The last bell of the day rang with a prolonged, slightly tired chime, as if even the school itself was eager for everything to end.
Conversations erupted immediately. Chairs scraping, backpacks closing, improvised plans for the afternoon. The classroom, which had held invisible tensions for hours, returned to a sense of normalcy.
Adrián Valmont closed his notebook calmly.
He wasn't in a hurry.But he had no intention of staying.
While everyone else talked, he was already elsewhere. Mentally, at least.
—Home —he thought—. Time to see what's really at play.
Until now, he had been making decisions based on intuition and narrative patterns. That wasn't enough. He needed data. Family. Resources. Real influence. Not the kind others thought he had, but the kind he could actually wield.
Because, at the end of the day, it all came down to the same thing.
Problems are always solved with money.And if they aren't… it's because there wasn't enough.
A guy like Musk could confirm that.
He rose from his seat with measured movements and slung his backpack over one shoulder. Leo, Marco, and Bruno reacted instantly, as if the gesture were a signal.
—Boss, are we going? —Leo asked.
—Yes —Adrián replied—. Let's go.
Not another word.
At that exact moment, Oliver stood up from his seat.
This time, he didn't look at Adrián.He looked at Astrid.
—Astrid… —he said, slightly more confident than before—. About what we went over in class today… I didn't quite understand the last topic. Could you help me a bit?
The murmur in the classroom lowered as if someone had turned an invisible dial.
Several glances immediately shifted toward Adrián.
It was the usual moment.The exact point where the story demanded friction.
A confrontation.A hurtful comment.A reminder of hierarchy.
Astrid tensed slightly. Not because of Oliver, but out of reflex. Out of habit.
She waited.
Nothing.
Adrián was already walking toward the classroom door, back turned to the scene.
He didn't stop.He didn't slow down.
As if it had absolutely nothing to do with him.
That was what drew the most attention.
—Did you see that?—Valmont… left?—He's not going to say anything?
Astrid blinked, confused.
She didn't understand what unsettled her more: that Oliver was speaking to her… or that Adrián didn't react at all.
—I… —she finally said, turning her attention back to Oliver—. I can explain the basics. But just for a moment.
Oliver nodded, clearly relieved.
—Thanks.
There was no triumph on his face.
Only confusion.
Meanwhile, in the hallway, Leo couldn't contain himself.
—Boss… are we really going to leave it like this?
Adrián walked with his hands in his pockets, eyes forward.
—Like this?
—That guy. Oliver. He's getting too close to—
Adrián stopped.
He didn't turn completely. Just enough.
—Leo —he said calmly—. Listen carefully.From now on, stay away from Oliver.No provocations. No confrontations.He doesn't exist for us.
Leo hesitated.
—Why…? He still owes us a beating.
Adrián barely turned his head.
—No —he said coldly—. Not today. Not for him.
Leo opened his mouth to argue, but closed it.
He frowned and nodded.
—Do not interfere with my plans —Adrián continued—. There's a new approach. The previous one stopped being useful.
Marco swallowed.
—So… we just leave it like that?
Adrián's lips curved into a faint smile. It was not a friendly smile.
—For now —he said—. Don't get in my way or make decisions on your own.From today, you will report everything to me. I will decide what to do.
He resumed walking.
As he walked, Adrián organized his thoughts with cold precision.
First: home.Second: resources.Third: decide.
Nothing else mattered.
Bruno exchanged a quick glance with the other two before daring to speak.
—Boss… —he murmured—. You're acting weird.
Adrián didn't stop.
—No —he corrected, without raising his voice—. I'm lucid.
That was enough.
No one said another word.
Outside the building, the car was already waiting.
A black Porsche Panamera Turbo S, discreet and elegant, like a silent statement of power that needed no approval.
The driver opened the rear door.
Adrián got in without looking back.
As the car left the school, Adrián rested his head against the seatback and closed his eyes for a few seconds.
The story could move however it wanted.
He was no longer going to chase it.
First, he would learn his own board.And only then would he decide if it was worth moving a single piece.
The ride was silent.
The car left the congested avenues and entered an area where noise seemed to have been expelled by decree. Wide, tree-lined streets, patrolled. Old façades restored with impeccable taste that didn't need ostentation to impose themselves.
When the vehicle stopped, Adrián lifted his gaze.
And froze.
It wasn't an absurd mansion or a fairy-tale palace.It was worse.
A sober, light-stone residence, perfectly integrated into the terrain. High ivy-covered walls, large windows protected by discreet security, gardens seemingly designed more for privacy than admiration.
Everything there conveyed the same message:This is not new money. This is inherited power.
Adrián stepped out of the car slowly.
His previous life hadn't been bad. He had lived comfortably. Without want. Even with certain luxuries.
But this…
Was like winning a thousand lotteries at once.
A slight, genuine smile appeared on his face.
The city stretched below, visible through the trees and elevation. Valenheim, one of the discreet financial capitals of the continent. Ancient, elegant, brutally competitive.
