The She Billionaire In Boy’s Blazer

Silas Vale died on a Tuesday.

At least, that’s what the headlines said.

The news broke before the coroner signed the certificate. “Billionaire heir dies in solo crash. Police rule out foul play. Family requests privacy.” Sonia Vale read those words on her phone as a nurse wheeled her past rows of hospital beds, each beep and hum around her sounding like an accusation.

She hadn’t even seen his body.

They told her he hit a metal pole, that he lost control at a bend on Goldcrest Drive. They told her there was blood. But not once did they let her look him in the eye. Not once did they let her say goodbye.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and grief. Her heels clicked too loudly against the floor. Her blazer felt too heavy on her shoulders. She hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. She’d just landed from France when her mother’s voice cracked through the phone:

“Come home. It’s Silas.”

That was all.

And now, as she stood outside the morgue doors, she realized her hands weren’t shaking. Her body wasn’t crying. It wasn’t doing anything at all. It was like her mind had zipped up her heart in a black bag, just like they zipped his body, and decided to walk on without it.

A nurse appeared, clipboard in hand. "Ms. Vale... your mother has signed for a private cremation. Immediate. By her request."

Sonia blinked. “Cremation? Already?”

“She..uh..she said you’d understand. She didn’t want you to see him like that.”

Like what? Burnt? Beaten? Not her brother?

Her mouth opened, but no words came. She just nodded, then turned and walked into the white hallway, her thoughts louder than the world.

---

The funeral was smaller than she expected.

No guests. No cameras. Just Sonia, her mother, and an urn she couldn’t touch. She sat in the front row, staring at the polished wood table where her twin’s ashes were supposed to be. Her mother dabbed at invisible tears with a silk handkerchief. No one spoke.

Silas wasn’t the type to die quietly.

He wasn’t the type to crash his car alone at night either.

Sonia clenched her jaw. Something didn’t fit. Silas had been reckless, yes..but stupid? Never. And where was his phone? His last texts? No accident footage. No police report made public. No mention of the elite boarding school he was supposed to return to that very morning..Daxton Academy.

When the service ended, she didn’t cry. She walked into his old bedroom like a girl on autopilot and shut the door.

The air still smelled like his cologne.

His guitar still sat in the corner with a broken string he swore he'd never fix.

She opened his closet.

Everything looked untouched except for a plain gray hoodie folded too neatly on his bed.

Something about it felt… off.

She picked it up.

A soft thud hit the floor.

A leather-bound notebook, thick and worn, with Silas’s handwriting etched across the cover.

“Trust no one. Start here.”

Sonia froze.

She sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through pages of scribbles, codes, maps of Daxton’s campus, names she didn’t recognize, phrases circled in red. At the top of one page, two words stood out in thick ink:

"The Cartel of Crowns."

A chill raced down her back.

Her brother hadn’t just died. He was hunting something.

And if he was right, someone had gotten to him first.

---

By midnight, Sonia stood in front of her bathroom mirror, her scissors trembling.

She cut her hair in silent, ruthless chunks.

She bound her chest with strips of athletic tape.

She zipped herself into his black uniform blazer.

And when she stared at her reflection, for the first time since the funeral…

She didn’t see herself.

She saw him.

Not the real Silas.

But the one she needed to be.

---

The next morning, her mother found her suitcase packed and ready.

“Where are you going?” she asked, eyes puffy, lips tight.

Sonia didn’t blink. “I’m going to Daxton.”

Her mother froze. “Silas’s school?”

“Our school.”

“You can’t.”

“I already transferred,” she lied.

“Sonia, please...”

“I’m not asking, Mother,” she said, stepping past her. “You lost a son. I lost my twin. I’m not losing myself too.”

---

As the jet lifted into the sky, Sonia held the notebook like a lifeline.

Page after page bled with paranoia, secrets, and fear.

But there, buried halfway through, one name was underlined twice.

Eric Blackbourne.

A boy Silas didn’t trust.

And the only one she’d have to face first.

---

She lands on Daxton’s private airstrip in the rain, blazer soaked, hair plastered down. A tall figure waits by the stone gates, arms crossed, hood low.

“Silas Vale,” he says, voice sharp like a blade.

She lifts her chin.

“Yes.”

The figure steps forward, eyes narrowing.

“You’re late. And different.”

Sonia’s heart skips.

Because she knows that voice.

She’s heard it whispered in the background of Silas’s videos.

It’s Eric Blackbourne.

And he’s already suspicious.