"I’m not picking anyone. I work for them."

"Zay. You have a hickey on your neck from one and kiss trauma from another. You’re not just working."

"It’s complicated."

"It’s really not." She turned the radio down even though it wasn’t playing. "You like them. They like you. You’re both single. What’s complicated?"

"Their mother threatened to destroy your scholarship chances if I get involved with any of them."

That sobered her. "What?"

I repeated what Camille had said. About Iris’s application. About how my behavior reflected on her prospects. About how nothing happened in that house without consequences.

Iris processed this in silence while I merged onto the highway. Traffic was light for a Sunday afternoon. The city skyline appeared ahead, gray and familiar and nothing like the fairy tale mansion we’d just left.

"That’s garbage," Iris said finally. "She can’t do that."

"She absolutely can."

"But I’m smart! My grades are good! I didn’t do anything wrong!"

"Doesn’t matter. These people play by different rules."

"So what?" Iris’s voice climbed. "You just never date anyone? Never be happy? Because some rich lady might make a phone call?"

I didn’t have a good answer for that.

"Your money troubles are over," Iris declared after another minute. "You make ten thousand a month. You got the Lexus. We can afford real food now and I can actually have school supplies without asking three times."

"If I keep the job."

"You’ll keep it. You’re good at it." She paused. "Too good at it, maybe."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means they like you because you’re you. Not because you’re good at driving or math or whatever." Iris fiddled with the cookie container. "Harlow said you’re different. That you see them as people instead of just rich girls."

"They are people."

"Exactly. And you treat them that way." She looked at me seriously. "That’s why this is so complicated, Zay. It’s not just about money anymore."

I took the exit toward Philadelphia. The cityscape shifted. Smaller buildings. Graffiti on overpasses. Welcome home.

"What do you think I should do?" I asked.

"I think you should stop overthinking everything and just be honest." Iris shrugged. "Tell them what you’re actually feeling. Instead of hiding behind job descriptions and contracts."

"And if what I’m feeling gets me fired?"

"Then at least you were honest about it."

Simple. Easy. Completely terrifying.

We drove in silence for a while. Iris pulled out her phone and scrolled through something. Probably messages from Harlow. Those two had exchanged numbers and were apparently best friends now.

"Hey, Zay?"

"Yeah?"

"What if you married one of them?" Iris asked suddenly. "Like. Really married. Would that be crazy?"

I nearly drove into the shoulder. "What?"

"I’m just thinking practically!" Her voice took on that manic edge she got when she was spiraling. "You marry rich. All our problems are solved. I get into Hartwell automatically because you’re family. We move out of the apartment. We never worry about money again."

"That’s not how—"

"Or!" Her eyes went wide. "What if you married ALL of them?"

"Iris. No."

"Think about it! They’re identical! They share everything already! And they’re all into you!" She was fully committed to this insane train of thought now. "We’d be this big family. You and your four wives and their fancy house and—"

"Stop."

"—and I’d be the auntie who spoils the babies! I could teach them to draw! And we’d all have Christmas together! And—"

"Iris. Stop."

"—there’d be so many babies, Zay! Like eight or nine! Maybe twelve! Are you guys gonna have twelve babies? Because that seems like a lot but also kind of cute and we’d need name themes like maybe card suits or—"

"IRIS."

She stopped. Blinked at me. "What?"

"Why," I said slowly, "are you talking about babies?"

"I don’t know." She looked genuinely confused. "I think I dissociated. Where was I?"

"Auntie who spoils nieces and nephews."

"Right! So—"

"No." I cut her off firmly. "No marriage. No babies. Definitely no twelve babies. I am eighteen years old."

"Romeo and Juliet were younger."

"They both died."

"Bad example." She waved this away. "My point is, you have options now. Good options. Rich options. Options that buy you fancy suits and let you drive nice cars."

"Options that bite me in hallways."

"That was one option. And honestly?" Iris grinned. "That might be my favorite option. She has good energy."

I focused on driving. We passed our exit. I took it anyway.

Familiar streets. Familiar potholes. The bodega on the corner where Mr. Kim sold expired energy drinks for a dollar. Home.

