Valmont Series - Inheritance Code

Chapter 1.1 - The Clause

...

She frowned.

A curated, multimillion-dollar home didn't just forget how to be perfect. Especially not on her birthday.

She passed the family's gallery wall—portraits in motion, flickering from still elegance to living memory. Her mother on a runway in Milan. Her father shaking hands with someone in Geneva. Aria herself, age nine, wearing couture at an award ceremony she hadn't understood, only that she had won.

Today, the frames were still. Frozen. Someone had turned off the memory loops.

Even the house smelled off. No warm pastry. No vanilla-cedar diffuser. Just... clean. Cold.

She descended the sweeping staircase, hair still half-damp from last night's spa rinse, and paused at the bottom step.

Something was missing.

Not something—everything.

The kitchen was spotless. Too spotless.

No breakfast tray. No chef. No pressed juice selection arranged like an art installation.

The dining table was empty except for one boy in a navy pullover, sitting like it was any other morning.

Aiden. Her twin. Her foil. Her genetically-mirrored enigma.

He looked like he belonged in an editorial for prep-school espionage. His cocoa-brown hair—same shade as hers—was neatly parted but always slightly mussed, like he'd pushed his hand through it five minutes ago and never looked back. His skin was pale but clear, a little too serious for his age. His eyes—cool gray and unreadable—gave nothing away.

He wasn't just smart. He was Aiden-smart—which was both a compliment and a diagnosis.

While other boys their age watched speedrun hacks or practiced TikTok dance trends, Aiden spent his free time designing neural networks to predict emotional response patterns in political speeches—because why not. He'd once revived a discontinued AI assistant from 2017 and upgraded its sarcasm detection until it argued back.

His version of fun included building empathy algorithms and beta-testing a social ranking model he swore wasn't inspired by her friend group (but totally was).

To the world, he was brilliant. To Aria? He was a little boring. Brilliant, but boring.

He had a single slice of toast on a plate, untouched. His Apple Watch was active, casting soft blue light across the glass tabletop as data shifted in quiet streams.

"You're awake," she said, accusing him of something without knowing what.

"Happy birthday," he replied dryly, still not looking up. "You're twelve. Everything goes downhill from here."

Aria narrowed her eyes. "Did you eat the croissants?"

"There were no croissants."

She blinked. "Did the chef quit?"

"I don't think anyone quit."

"Then where is everyone?"

Aiden finally looked up, blinking slowly like she was the one who had just woken up.

"They were probably given the day off," he said. "Pre-scheduled. Clean sweep."

She stared at him.

Aiden, in all his soft-spoken, genius-wrapped-in-neutral-colors glory, looked almost bored. He hadn't combed his hair. Or maybe he had, and it had rebelled halfway through. Either way, he didn't look twelve. He looked like someone who'd already figured out how this day would go.

"You know something," she said.

"I know they pulled us from school last week. That's not a surprise."

"They said they were homeschooling us for the term."

"They also canceled your next two fashion trips. And my quantum coding mentorship. Without telling us why."

That stopped her cold.

He watched her eyes narrow.

"I hacked Mum's planner last night," he added. "Her schedule's completely cleared for the next seventy-two hours. And Dad's briefcase is preloaded with something high-security."

"Let me guess," Aria muttered. "You hacked that too?"

"Obviously."

They stared at each other for a beat. Twins born five minutes apart, raised in the same orbit, but rotating in opposite directions.

She looked toward the lounge.

The doors were closed.

Too neatly.

"Aiden," she said slowly, "what if this isn't about school?"

Next: The Summons - Some letters don't invite. They command.