienne, ensure Mr. Angelo is prepared for dinner. We eat at six. Sharp.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Camille returned to her laptop. We were dismissed.

Vivienne turned and walked out. I followed, resisting the urge to bolt.

The doors closed behind us.

“Well,” I said quietly. “She’s terrifying.”

“She’s Mother.” Vivienne’s voice was completely flat. “You did well.”

“I insulted seven previous employees and basically called her parenting methods garbage.”

“Yes. And you’re still employed.” She glanced at me. “That means she respects you. Slightly.”

Fantastic. I’d earned slight respect from a woman who probably ate CEOs for breakfast.

My phone buzzed. I checked it reflexively.

Iris: how’s it going???

Me: Met the final boss. Still alive.

Iris: FINAL BOSS?????

Me: The mom. She knows everything. It’s disturbing.

Iris: did you do the thing where you say something stupid and somehow it works out

Me: Yes.

Iris: I KNEW IT. that’s your superpower. tactical stupidity.

I put my phone away before I could respond to that incredibly accurate assessment.

“Where are we going?” I asked Vivienne.

“To retrieve my sisters from the library. Mother will want all of us present for dinner.”

“How formal are we talking?”

“Sit up straight. Use the correct fork. Don’t speak unless spoken to.” She paused. “And don’t mention the boba girl.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good. Because Cassidy is still volatile about that subject.”

The library doors were closed. Vivienne opened them without knocking.

Inside, all three of her sisters were sprawled across various pieces of furniture in poses that screamed we’ve been waiting forever and we’re bored.

Harlow sat upside down in an armchair, her legs dangling over the back, scrolling through her phone. Cassidy was lying flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. Sabrina occupied the window seat, book in hand, looking like a Gothic portrait.

“Mother’s home,” Vivienne announced.

All three of them groaned simultaneously. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so perfectly synchronized.

“We know,” Cassidy said without moving. “The entire house knows. The security team’s been losing their minds for the past hour.”

“Has she summoned us yet?” Sabrina asked, not looking up from her book.

“Dinner is at six. Sharp.”

“Which gives us twenty-seven minutes.” Harlow flipped herself upright with alarming flexibility. “Wait. Is Isaiah eating with us?”

All three sisters looked at me.

“Mother requested his presence,” Vivienne said.

“Oh no.” Harlow’s eyes went wide. “Isaiah, you have to understand. Family dinners with Mother are. They’re. Um.”

“Torture,” Cassidy supplied helpfully. “They’re torture.”

“She’s going to ask you questions,” Sabrina said, her voice flat. “And if your answers displease her, she’ll destroy you with perfect politeness.”

“I already met her. In the salon.”

Four identical expressions of shock.

“You what?” Cassidy sat up so fast I thought she’d give herself whiplash.

“Vivienne and I stopped by before coming here.”

“And you’re still alive?” Harlow looked genuinely amazed.

“Mother found him acceptable,” Vivienne said.

“Acceptable.” Cassidy whistled low. “Damn. That’s practically a marriage proposal in Mother-speak.”

“It’s not.” Vivienne’s cheeks flushed slightly. “It means he passed basic competency standards.”

Sabrina set her book down. Studied me with those unreadable purple eyes.

“What did you say to her?”

“The truth. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I may have implied that her previous tutoring choices were ineffective.”

Dead silence.

Then Cassidy started laughing. Full, genuine laughter that echoed through the library.

“You told Mother her hiring decisions were bad. To her face.”

“I was diplomatic about it.”

“And she didn’t fire you on the spot.” Cassidy grinned like I’d just won the lottery.

“I’m starting to think stupidity is my primary survival mechanism.”

“It’s worked so far,” Harlow said cheerfully.

Vivienne checked her watch. “We have twenty-three minutes. Harlow, fix your hair. Cassidy, change your shirt. That one has a stain. Sabrina, you’re fine.”

“I’m always fine,” Sabrina murmured.

“Isaiah, come with me. We need to brief you on dinner protocol.”

“There’s protocol?”

“There’s always protocol.”

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the library before I could protest.

Behind us, I heard Cassidy mutter something about “poor bastard” and Harlow giggling.

Fantastic.