I parked in our building’s lot. The Lexus looked obscene next to the beat-up Hondas and grocery carts.

"You know they’re gonna ask where the car came from," Iris pointed out.

"I’ll tell them it’s a loaner from work."

"They’re gonna ask what kind of work loans forty-thousand-dollar cars to teenagers."

She had a point.

"We’ll figure it out." I grabbed her bag from the trunk. "Come on."

We climbed the four flights. Mrs. Delgado’s door opened as we passed the third floor.

"You get fancy car," she announced. "I see from window. Very fancy."

"Borrowed," I said.

"Borrowed from who?"

"Work."

"What kind of work—"

"Thanks for watching the apartment, Mrs. D!" I called over my shoulder, pulling Iris up the last flight.

Safe inside our apartment, I locked the door and collapsed onto the couch that served as my bed. The familiar springs. The smell of old coffee and whatever Iris had been cooking. The sound of the neighbor’s TV through the wall.

Normal. Finally normal.

I closed my eyes.

"So about those babies—"

"No."

"I’m just saying! Four wives means four sets of genes which means—" 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"Iris. I will drive you back to that mansion and leave you there permanently."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Try me."

She laughed and threw a pillow at my head. I caught it without opening my eyes.

"You’re so grumpy when you’re in love with four people at once."

"I’m not in love with anyone."

"Your neck hickey says otherwise."

I opened one eye. Iris sat cross-legged on the floor with the cookie container open, munching away with a smug expression that reminded me way too much of Sabrina.

"When did you get so annoying?" I asked.

"I learned from the best." She selected another cookie. "These are really good. Mrs. Tanaka is a genius."

"Don’t change the subject."

"You changed it first! By getting bitten by a girl in a vampire costume!"

She had me there.

My phone buzzed. I checked it reluctantly.

Harlow: Thank you for today! And for letting Iris come! She’s the best! Can’t wait to see you Monday! ❤️❤️❤️

Cassidy: We’re gonna talk about that mark on your neck. Don’t think you’re getting away with dodging me.

Vivienne: Drive safely. Confirm when you arrive home. We’ll discuss boundaries again on Monday. Clearly they need reinforcement.

Sabrina: 🌹

Of course Sabrina just sent a rose emoji. Of course that was somehow more concerning than actual words.

"They’re texting you," Iris observed. "All of them."

"Yep."

"At the same time."

"Yep."

"That’s your life now."

"Unfortunately."

She grinned at me over her cookie. "I think it’s great. You deserve nice things. Even if those nice things are four identical rich girls who fight over you."

"They’re not fighting over me."

"Sure they’re not." She stood and stretched. "I’m gonna unpack. And by unpack, I mean hide all these plushies before you realize how many I actually took."

"I already know."

"Then why’d you let me bring them?"

I looked at her. My little sister. Fourteen years old. Wearing my old hoodie that swallowed her completely. Holding stolen plushies from a mansion and cookies from a housekeeper and joy from finally having normal teenage experiences instead of worrying about whether we’d have food.

"Because you were happy," I said.

Her smile went soft. "You’re such a sap."

"Yeah, well. One of us has to care."

"Both of us care." She walked over and kissed my forehead. "But I’m glad you’re starting to care about yourself too. Even if it means getting bitten by vampire girls."

She disappeared into her room. Her actual room. The one I’d given her when we moved in because she needed a door that closed and I didn’t.

I lay on the couch staring at the water-stained ceiling. My neck throbbed where Harlow had bitten me. My phone kept buzzing. Somewhere below us, someone played music too loud.

This was my real life. The apartment. The couch. The water stains.

Not mansions and marble floors and four identical girls with purple eyes who made me forget why any of this was a bad idea.

But then I remembered Cassidy’s face when she scored ninety on that quiz. Harlow pressed against me, her heartbeat matching mine. Vivienne saying my name like it meant something. Sabrina falling asleep on my shoulder because she trusted me to stay.

I sat up. Grabbed my phone.

Four messages. Four girls. Four completely different reasons this was impossible.

And one very real hickey that said maybe impossible wasn’t the same as wrong.