I woke up to my phone exploding with messages.
Not literally exploding—that would've been easier to deal with. Just four separate conversations from four identical sisters who'd apparently decided that three days of radio silence was enough torture.
"Good morning! Can't wait to see you today!" Harlow, with twelve emoji hearts.
"Don't forget my test Friday." Cassidy, no greeting, just demands.
"Quarterly projections meeting at 3." Vivienne, all business.
And Sabrina? Just a book emoji. Classic.
I dragged myself out of bed, careful not to wake Iris on the other side of our thin apartment wall. The weekend at the Valentine mansion kept replaying in my mind like a fever dream. Had I really gotten four separate Valentine sisters into four separate compromising positions in the span of forty-eight hours? The hickey on my neck—faded but still visible—said yes.
The cold shower didn't help. Nothing would help. I was completely fucked.
