Adrián's office in Valmont Tower was a sanctuary of surgical efficiency. Nothing was out of place. Not the documents. Not the clocks. Not even the silence.
Clara sat on one of the black leather sofas, arms crossed, her foot bouncing with an anxiety she didn't even register. Her expression flickered between fury… and something more fragile she refused to name.
"I don't want to be here, Adrián," she said at last. "I know nothing about acquisitions… and I don't care about your empire."
Adrián didn't look up from the screen. His fingers continued moving with clinical precision across the keyboard.
"You didn't know anything about Julian either," he replied evenly. "And yet you became an expert at being fooled by budget poets."
The hit landed instantly.
Clara flushed. Not with embarrassment. With pure rage.
She grabbed the first thing within reach—a heavy volume of corporate law from the coffee table—and hurled it without thinking, her aim surprisingly precise, straight at her brother's temple.
Adrián caught the book with one hand without even taking his eyes off the screen. He held it for a second, as if assessing its weight… then set it down on his desk with infuriating calm.
From the wall, Meilan let out a short, dry laugh, almost surgical, without lifting her gaze from her tablet.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Decent reflexes… good trajectory. Perhaps she's more than ornamental heir material."
"Shut up, Meilan!" Clara snapped.
But her voice no longer sounded furious. It sounded hurt.
Adrián closed the laptop softly. That gesture, more than any shout, filled the room with tension.
He stood.
Walked over to Clara, took her wrist firmly… and pulled her to her feet.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"Trust me."
"That never ends well," she muttered—but she didn't resist.
The car moved through the city in silence.
"Where are we going?" Clara asked, staring out the window.
"It's not a meeting."
"Then turn around."
"No."
The car finally stopped in front of an old ice cream parlor.
Clara frowned.
"That place closed years ago."
"The owner owes me favors."
They stepped inside.
The scent of vanilla and old sugar still lingered in the air, untouched… as if time had stalled there.
Clara blinked in surprise.
"You used to come here after piano lessons," Adrián said as he ordered two ice creams without asking her.
"You hated coming."
"I still do."
The faintest smile touched Clara's lips.
They sat.
The silence returned… but it was no longer hostile.
"Clara," Adrián said at last, "if you want the family empire… it's yours."
She looked at him immediately, wary.
"You're serious?"
"Yes."
"And what would you do?"
Adrián shrugged.
"Find another way to be useful. The world is big… even for a Valmont."
Clara let out a short laugh.
"Our parents would kill you."
"Probably."
Another silence.
Clara lowered her gaze to the ice cream beginning to melt.
"I don't want the empire," she murmured. "I just… wanted them to look at me the way they look at you."
The confession fell between them like shattering glass.
Adrián didn't answer right away.
"I was always the one who had to be protected," Clara continued. "The fragile one. The sensitive one. The one who shouldn't worry about anything important."
Her voice trembled.
"Do you know the worst part? Sometimes I think even you don't really see me… you just see another problem you have to solve."
Adrián rested his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced.
When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual.
"I'm proud of you, Clara."
She looked up, incredulous.
"That's not true. You always avoided me."
He let out a short, humorless laugh.
"When I was fourteen, Father sat me down in front of a table full of contracts and told me that if I didn't learn to read them… someone else would do it for me. And when someone else runs an empire… they destroy it from within."
Clara watched him in silence.
"While you were going to piano lessons… I was learning how to fire a hundred people without crashing the market."
The silence grew heavy.
"They didn't protect you because you were weak, Clara," Adrián continued. "They protected you because someone in this family had to have a normal life."
She frowned.
"Normal? I lived in a gilded cage."
Adrián held her gaze.
"And I lived in a cage without a door."
The words hung in the air.
Clara lowered her eyes slowly.
Until the roar of construction trucks shattered the nostalgic quiet of the street.
Three heavy vehicles bearing the Valmont Group logo double-parked outside, blocking traffic without anyone daring to protest.
An engineer, helmet tucked under his arm, entered the shop and spread a stack of blueprints across the dust-covered counter.
"Mr. Valmont, the team is ready. Excavators arrive in an hour. We just need your final signature for the structural changes."
Adrián didn't even glance at the plans.
He picked up the folder casually… and slid it across the table until it rested in front of Clara, right beside her half-melted ice cream.
Clara blinked, confused, looking from the blueprints to the organized chaos taking shape outside.
