When Adrian came down to the dining room, breakfast was already served.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room.
Sara was there.
Sitting beside his mother, she chatted with her with a natural familiarity that still felt strange to him. They were laughing about something he hadn't heard.
"Again...?"
That level of trust continued to confuse him.
It was obvious that she wasn't a guest.
She belonged in that house almost as much as he did.
Then another presence caught his attention.
At the head of the table sat his father.
Sitting with perfect posture, impeccable even inside his own home, he held a cup of coffee without taking a sip.
When Adrian appeared, his eyes lifted for just a moment.
That was enough.
There was no visible anger.
Not a single word.
But that look carried a pressure that was difficult to explain.
As if behind that brief silence existed entire conversations about discipline, reputation, and responsibility.
The man slightly opened his mouth...
"Henri."
Elena's voice sounded before he could say anything.
His father closed his mouth again.
He took a sip of coffee.
And continued eating breakfast as if nothing had happened.
Adrian watched the scene silently.
"..."
"I see."
It wasn't that the man didn't want to say something.
It was that he had decided to postpone it.
And judging by the way he avoided arguing in front of his wife, this seemed to happen quite often.
A small smile appeared inside Adrian.
"So that's where it comes from..."
His mother spoiled him too much.
His father tried to set limits...
And almost always ended up giving in.
"Definitely not an isolated case."
The original Adrian hadn't become that kind of person by accident.
He had grown up between a love that justified everything...
And an authority that rarely managed to impose itself.
He took his seat.
The table was large, made of carefully polished dark wood.
The porcelain dishes, perfectly aligned silverware, and absolute silence of the servants made it feel more like a diplomatic reception than a family breakfast.
At that moment, he heard footsteps.
A young woman entered the dining room.
Her hair was tied back, and her uniform was perfectly arranged.
Her expression was calm.
But when she crossed paths with Adrian, she only gave him a brief glance before sitting across from him.
The memory arrived like a flash.
Clara Valmont.
Younger sister.
Nothing more.
No shared memories appeared.
No childhood scenes.
Only a name.
And a strange sense of distance.
"Good morning," Elena said with a smile. "I'm glad we can all have breakfast together today."
Clara responded with a slight nod.
She didn't add a word.
Adrian immediately sensed the tension.
It wasn't open.
It was worse.
It was the kind of coldness that could only be built over years.
Elise seemed to be the only one capable of filling the silence effortlessly.
"I'm happy we're all together," she said with a sincere smile. "It's been a long time since we've had a morning like this."
Sara, sitting beside her, smiled while adjusting the napkin over her lap.
She did it with absolute naturalness.
No one told her where to sit.
No one introduced her.
She simply took her place.
As if she had always belonged there.
Adrian took note silently.
Another piece.
"How was your day, Adrian?" Elise asked.
"Quiet. Nothing unexpected."
"See?" she said, looking at Henri. "You always expect the worst."
Henri didn't answer immediately.
He cut his food with precision.
Only then did he raise his eyes.
His gaze rested on Adrian for a moment.
It was a calm look.
But it gave the impression that he could detect a lie simply by seeing it.
"I'm glad to hear that."
Nothing more.
However, Adrian felt that those three words carried much more weight than an entire speech.
That man was used to observing before judging.
And for some reason, he seemed to be evaluating him.
Across the table, Clara raised her eyes.
Their gazes met for barely a second.
That was enough.
There was no hatred.
There was exhaustion.
And a resentment so old that it seemed to have become a habit.
"And you, Clara?" Elise asked. "How are your classes going?"
"Fine."
A short answer.
Correct.
Without emotion.
Henri nodded.
"Her professors speak very highly of her."
Clara formed a barely noticeable smile.
"I suppose it helps when some people can't afford to make mistakes."
Silence fell over the table.
Sara placed her utensils down.
"Clara..."
"I'm just saying some of us have less room to fail."
This time, she looked directly at Adrian.
She expected a response.
An argument.
Anything.
But he simply continued eating.
It wasn't indifference.
It was caution.
He didn't know that story.
