Chapter 10- Boys Don’t Get Invitations Like This

Daxton had clubs.

But not the kind you could G****e.

Some were ancient. Some were illegal. All of them required whispers, family bloodlines, or blackmail material to join.

And only one delivered its invitation in a blazer.

Sonia stared at it again, the black fitted jacket lying on her bed like a dare. It didn’t match the standard Daxton cut. The shoulders were sharper. The crest wasn’t the school’s. It was something older. A falcon with a dagger in its beak.

Underneath, a tiny note:

“Meet under the East Library. No questions. No mask, no entry.”

Sonia held the blazer up to her chest and laughed softly.

"Boys don’t get asked to fashion shows,” she muttered. “This is definitely a trap.”

But she wore it anyway.

The East Library was locked. Obviously.

But Sonia had already learned the Vale twins weren’t born for front doors.

She circled to the side, past the ivy-strangled arch, and found the old lift behind a row of statue busts. One keycard swipe later (Silas’s, of course), and the floor began to descend, not like an elevator, but like a stage set being lowered.

When the floor stopped, she was standing in a candle-lit hallway with marble floors and mirrored walls. It felt like a royal crypt… or a billionaire’s bunker.

Voices echoed from the chamber ahead.

Sonia stepped in.

Twelve students stood in a ring, all in matching black blazers. Some were already sipping dark wine from crystal glasses like they were born on Wall Street.

At the center: Mavina Cross, holding a glass like a crown.

“Look who finally dressed like they belong,” she purred.

Sonia blinked. “Did I accidentally join a vampire coven?”

“Close,” said a boy to her left. “Welcome to House Morvain.”

Another girl waved dramatically. “The elite of Daxton’s elite. The ones with real legacies. Real blood. Real enemies.”

“And real parental lawsuits pending,” Sonia muttered under her breath.

“Silas Vale,” Mavina announced, raising her glass. “Back from the dead and brave enough to wear that cut.”

She walked up to Sonia, circling slowly.

“You disappeared from the council. Ignored my last three texts. And now you show up wearing my family’s blazer line?” she whispered.

“Maybe I wanted to make a statement.”

“Then say it louder.”

“I don’t chase,” Sonia said with a soft smirk. “Even in silk.”

That earned a surprised laugh from the group.

Mavina narrowed her eyes, but said nothing more. She simply clinked her glass against Sonia’s.

“To secrets,” she said.

“To lies,” Sonia replied.

Half an hour later, Sonia had learned three things: Number one, House Morvain wasn’t a real club, it was a legacy circle, passed down through generations of billionaire bloodlines.

Number two, Every member had file access, social influence, and something to hide.

Number Three, They weren’t just socialites.

They were the gatekeepers of Daxton’s underground order.

They passed around a dossier during the meeting, sealed with red wax. Each member added a mark, a fingerprint, a symbol, or in Mavina’s case, a red kiss.

When it got to Sonia, she stared at the seal.

“What is this?”

“Tonight’s vote,” said a tall boy in the corner. “We’re choosing the next head of House Morvain.”

“Based on bloodline, influence, and chaos factor,” Mavina added, smiling.

Sonia raised a brow. “Chaos factor?”

“You’ve got the highest score, surprisingly.”

"Not surprising,” muttered someone. “He vanished for a term and came back hotter.”

Someone else snorted. “And colder.”

“And meaner.”

“And did you hear about the fencing match?”

"He left Eric Blackbourne breathing like he got kissed and slapped.”

Sonia choked on her drink.

“That never happened,” she said.

“But it felt like it did,” one girl added dreamily.

Sonia looked to the ceiling. “I need new friends.”

At the end of the night, as they dimmed the candles and prepared to leave, Mavina pulled Sonia aside.

“You wear secrets well,” she said. “But the thing about secrets…”

She leaned close, breath warm against Sonia’s ear.

“…is they eventually wear you.”

Back in her dorm, Sonia finally slipped off the black blazer.

She checked the lining before hanging it up.

Her fingers froze.

Tucked in the inside pocket— was a folded note.

One line.

“Tell the truth, Sonia. Or I will.”

There was no name

Just her real name.