"What are you doing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" he replied, chin resting on his hand. "It's an ice cream parlor."
She frowned, flipping through the documents.
"Adrián… this place is small. The location is nostalgic, yes, but financially mediocre. It won't make money."
"It's not meant to make money," he said calmly. "It's meant to stop you from saying no one sees you."
Clara looked up slowly.
"This place will be yours," Adrián continued. "Your concept. Your management. Entirely your property."
Silence settled over the table.
Clara looked back at the blueprints. Her fingers traced the blue lines carefully, as if afraid to tear them. It was her childhood rebuilt in steel, glass, and marble.
"You could lose millions on this…" she whispered.
"I lose millions every day," he replied. "The difference is this one is worth it."
Clara swallowed.
Adrián watched the ice cream melting in front of her.
"You'll need a name for the business registration," he added, a flicker of controlled mischief in his eyes. "I had a suggestion. Something that captures your essence. I was thinking… The Crying Sister."
Clara stared at him in genuine horror—then burst into unexpected laughter. The first real laugh to escape her in weeks.
She tossed a crumpled napkin at him.
"That's awful, idiot!"
"Then you choose," he said, standing. "You have until the engineer finishes measuring the place. If you don't decide… I'll register mine and have the uniforms embroidered."
She glared at him… but the smile didn't fully fade.
Adrián walked toward the exit as the distant hum of machinery filtered in from the street.
He stopped just before stepping out.
"And Clara…"
She lifted her head.
"If Julian shows up looking for free ice cream… tell security not to let him in."
Clara rolled her eyes, resting her chin on her hand.
"You're impossible."
He opened the door, letting in the outside noise and a rush of cold air.
"No," he corrected calmly. "I'm just… your brother."
A brief, almost awkward pause.
"And anyone who tries to hurt you… you won't be alone. You never were."
He left without looking back, as if staying one second longer would make what he'd just said too obvious.
Meanwhile, Julian's office was impressive: glass, marble, and an enviable view of the city. But by ten in the morning on the third day, the shine had begun to fade.
Julian stood before Selena's desk, holding a proposal titled Holistic Medicine for Employees, a document that had taken him all night to draft.
Selena didn't look up from her monitor. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she spoke German through a wireless headset.
"Selena, when you have a moment…" Julian began with his carefully rehearsed smile. "I've designed a harmonization protocol for the research wing. I believe if we align rest cycles with—"
"Doctor Vane," she interrupted without taking her eyes off the screen, "have you completed the polymer toxicity report for phase four?"
Julian blinked, thrown off.
"Well… I was prioritizing staff well-being. A peaceful team is—"
Selena stopped typing.
The silence that followed was colder than the air conditioning. She removed the headset slowly and looked at him as if he were an error in a spreadsheet.
"Doctor, I do not pay you seven figures to be this company's spiritual advisor. I pay you to sign technical certifications that allow me to bring a product to market. My employees' well-being depends on their bonuses being paid on time… and that only happens if you fulfill your administrative duties."
[SYSTEM: WARNING! Target admiration level: 0%.Current status: "Inefficient resource."]
"I understand, but my vision—" Julian tried again, stepping forward to deploy his "magnetic presence."
"Your vision is a deductible expense until proven otherwise," Selena stated, placing the headset back on. "Now leave my office. I have a meeting with Dubai in three minutes. And please stop wearing that sandalwood cologne. It's distracting… and smells like a discount spa."
Julian stepped into the hallway, cheeks burning. The automatic door slid shut behind him with a hiss that sounded suspiciously like mockery.
[SYSTEM: DING! New penalty detected: "Wounded Hero Pride."–50 Charisma points.Suggestion: Rescue a damsel to regain experience.]
Julian clenched his fists.
In his mind, he was the man destined to walk beside a titan. In Selena's reality, he was little more than an expensive signature with office hours.
"This is only the beginning…" he muttered, frantically navigating his interface in search of a seduction skill. "When she sees my true worth, she'll regret treating me like an administrator."
At that moment, his phone vibrated.
An email from the accounting department. Signed by the new Head of Audit: Clara Valmont.
Doctor Vane:Your reimbursement request for quartz crystals in your office has been denied.The Valmont Group does not fund pseudoscientific decorations.Have a productive day.
Julian felt the world shrink around him.
He was trapped between a boss who didn't see him…and a "crying little sister" who now controlled every last cent of his budget.