Four Of A Kind - Chapter 174: [3.76] The Final Form

Chapter 174: [3.76] The Final Form

The rest of breakfast passed without anyone mentioning the purple color incident.

Vivienne stayed locked in her study. Probably reorganizing her email folders by emotional distress level.

The remaining sisters lounged in the main salon, sprawled across furniture worth more than most cars. Harlow had commandeered the velvet couch with Iris, showing her phone screen with rapid-fire explanations about wig styling techniques. Cassidy occupied the armchair, one leg thrown over the side, scrolling through her own phone with aggressive thumb movements. Sabrina had claimed the window nook, curled up with her book like a particularly judgmental cat.

I stood near the doorway. Not quite in the room. Not quite out.

“So none of you are going tonight?” Harlow asked. “To Vivi’s big fancy party?”

“No seats,” Cassidy said without looking up. “Sold out months ago.”

“Plus Mother specifically requested minimal family presence.” Sabrina turned a page. “To maintain professional atmosphere.”

“Translation,” Cassidy supplied. “She doesn’t want us embarrassing her in front of the French people.”

Harlow sighed. Dramatic. “But I wanted to see the dresses.”

“There will be photographs,” Sabrina said. “Approximately three thousand.”

“It’s not the same.” Harlow flopped back. “I want to see them in person. Feel the fabric. Check the stitching.”

“You sound like Vivienne.”

“Take that back.”

I checked my watch. 11:47 AM. The party started at seven. Hair and makeup began at four. Which meant Vivienne would start her preparation ritual soon and transform from stressed teenager into whatever terrifying final form she became for these events.

My phone buzzed.

Vivienne: Car leaves at 5:00. Be ready by 4:45. Suit should be hanging in your closet. DO NOT wrinkle it.

I typed back a confirmation.

“Angelo.” Cassidy’s voice cut through the room. “What time do you leave?”

“Five.”

“That’s in like.” She counted on her fingers. “Five hours.”

“Correct.”

“What are you gonna do until then?”

Good question. What did people do with five free hours? I genuinely didn’t remember.

“Sleep,” Sabrina suggested. Not looking up from her book.

“Nap culture is important,” Harlow agreed. “Your body needs recovery time.”

Iris nodded. Very serious. “You do look like death.”

“Thanks for that.”

“It’s true though.” She tilted her head. “You’ve got those bags under your eyes again. The ones that make you look like a sad anime character.”

“I don’t watch anime.”

“You should. Then you’d recognize your own tropes.”

Cassidy snorted. “What trope is he?”

“The overworked salaryman who dies and gets reincarnated as—”

“Nope.” I pointed at Iris. “Not happening. No isekai.”

She grinned. “Too late. You’re already in a different world, Zay. This?” She gestured around the salon. “This is fantasy.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I retreated before anyone could assign me additional weird anime categories.

The guest suite looked exactly how I’d left it. Bed made with military corners. Toiletries arranged by height on the bathroom counter. My canvas duffel sitting on the luggage stand like a homeless person at a country club.

The suit hung in the closet.

I walked over. Unzipped the garment bag.

Black. Obviously. Mr. Bellamy had outdone himself. The fabric caught the light, shifted from matte to subtle sheen depending on angle. The jacket’s shoulders sat perfectly square. The pants had a break that would hit my shoes just right.

A cream shirt hung beside it. French cuffs that would need cufflinks.

On the shelf above: a slim black box.

I opened it.

Silver cufflinks. Simple. Elegant. Probably cost more than my rent.

A note card sat tucked inside.

These were my father’s. Wear them tonight. – V

I stared at the card.

Then at the cufflinks.

Then back at the card.

Vivienne Valentine had just loaned me her dead father’s jewelry.

My throat went tight.

I closed the box. Set it carefully back on the shelf.

Then I collapsed face-first onto the bed.

The mattress accepted me like a hug. The pillows smelled faintly of lavender and expensive detergent.

I closed my eyes.

Sleep came in waves. The kind where you’re half-aware of time passing but can’t quite surface. Fragments of dreams played behind my eyelids. Purple eyes. Wine-red hair. A voice asking which one I wanted.

My phone alarm dragged me back at 3:30.

I groaned into the pillow.

The shower helped. Sort of. The bathroom’s ridiculous technology actually cooperated this time, delivering perfect water pressure and temperature without trying to boil me alive.

I stood under the spray and let it beat the fog from my brain.

Tonight I would be Vivienne’s date. Not her assistant. Her date.

To a party full of fashion executives and her mother and probably six different people who could end my contract with a phone call.

Nothing about this was smart.

I dried off. Stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Same face. Same dark eyes with those green flecks Sabrina kept mentioning. Same jaw that needed shaving again already.

But wearing borrowed cologne and about to put on a suit worth more than my car.

The transformation continued.

The suit fit like it had been grown on my body. Mr. Bellamy really was a genius. I worked the cufflinks through the French cuffs. The silver caught the light. Richard Valentine’s cufflinks.

No pressure.

I fixed my hair. The two-tone thing that Vivienne still hated but had stopped mentioning after our standoff. Pushed it back slightly. Not too neat. Not too messy.

The cologne sat on the counter. The bottle Harlow had given me last week.

Valentine Beauté. Obviously. Probably retail for two hundred dollars.

I sprayed once. Twice.

The scent hit. Clean. Woodsy. Something underneath that I couldn’t identify.

My reflection looked back at me.

I looked expensive.

I looked like I belonged in this world.

The thought should have felt good. Instead it just felt like lying.

I checked my phone. 4:42.

Three minutes.

I walked downstairs expecting everyone to be scattered. Doing their own thing. Ignoring my existence like usual.

Instead I found all four Valentine sisters plus Iris arranged in the main foyer like they were waiting for a wedding.

Iris saw me first.

Her mouth fell open.

“Holy shit.”

“Language.”

“Holy. Shit.” She pulled out her phone. Started taking pictures before I could protest. “You look like. Like a person.”

“I am a person.”

“A fancy person.” She circled me. More pictures. “Sarah’s not gonna believe this.”

“Don’t send those.”

“Too late.” She grinned. “Already in the group chat.”

Harlow made a sound. High-pitched. Strangled.

I looked over.

She had both hands pressed to her mouth. Her purple eyes huge. Shining slightly.

“Assistant-kun,” she breathed. “You look. You look so. Oh my gosh.”