Four Of A Kind - Chapter 151: [3.53] Forgotten Ghosts

Chapter 151: [3.53] Forgotten Ghosts

Mr. Bellamy nodded. Started removing pins.

I stepped down from the platform once he finished. My arms ached from holding them out for so long.

Vivienne handed me a bottle of water from her bag. I hadn’t asked for it. Didn’t realize I needed it until the cold plastic touched my palm.

“Drink,” she ordered. “You look dehydrated. And possibly concussed.”

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that. It keeps being false.”

I drank the water. She was right. I was thirsty. Hadn’t eaten lunch. Hadn’t done a lot of things that normal humans do to stay functional.

Mr. Bellamy returned from his back room with a garment bag. “The suit will be ready by Friday afternoon, Miss Valentine. I’ll have it delivered to the manor by six.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bellamy. Bill the household account.”

“Of course.”

We left. The bell chimed behind us. The street was busy. People walking dogs. Businessmen on phones. A kid eating ice cream even though it was barely sixty degrees out.

Normal city things.

Vivienne started toward the parking garage. I followed.

“You need to turn your phone back on,” she said without looking at me. “Your sister might need you. Also I sent you the updated schedule for Saturday and you probably missed it.”

“I will. Later.”

“Isaiah.”

“Vivienne.”

She stopped walking. Turned around. Looked up at me with an expression that was difficult to decipher. Somewhere between concern and something sharper. More personal.

“Whatever your mother said, whatever she wants from you, you don’t have to forgive her. You don’t owe her anything. Not forgiveness, not understanding, not a single response.” Her voice dropped lower. Almost a whisper. Like she was worried someone might overhear something private. “But you do have to stop punishing yourself for her choices. You have to stop carrying guilt that isn’t yours.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” She cut me off. Clean. Final. The way she probably ended debates when she knew she’d already won. “You’re sitting in parking lots having emotional collapses instead of going to class. You’re turning off your phone because seeing her name makes you feel sick. You’re working yourself into the ground because if you stop moving for five seconds, you’ll have to actually think about what happened. About what she did.”

Every word landed like a punch to the chest.

Because she was right.

Completely, devastatingly, uncomfortably right.

I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to defend myself against observations that were accurate enough to hurt.

“How do you know all that?” My voice came out rough. Raw in a way I didn’t intend.

“Because I do the same thing.” She looked away. Stared at the sidewalk like the concrete had suddenly become fascinating. “When my father died, I threw myself into student council. Debate team. The company. I took on so many responsibilities I didn’t have time to sleep, let alone grieve. Anything that meant I didn’t have to sit still and feel it. Anything that meant I could pretend I was fine.”

“Did it work?”

“No.” A small, bitter smile. “It just means I’m very good at running the student council while having a breakdown.”

We stood there on the sidewalk. People walked around us. Someone swore because we were blocking traffic. Neither of us moved.

“I should get back to the manor,” Vivienne said finally. “Harlow has a fitting at five and she’ll panic if I’m not there to supervise. She picks outfits based on which character would wear them and then wonders why nothing matches.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It’s Harlow. Everything about her is exhausting and also somehow the best part of my day.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Thank you. For earlier. The interview. The seating chart. All of it.”

“It’s my job.”

“I know.” Something flickered across her face. “But you could do your job without being kind. Most people do. You don’t.”

She walked away before I could respond.

Left me standing there with an empty water bottle and approximately forty-seven emotions I didn’t have time to process.

I turned my phone back on.

It buzzed immediately. Messages flooding in.

Felix asking if I’d been abducted. Harlow sending heart emojis. Cassidy with a single message that just said you better not bail on me tomorrow.

And my mother. Three more messages.

i understand if youre angry.

i just want a chance to explain.

please baby. talk to me.

I stared at the screen.

Then I did something I’d been too scared to do for two months.

I blocked the number.

Deleted the conversation.

Watched it disappear like it never existed.

My chest hurt. But different than before. Sharper. Cleaner.

Like lancing an infected wound.

I texted Iris.

you good?

Her response came back in seconds.

yeah! harlow sent me photos of her plushie army! did you know she has THIRTY-FOUR of them?? thats INSANE zay!!!

sounds about right.

also are you okay? you seem weird today. weirder than usual.

im fine. just tired.

liar. but okay. ill let you lie. FOR NOW. love you idiot.

love you too gremlin.

I pocketed my phone. Started walking back toward the garage.

The sun was setting. Orange light spilling between buildings. Shadows getting longer.

My mother was somewhere in California. Living her best life. Figuring herself out.

I was in Manhattan. Wearing borrowed clothes. Working for four sisters who couldn’t decide if I was staff or something more.

One of them kissed me.

One of them wanted me in her bed.

One of them kept adjusting my collar and blushing.

One of them hugged me like I was the only solid thing in a world made of quicksand.

And I still had to tutor Cassidy tomorrow. Drive Harlow to her events. Review schedules with Vivienne. Deliver midnight ramen to Sabrina.

My life was a disaster.

But it was mine.

And unlike my mother, I wasn’t running from it.

I got back in the Lexus. Drove toward the manor.

My phone buzzed. A new message from an unknown number.

I deleted it without reading.

Blocked that one too.

Some ghosts don’t deserve exorcisms.

They deserve to be forgotten.