In Valenheim, there were many wealthy families. Too many, even.But only four truly controlled the city.
And of those four…
Only one rose above the rest.
The Valmonts.
It wasn't just money.It was political influence.It was control of the media.It was presence in councils where only surnames mattered, not first names.
Adrián exhaled slowly.
—No doubt —he thought—. I'm the villain of a novel.
But unlike poorly written stories…
This time, he wasn't going to lose.
The moment he crossed the door, he didn't have time to say a single word.
—Adrián…
His mother was already there.
She hugged him tightly, without reservation, as if the outside world had no right to touch him while in her arms. Her perfume was soft, familiar. Protective.
Too protective.
Adrián stood still for a second… then returned the hug.
In that moment, he understood.
She had been the reason.
In the original story, she was the one covering for him. The one justifying every excess. The one softening every consequence. His silent accomplice. His shield.
The woman who, with genuine love, had raised the villain.
—How was your day? Did you eat well? Nobody bother you? —she asked without letting go.
—All good, Mom —Adrián replied calmly.
From the dining room, a different presence watched the scene.
His father.
Sitting with a straight back, impeccable even in his own home, he held his cup without drinking. His eyes barely landed on Adrián… but it was enough.
There were a thousand words hidden behind that gaze. Reproaches. Warnings. Entire lectures on discipline, reputation, and limits.
But not now.
Not while she was there.
His father knew it.
Any attempt at correction in front of his wife would be doomed to fail. She would win. Always.
So he remained silent.
The man who was imposing in boardrooms, before ministers and rivals… in front of his wife, was nothing but a tamed pup.
Adrián noticed.
And smiled inwardly.
—So that's where it comes from —he thought—. I'm not an isolated case. It's hereditary.
Excessive love on one side.Contained authority on the other.
A perfect combination to create someone like him.
The villain hadn't been born from nothing.
He had been carefully raised.
The dining table looked more like a negotiation room than a place for dinner.
Dark wood, polished to reflect the central lamp's light. Fine porcelain dinnerware. Cutlery aligned with surgical precision. Everything arranged for perfection… as always.
Adrián sat down without hurry.
To his right, his mother, Élise Valmont, smiled while adjusting her napkin on her lap. Elegant, warm, impossible to ignore. The kind of woman who turned any space into a refuge.
In front, his father.
Henri Valmont.
Straight back. Suit even for dining at home. The severe face of a man used to commanding without raising his voice. He didn't need to assert himself: the world already knew who he was.
One of the four pillars sustaining the city.And the most dangerous of all.
To Adrián's left, a few seconds later, she sat.
Clara Valmont.
His younger sister.
Her dress was simple, unostentatious. Hair tied up with calculated carelessness. She didn't look at Adrián as she sat. Not even out of the corner of her eye.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
—I'm glad we're all together —Élise said with genuine enthusiasm—. Adrián, how was your day?
—Calm —he replied—. No incidents.
—See? —she said, looking at her husband—. You always exaggerate.
Henri didn't respond. He cut a piece of meat with precise movements, as if every gesture was measured.
Clara lifted her eyes for just a moment.
They met Adrián's.
It wasn't a long look.Nor open.
It was worse.
Contained resentment.
Like an old wound that never fully healed.
Adrián held the contact a second longer than necessary… then looked away.
—And you, Clara? —Élise asked—. How are your classes going?
—Fine —she replied—. As always.
Her tone was neutral. Polite. Distant.
—She's been getting excellent grades —Henri added—. The teachers speak well of her.
—Of course —Clara said, not looking at anyone—. Not all of us can afford mistakes.
The comment fell on the table like a poorly placed knife.
Élise barely frowned.
—Clara…
—I wasn't referring to anyone in particular —she added, with a minimal smile—. Just… in general.
Adrián continued eating calmly.
He didn't defend himself.He didn't respond.
That, curiously, seemed to irritate her even more.
—The school is still… intense —Clara continued—. Especially when some believe the rules don't apply to everyone equally.
This time, she looked at him.
Directly.
Adrián raised his glass, took a small sip, and spoke with absolute calm.
—The rules always apply —he said—. What changes is who can afford to break them.
Henri lifted his gaze, interested.
Élise, however, immediately intervened.
—Well, enough about school —she said with a forced smile—. It's time to enjoy dinner.
Clara pressed her lips.
She said nothing more.
But her silence was eloquent.
She didn't hate him for being cruel.Nor for being arrogant.
She resented him because, no matter what he did,the world always seemed to tilt toward Adrián Valmont.
And she… had learned to live in the shadow of that.
Adrián understood it with uncomfortable clarity.
He wasn't the hero of his story.
But, for his sister, he wasn't just a brother.
He was the constant reminder of everything she couldn't change.
Dinner continued.
Polite. Proper. Impeccable.
And beneath the surface,the true tragedy of the Valmont family was already writing itself.