And responding to a conflict whose origin he ignored was the fastest way to make a mistake.
Curiously, that seemed to irritate Clara even more.
"Some people always find someone willing to solve their problems for them."
Adrian placed his glass down.
"Rules always exist."
Clara waited for the rest of the sentence.
"What changes is who has more resources to face them."
Henri slightly raised an eyebrow.
Not because he agreed.
But because that was not the answer he expected from his son.
Elise immediately intervened.
"Alright. Enough conversation about studies."
She smiled warmly.
"This house already has enough business meetings during the day."
The tension slowly faded.
Clara returned to her meal.
Sara resumed her conversation with Elise as if nothing had happened.
And Adrian observed the scene carefully.
Each person seemed to occupy a perfectly defined place within that family.
Henri represented authority.
Elise kept the household together.
Clara lived in the shadow of the heir.
And Sara...
Adrian looked at her again.
She laughed with his mother while they talked about something that had happened that afternoon.
She wasn't a guest.
She wasn't simply a frequent visitor.
She was someone who had belonged at that table for so long that nobody questioned her presence.
Another piece of the puzzle.
And one of the most important ones.
Two days later, Adrian discovered an uncomfortable truth.
Being rich didn't mean doing nothing.
It meant that others expected you to do important things.
During the last few days, he had dedicated all his time to understanding his new life.
The family.
The university.
The relationships the original Adrian had left behind.
But he had ignored a rather obvious detail.
Adrian Valmont wasn't simply a wealthy student.
He was the heir of a family that expected results.
And heirs couldn't spend their days watching from the sidelines.
They had obligations.
Decisions.
Responsibilities that didn't disappear simply because he didn't remember accepting them.
That was why, that afternoon, he ended up sitting in an office that seemed larger than his entire former apartment.
Documents covered the desk.
Financial reports.
Projects under development.
Names of companies he was only beginning to recognize.
Everything belonged to a world he knew nothing about.
At three in the afternoon, someone knocked on the door.
Adrian looked up.
"Come in."
A man in his fifties entered, wearing an immaculate gray suit and carrying a leather briefcase.
He didn't seem nervous.
On the contrary.
He carried the calmness of someone who had repeated the same routine for years.
"Good afternoon, young master."
He placed several folders on the desk.
"I brought this week's contracts."
Adrian nodded.
The manager opened the first folder and began explaining.
"The acquisition of the industrial land has already been approved. We only need your signature to transfer the concession."
Adrian lowered his gaze.
The company benefiting from it appeared on the first page.
Roche Group.
He didn't pay much attention.
He picked up the pen.
But before signing, he asked out of simple curiosity.
"How is the Roche company doing?"
The manager smiled naturally.
It was an unusual question.
But not a concerning one.
"Very well, young master."
"I'm glad."
He moved to the next folder.
"And this contract?"
"An expansion of the credit line for Roche Logistics."
Adrian raised his eyes.
"That also belongs to the Roches?"
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation.
As if it were the most normal thing in the world.
He opened the third folder.
A technology company.
Main supplier.
Roche Technologies.
The fourth.
A real estate project.
Strategic partner.
Roche Group.
The fifth.
A financial consulting firm.
Preferred participation.
Roche Capital.
Adrian slowly placed the pen back on the desk.
He looked up.
"Are all these contracts for the Roches?"
The manager looked confused.
"Yes, young master."
A brief silence.
"Is there a problem?"
Adrian didn't answer.
He opened another folder.
Roche.
Another.
Roche.
Another.
Roche.
It was no longer a coincidence.
It was a habit.
He closed the last folder.
"Explain something to me."
The manager straightened his back.
"Yes, young master."
"Why do almost all important projects end up benefiting the Roche family?"
The man blinked.
As if he didn't understand the question.
"Because... you ordered it."
Silence.
"Three years ago."
Every quarter we review the group's opportunities and look for which ones can discreetly benefit the Roches.
Without harming the Valmonts, of course.
Adrian narrowed his eyes.
"Discreetly?"
"Yes."
"We never make direct transfers."
"That would be too obvious."
