Valmont Series - Inheritance Code

Chapter 6.3 - Courtyard Convergence

Aria's gaze lingered on his interface a second longer than necessary.

The smile came slowly—part amusement, part assessment.

"Strategic alliance... or something more interesting?"

Aiden didn't bite.

"She's efficient. I need a project."

Aria let out a soft laugh.

"Right. The Aiden Lancaster version of a social life."

He glanced at her—just once.

"Says the girl orbiting Luc Raveneau like it's strategy."

The smile on her lips didn't falter.

But it froze.

Just slightly.

A fraction too long.

She drew in a breath—already framing her reply, sharp and inevitable—

—but the air shifted before she could speak.

Cool. Calculated. Intrusive.

Someone approached—measured in movement, deliberate in presence.

He looked about their age, maybe a little older—but carried himself like someone used to watching others fall behind. His dark hair was styled to precision, every strand in place. His skin was smooth, tanned, not pale but evenly lit beneath Avalon's synthetic sky—like the kind of complexion polished by winters in Zürich and summers in Davos.

His uniform was immaculate—midnight navy, seamless, untouched by error, the kind of perfection Avalon didn't tailor but engineered. Nothing out of place. Nothing improvised.

What mattered were the accents.

His tie, rendered in the muted gleam of Luxem champagne gold, said everything: wealth, refinement, and the house that defined both.

His cufflinks, discreet but deliberate, bore the Luxem crest – The Golden Key. A symbol, not an accessory.

Legacy over flair.

On his sleeve: the crystal-clear shimmer of Meridien-tier Prestige—a neutral white overlay that caught the light with unusual sharpness.

Same tier as theirs. But brighter.

A quiet signal: he was nearing the Patron threshold.

Every step was quiet. But none of it felt casual.

He strided in like the courtyard had been waiting for him.

His gaze swept over Aiden, bypassed him, then landed squarely on Aria.

"Well, well. If it isn't Avalon's favorite cautionary tale."

There was no venom in it. Just polished provocation—someone clearly enjoying himself far too early in the morning.

"Tell me—how does exile taste this morning?"

Aria's expression didn't shift. Not exactly.

But the blink that followed was slow. Calculated.

"Do you rehearse that kind of line, or does it just come naturally to people no one invited?"

Yves let out a soft laugh.

"I'm just warming up. Thought I'd test the reaction time of someone with... recent notoriety."

Aria didn't blink.

Her tone cut clean—like a blade too elegant to raise its voice.

"Of course. House Luxem."

A glance at the cufflinks, the tie, the glint of Meridien.

"Wealth, rank, and absolutely no volume control."

A pause, just long enough to let the insult breathe.

"And here I thought the courtyard was finally clear of background noise."

Yves laughed—this time fully, easily. A low, unbothered sound that said he'd heard worse and enjoyed every version.

"There she is."

He folded his arms, still grinning. "I was starting to worry Avalon had tamed you."

He gave a mock bow—just deep enough to be annoying.

"Yves Marell. Level 7. House of Luxem. I assumed your ONYX would've whispered it to you by now."

Aiden said nothing.

Aria raised a brow.

"Well, Yves Marell... congratulations on being the most punchable name I've heard all week."

She paused—just long enough to make it sting.

"And trust me, I've had no shortage of smug remarks and disposable egos lately."

Yves laughed again—richer this time, like he was genuinely enjoying the entire exchange.

Aiden, who had stayed quiet long enough, finally stepped in.

"Aiden Lancaster."

Yves barely nodded, like he'd already known.

Of course he had. Everyone did.

Aiden continued, tone flat.

"What brings you here?"

Yves didn't answer. Not immediately.

Because just then, footsteps approached—measured, confident.

Celia Huang entered the courtyard like she was arriving for a private summit, not a casual morning walk.

Yves tipped his head toward her without turning.

"She did."

His tone was effortless. Almost smug.

"Apparently, I've been... recruited."

Next: Influence Begins Quietly – Influence isn't a position. It's the way people behave when you enter the room.