The day of the exams arrived faster than anyone would have wanted.
The atmosphere at the university was completely different from usual.
The hallways were almost empty.
No one talked much.
The only sounds were pages turning, formulas being repeated quietly, and students reviewing their notes one last time.
Adrián arrived several minutes late.
He pushed open the classroom door while the professor was already handing out the exams.
—Mr. Valmont... punctuality —the professor said with clear discomfort.
—I'm sorry.
He offered no further explanation.
He simply walked to his seat and took the paper.
As he settled in, a figure caught his attention.
Sara.
She was two rows ahead.
He only saw her in profile.
Her eyes were red.
She had tried to hide it with makeup.
It had not worked.
She had been crying.
Adrián frowned slightly.
She did not look sick.
Nor was she nervous about the exam.
It was something else.
He wanted to ask.
But the professor spoke.
—You may begin.
The classroom fell silent again.
Two hours later...
—Time is up.
The students began handing in their papers.
Some breathed in relief.
Others were already discussing answers as they left the room.
Adrián put away his pen and walked toward the door.
He had not taken more than ten steps when he heard a voice behind him.
—Adrián...
He stopped.
Sara was there.
For the first time in a long time, she was not smiling.
She did not cling to his arm.
She did not try to make a joke.
She simply walked beside him.
For several seconds, neither of them said anything.
Until she finally spoke in almost a whisper.
—Is it true...?
Adrián looked at her.
—What?
She kept her eyes fixed ahead.
She could not bring herself to look at him.
—That you have a fiancée...
Her voice cracked slightly.
—...and that you're going to marry her?
Adrián let out a sigh.
He did not know how to answer.
In his previous life, he had dated a few women.
But he had never been good at handling conversations like that.
He always ended up saying the wrong thing.
He scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly.
—Yes...
He paused briefly.
—It seems my father arranged everything.
Sara clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.
She did not look up.
She knew that if she did...
She would start crying right there.
She took a deep breath.
Once.
Twice.
Trying to keep her voice steady.
—Since I was a little girl...
She forced a tiny smile.
A broken smile.
—I thought that one day I would become your wife.
Adrián remained silent.
She continued walking slowly.
—Everyone assumed it.
My family.
The newspapers.
The other families.
Even me.
She let out a quiet laugh.
Without happiness.
—I suppose I was the only one who never imagined there could be another possibility.
The hallway seemed endless.
Students walked around them without paying attention.
But for Sara...
All the noise had disappeared.
—Do you love her?
The question came out so softly that it was almost lost among the conversations.
Adrián took several seconds to answer.
—I don't even know her.
Sara closed her eyes.
That answer, instead of comforting her...
hurt even more.
Because it meant she had not lost to another woman.
She had lost to a decision.
To a surname.
To a contract signed long before either of them had the chance to choose.
She stopped.
She could no longer keep walking.
—That's so unfair...
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Adrián looked at her with concern.
—Sara...
She quickly shook her head.
No.
If he said her name in that tone...
She would break down.
She took a step back.
Then another.
Forcing herself to smile.
It was such a fragile smile that it looked like it could shatter at any moment.
—It's fine.
She lied.
—I just...
She lowered her gaze.
—I needed to hear it from you.
She remained silent for a few seconds.
Then she gave a small bow.
—Congratulations.
She turned around before the tears could fully fall.
She walked down the hallway with steady steps.
She did not run.
She did not collapse.
She simply kept walking.
But the moment she turned the corner, where Adrián could no longer see her...
She covered her mouth with both hands.
And the tears she had held back throughout the entire morning began to fall silently.
I translated it into English while preserving the narrative tone and the contrast between Adrián, Oliver, and Astrid:
The results were published on Friday morning.
There were no surprises.
The digital board filled with names and scores like every semester, confirming what everyone had already suspected for weeks.
First place: Astrid Roche.
Flawless. Precise. Unquestionable.
Second place: Oliver.
Barely behind her, carried by sleepless nights and an unwavering belief that effort should always be rewarded.
Farther down, almost lost among numbers that no one cared much about, was the name of Adrián Valmont.
Rank thirty-three.
Barely passed.
Barely acceptable grades.
Just enough to move on.