"We prefer creating opportunities."
"Priority contracts."
"Preferential financing."
"Early access to tenders."
"Selected suppliers."
"Market information."
"Everything within legal limits."
The manager paused briefly before adding:
"You were the one who insisted it should never look like a gift."
Adrian remained completely still.
Now he understood.
It wasn't a company.
It was an entire strategy.
Carefully designed.
Small advantages.
One after another.
Month after month.
Year after year.
Subtle enough not to attract attention.
Consistent enough to turn a wealthy family...
...into a powerhouse.
"How many companies are involved?"
The manager answered without checking any documents.
"Twenty-three."
Adrian slowly exhaled.
"Bring me the reports for all twenty-three."
"All of them?"
"All."
The Roche family's progress wasn't the result of talent or luck.
It was sponsorship.
"What an idiot..." Adrian thought, not with anger. Only cold contempt.
Without Henri Valmont's constant control, this would have escalated even further. Without limits. Without a way back.
According to the projections, if that pace had continued for another five or six years...
The Roches would have challenged for first place in Valenheim.
All because of one girl.
Adrian leaned back in his chair and let out a humorless laugh.
"The original Adrian was an idiot."
And the worst part wasn't what he had done.
It was what he would have done next.
If there was one thing Adrian had learned from reading novels, it was that certain patterns repeated themselves again and again.
One of the most dangerous was the man who confused persistence with obsession.
At first, it seemed like something small.
A little help.
A favor.
An occasional defense.
But every concession opened the door to the next one.
What began as interest eventually became obsession.
And when he finally wanted to stop, it was already too late.
He had lost time.
Pride.
Relationships.
Even his own position.
All for someone who had never truly seen him the same way.
Adrian closed his eyes.
Astrid Roche.
He didn't know exactly what role she played in all of this.
But there were enough signs to be careful.
A girl admired by everyone.
An unknown student who had just challenged expectations.
A rivalry that seemed to have started before he arrived.
Too many coincidences.
And if he truly was facing a situation like that...
Getting closer to Astrid was the worst possible decision.
Helping her.
Protecting her.
Trying to change what had already happened.
All of that could become a chain.
Adrian closed his eyes.
"I don't need to win that battle," he thought. "I need to avoid entering it."
Adrian closed the final report and activated the internal communicator.
"Send in the financial director and the legal representative."
Five minutes later, both men were seated across from the desk.
"Young master."
Adrian wasted no time.
"I want a complete report of every operation between the Valmont Group and the Roche family."
The financial director nodded.
"It's already prepared."
He placed an additional folder on the desk.
"Active contracts, shares, credit lines, investments, and cooperation agreements."
Adrian flipped through the first pages.
More than expected.
Much more.
He looked up.
"How many of these agreements depend solely on my signature?"
The two men exchanged a glance.
The lawyer answered first.
"Most of those established during the last three years were directly authorized by you, young master."
"And the previous ones?"
"Those require approval from the president or the board."
Perfect.
That meant Henri had maintained a limit.
The original Adrian had never possessed absolute control.
Only enormous freedom.
Adrian closed the folder.
"Very well."
His voice remained calm.
"I want all agreements under my authority canceled."
"Do not renew any when they expire."
"Remove all preferential treatment."
"And from this moment onward, the Roche family will compete under the same conditions as everyone else."
The two men remained silent.
Not because they doubted the order.
But because it was the exact opposite of every instruction they had received during the past few years.
"Should we communicate a reason?" the financial director asked.
"Yes."
Adrian answered without hesitation.
"Internal restructuring."
"Investment review."
"Resource optimization."
The same words every company used when they didn't want to provide explanations.
The lawyer wrote down each instruction.
"And regarding future requests from the Roches?"
Adrian looked up.
"They will be evaluated using the same criteria as any other client."
"Neither better."
"Nor worse."
"Simply equal."
The financial director nodded slowly.
"Understood."
When both men left the office, silence returned.
Adrian looked once more at the Roche surname written across the reports.
For three years, they had moved with the wind at their backs.
From today onward...
They would have to walk on their own.