Valmont Series - Inheritance Code

Chapter 2.4 - The Threshold (Part 1): Welcome to the Predators' Court

The absence of overt technology.

No students glued to phones.

No visible screens or consoles.

Instead, faint projections trailed near wrists — micro-holographics that flickered only when gestured. The ONYX did it all — from communication to control.

Efficient. Integrated. Exactly the kind of system Aiden respected.

To Aiden, it was genius.

No clutter. No desperate swiping or screen addiction.

Every gesture discreet, every action integrated — the system simply knew.

This wasn't technology fighting for attention.

It was woven into existence itself.

Aria didn't notice.

She was caught by something else entirely.

The people.

It wasn't just beautiful teenagers.

It was them.

She spotted heirs to royal families — faces she'd seen splashed across tabloids and documentaries — laughing quietly in sunlit alcoves.

A boy who looked unmistakably like the son of the U.S. President walked by without security, chatting casually with another who might've been an infamous tech billionaire's heir.

Children of celebrities. Grandchildren of toppled dictators. Future rulers and CEOs.

Walking. Talking. Alive.

"Don't stare, Princess," Lyric warned smoothly. "This isn't a red carpet. This is normal. You're not in Sydney anymore."

Still, Aria felt her pulse quicken.

For just a moment — exhaustion forgotten — excitement crackled through her veins.

This was Avalon.

She wasn't watching them from a screen anymore.

She was one of them now.

Her feet carried her forward automatically, distracted... until—

he appeared.

Not collided. Not blocked.

He simply moved — sliding sideways with supernatural grace, sidestepping her path without flinching.

Their shoulders missed by inches.

Her breath caught.

Heat flushed beneath her skin — sudden, sharp, involuntary.

For a second, she forgot to breathe.

A faint trace lingered in the air as he neared — unfamiliar, yet undeniably expensive. Not perfume. Not cologne. Something rarer. It clung without cloying, cool and effortless, like the scent of privilege itself.

Blond.

Tall.

Blue eyes sharp enough to cut diamonds.

His uniform's gold piping caught the light like threads of fire.

For a heartbeat, time skewed.

He looked at her — not startled, not annoyed.

Just... measuring.

Then, his lips curled — not quite a smile.

More like the start of a joke only he understood.

"Careful, my lady," he murmured, voice low and devastatingly casual.

"First impressions here are everything."

He was already moving past before she could react, coat sweeping slightly as he disappeared into the sea of designer uniforms and ethereal lighting.

Aria stood frozen.

He didn't look back.

Of course not.

Why would he?

In his world, girls like her — pretty, polished, used to being the center — were wallpaper. Expected. Replaceable.

She was used to heads turning.

Here, hers barely tilted the radar.

Heat curled up her neck before she could stop herself.

For a second too long, she stayed still.

Aria blinked, caught somewhere between fury and fascination.

"Did he just—"

"Dismiss you and flirt at the same time?" Lyric cut in smoothly. "Luc Raveneau. House of Dominion. A predator in silk. You'll hate how much you'll think about him later."

Her cheeks burned hotter.

Not just dismissed —

Dismissed and amused.

Aria stood frozen for another beat, pulse still tangled.

It wasn't the encounter.

It was how it happened. Effortless. Calculated.

Like Avalon itself.

And what infuriated her most was simple.

Luc didn't look back.

But she did.

"Unacceptable," she muttered, forcing herself to keep moving.

She pushed forward anyway – even as Avalon unveiled its next predators

Next: The Threshold (Part 2) — Not everyone announces power. Some simply are.