For anyone else, it would have been humiliating.
For Adrián, it was irrelevant.
His mind was somewhere else.
The car was waiting outside the university residence.
Black, discreet...
Until someone looked inside.
The driver, following direct instructions from Élise, had filled the back seat with an absurdly expensive arrangement of flowers.
Roses.
Lilies.
Orchids.
Far too many.
Excessive.
As if the message was not courtesy, but a statement.
Adrián sighed when he saw them, but said nothing.
He did not have the energy to argue about that too.
As the car slowly moved forward, it passed by the physical board where some students were still gathered, discussing the results with nervous laughter or poorly hidden disappointment.
Astrid was there.
Oliver stood beside her.
Oliver was the first to notice the car.
And, of course, he did not miss the opportunity.
—Well —he said, loud enough for others to hear—. Looks like effort really does make a difference after all.
There was a smile on his face.
Not cruel.
But satisfied.
The small victory he needed to reassure himself.
Adrián did not even turn his head.
He had real problems.
A family name to answer for.
A fiancée to pick up.
A comment like that did not deserve any space in his mind.
Oliver waited for a reaction.
Adrián...
did not even know Oliver had spoken.
Because he was looking at his phone.
Then the driver spoke.
—Young master...
—Miss Sterling landed ten minutes ago.
Adrián closed his eyes.
—Let's go.
It was Astrid who reacted.
—Oliver —she said, with a firmness she rarely used—. There is no need.
He looked at her, surprised.
—I'm just stating the truth.
—The truth does not always need to be said —she replied.
Adrián was already stepping out of the car when Astrid moved forward.
—Adrián.
He stopped.
Barely.
—Congratulations —she said first, almost instinctively, then corrected herself—. I mean... I saw the results.
There was no mockery in her voice.
No pity.
Only genuine, uncomfortable curiosity.
—If... —she hesitated— if you need help with any subject, I could—
Adrián slightly shook his head.
—Thank you.
But it's not necessary.
The response was immediate.
Natural.
Indifferent.
Astrid blinked.
—I just thought that...
She stopped herself.
Adrián was already walking toward the car door.
She frowned, confused.
—Aren't you going to pick up your certificate? —she asked, pointing toward the administrative building—. They're handing them out today.
Adrián opened the door.
He paused for a second, as if the question had finally broken through the surface layer of his attention.
—I don't have time —he said.
Astrid looked at him, genuinely confused.
—Time for what?
He turned his head slightly, just enough to answer without drama, without any intention of making an impact.
—I have to pick up my fiancée.
The world froze.
Astrid felt the air leave her lungs.
—Your... what? —she whispered, though he was already out of earshot.
The door closed with a sharp sound.
The car started smoothly, carrying away the flowers, the silence, and a truth no one there was prepared to process.
Oliver was the first to speak.
—Fiancée? —he repeated, unable to believe it—. Since when...?
Astrid did not answer.
She kept staring at the empty space where the car had been, her heart racing and an uncomfortable, almost painful sensation spreading through her chest.
Fiancée.
It was not a romantic word.
It was not a beautiful story.
It was a decision.
And for the first time, Astrid understood something she had avoided admitting until then:
Adrián Valmont was not playing the same novel as them.
He was not even in the same genre.
The car stopped in a clearly prohibited area of the airport.
Not double parking.
Not a loading zone.
Directly prohibited.
Adrián did not turn off the engine immediately. He calmly looked around, assessing the flow of people, the movement of security agents, cameras, and airport personnel.
Who would be brave enough to tell him he could not park there?
In Valenheim, that person did not exist.
He had parked exactly where no ordinary civilian was allowed to.
The driver stepped out first, impeccable as always, holding a sign with simple lettering:
KATHERINE STERLING
Minutes later, he gently tapped on the window.
—Sir, they have arrived.
Adrián stepped out of the car with the bouquet of flowers his mother had chosen.
Expensive.
Perfect.
Excessive.
Exactly what was expected of him.
And then he saw her.
Katherine Sterling moved through the crowd as if the airport were merely a stage built for her.
Incredibly beautiful.
Light blonde hair, almost golden beneath the white lights. Blue eyes, cold and observant, as if nothing escaped her evaluation. A figure sculpted with an elegance that needed no exaggeration: every step measured, every gesture controlled.
