Valmont Series - Inheritance Code

Chapter 8.4 - Imperial Revival, Table for Two

Which, of course, said everything.

She could feel the answer she hadn't given hanging in the air —

too quiet to name, too loud to bury.

Every time Luc's name surfaced, something in her faltered.

A pause. A glance. A pulse she couldn't quite hide.

It didn't matter how sharp her words were — her body kept answering for her.

And she hated that.

She didn't want Aiden to notice. Or anyone.

But most of all, she didn't want Luc to notice.

Because when he was near, she could feel herself shifting — instinctively, involuntarily. Little reflexes she couldn't outthink: the way she held her breath when he looked too long, the heat that rose uninvited to her cheeks, the way her posture adjusted without permission.

And then there was his scent — that cold, oceanic sharpness laced with something darker. Clean, effortless, and completely disarming.

It wasn't just alluring. It was intimidating.

She hated how it made her feel — like she might lose control of her poise, her cool, even her words.

Like he could tilt her axis with nothing more than standing too close.

She masked it too well.

But inside, she dreaded the moment Luc would notice—

because if he did, she wasn't sure what she'd do.

Especially then.

Her gaze dropped to the edge of her plate, as if that would steady the shift happening inside her.

And somewhere beneath all of it — the flutter, the confusion, the ache she wouldn't name — was the weight of a name she hadn't spoken.

Finn.

Or what was left of him.

She didn't say it aloud.

She didn't have to.

Aiden leaned back in his seat, not unkind, not sharp — just steady. Watching her the way only someone who had always known her could.

It was almost unnerving, how easily he saw between the words she hadn't spoken.

Then, quietly—like he was finishing a thought she hadn't realized she'd started:

"You know that Finn-part of your life is over... right?"

No edge. No judgment.

Just truth, spoken out loud. The kind she hadn't let herself admit.

And this time, she didn't argue.

Not because she was struggling to accept it — but because deep down, she already had.

The truth was, she didn't miss Finn.

Not really.

He was beautiful, untouchable, perfectly engineered to match her on paper.

They were the perfect equation — curated, prestigious, cover-grade.

They were the kind of pairing legacy schools used in marketing brochures.

Timeless blazers. Flawless posture. A matching set of heirloom futures.

But looking the part was never the same as living it.

But was there ever depth beneath it?

She used to think it felt like love.

Now she wasn't sure it had even been choice.

She liked the attention. The weight of being envied. The sense of control that came from walking into a room with him—Finn, back in Sydney. Picture-perfect. Effortless. The kind of couple that made people whisper.

But now?

She didn't know anymore. Not really. Maybe she never did.

Avalon had stripped so much away — comfort, certainty, performance — that it left nothing but questions.

About Finn.

About Luc.

About herself.

And she wasn't sure what scared her more: the answers... or the possibility that she'd never been asking the right questions at all.

She pushed her plate back slightly, appetite dulled by something heavier.

Then, without looking at him:

"What are we, Aiden?"

The question wasn't sharp — just... suspended. Like it had been sitting in her too long.

"Why are we even here?"

He didn't answer right away. Because that was the one he kept asking himself too.

Next: Zeroth Protocol — There was never a glitch. Only a forgotten truth reactivating.