Adrián swallowed.
Not because of immediate attraction.
But because of recognition.
That woman was not decoration.
She was a weapon.
Beside her walked her secretary, a woman with a sharp gaze and flawless posture, already mentally recording everything around her.
And a little farther behind...
Him.
A disheveled man.
Simple clothes.
Too simple.
Nothing expensive.
Nothing attention-grabbing.
Hair barely arranged.
No visible effort to stand out.
The alarms went off in Adrián's mind immediately.
No...
It could not be that obvious.
Heroes in generic novels were always like this.
Ridiculously humble.
Discreet by principle.
Dressed as if money itself offended them.
Because if a "hero" wore elegant clothes, drove a good car, or displayed real power...
they lost their aura.
They lost their supposed moral superiority.
It was an unwritten rule of the genre.
And that man...
that man screamed secondary protagonist from a distance.
Katherine stopped in front of Adrián.
She looked him up and down without hurry.
There was no shyness in her eyes.
No submission.
Only calculation.
—Adrián Valmont —she said, extending her hand—. Finally.
He took her hand, kissing it with impeccable courtesy.
—Katherine Sterling. Welcome to Valenheim.
She smiled faintly.
—I see they were not exaggerating when they told me about you.
Adrián returned the smile, practiced and perfect.
But his attention returned, for a moment, to the man standing a few steps behind them in silence.
Great.
The fiancée...
and her personal hero in the background.
If this was a novel, he already knew the pattern.
And he did not like it at all.
When they were about to get into the car, the inevitable happened.
The disheveled man stepped forward.
Not abruptly.
Not aggressively.
It was exactly the kind of calculated movement designed to provoke a reaction.
Adrián noticed immediately...
and did not react at all.
He only raised an eyebrow slightly, without saying a word.
He was not taking the bait.
Katherine was the one who spoke.
—Marcos —she said in a dry tone—. Take a taxi.
The man frowned.
—Kati, it is not safe for you to go alone —he replied, glancing at Adrián, clearly expecting him to react—. We do not know him.
Adrián did not even look at him.
In generic novels, this was usually the moment when the villain lost his composure.
He started provoking the hero, looking down on him, lowering himself into an absurd confrontation...
and ended up humiliated, beaten, or ridiculed.
Sorry, Adrián thought.
I do not have time for that nonsense.
—I already told you not to call me that —Katherine replied, visibly annoyed—. Take a taxi.
Mónica, the secretary, already had one waiting a few meters away.
It was not a coincidence.
Nothing involving Katherine Sterling was.
Marcos pressed his lips together, clearly frustrated, but did not argue.
Adrián did not wait any longer.
He opened the door to his car and sat behind the wheel.
Katherine followed seconds later.
The engine started smoothly, leaving behind the airport, the improvised bodyguard, and any attempt at a dramatic scene.
—Sorry about that —she said after a few seconds of silence—. He does not usually... understand his limits.
Adrián drove without looking at her.
—Is he your boyfriend? —he asked directly.
Katherine turned toward him, alarmed.
—What? No. Of course not —she immediately denied—. He is my bodyguard.
That explained too many things.
—Let me guess —Adrián continued calmly—. You were attacked while abroad?
She hesitated for barely a second.
—Yes.
—He helped you. Saved you. Earned your trust. And now he follows you around like a shadow.
Katherine looked at him carefully.
—Exactly that.
Adrián let out a brief laugh without humor.
Of course.
It was that kind of story.
The humble hero who appears at exactly the right moment.
The improvised protector.
The favor earned through personal sacrifice.
The unbreakable bond created by shared danger.
Of course.
The humble bodyguard.
The favor that saves a life.
The heir's absolute trust.
I should have seen it coming.
Just what I needed, he thought.
I am the billionaire villain.
Mediocre writers.
Unable to create a new antagonist, recycling clichés as if they had no narrative budget.
Was it really so difficult to invent something else?
Adrián tightened his grip on the steering wheel slightly.
He had not asked for this story.
He had not chosen this role.
But if they were forcing him to play it...
Then, at the very least, he had no intention of losing like an idiot.