The luxurious car arrived at the Valenheim University campus. Before the occupants could get out, the engine growled and the vehicle shifted slightly, as if testing its shocks. The subtle sway provoked a flash of suppressed laughter among the passengers.
Astrid stepped out first, still flushed, her cheeks painted with a soft pink. Each step was measured, elegant—the poise of a woman regarded as the city's number-one beauty. Her hair shimmered in the morning sunlight, and her presence seemed to transform the sidewalk into a private stage.
Adrián followed with the calm of someone who knows that all eyes will inevitably fall on him. The city's most famous playboy, impeccable in his suit, with that blend of arrogance and charm that turned every step into a performance. Together, they formed a perfect contrast: she, a goddess containing desire and strength; he, a predator secure in his dominion.
The air between them was charged, as if the summer rumors and the secrets of the previous night floated invisibly around them. No words were needed; the entire world seemed to understand that the couple stepping out of the car was not simply student and entrepreneur, but two forces dictating their own rules.
The main hallway of the Business School fell into reverential silence. Whispers were cut off like threads as the pair advanced. Astrid did not walk like a student; she walked like a newly claimed sovereign. The slight tremor in her legs, imperceptible to everyone except Adrián, was the sweetest and darkest secret she carried beneath her silk skirt.
When they reached the entrance to the Aula Magna, Adrián's group of "colleagues"—heirs to pharmaceutical companies and banks dreaming of a second of his attention—was already waiting.
"Valmont!" exclaimed one, extending his hand with a mixture of envy and submission. "The man who made the Rasmunts tremble. Ehrenfeld hasn't been the same since summer."
Adrián accepted the greetings with the courtesy of a king receiving tribute. His gaze, however, drifted to the center of the hall, where a different group had gathered. There was Oliver.
Oliver, the "Student Hero," the scholarship boy par excellence with endless charisma, seemed more serious than usual. He had spent the summer on social projects, building the narrative of "man of the people." But upon seeing Adrián enter with Astrid, his jaw tightened. For Oliver, Adrián was not a role model; he was the embodiment of everything wrong with the system.
"Welcome, Adrián," said Oliver, raising his voice just enough for the hall to hear. "I see summer was… productive. I hope you didn't forget your ethics lessons amidst all those contract closings."
Adrián stopped mid-step. A cold smile curved his lips."Ethics is a luxury for those who have nothing to lose, Oliver. In the real world, contracts are what keep the lights on… even in this university."
The hall held its breath. The tension between "Hero" and "Villain" was almost tangible.
Then came the move that left everyone silent.
Astrid, who had spent three years sitting in the front row, directly under the professor's gaze to demonstrate her superiority, did not stop. She ignored her usual seat. She continued walking, flanking Adrián, to the back row: the shadow zone, the territory of the master.
She sat next to him. She was not seeking approval; she was claiming her place as his right hand in power. From that height, the other students seemed tiny. Astrid crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand, watching with an indifferent burn.
Oliver, from his seat in the center of the hall, observed her with a mix of sadness, anger, and suppressed desire that consumed him. Every movement Astrid made next to Adrián was a cruel reminder that the brilliant mind he admired, the woman he had imagined by his side, was now devoted to the monster he despised. For Oliver, it was not just about power or ambition: Astrid had been sacrificed on the altar of a man who played with everything… and he could do nothing to claim her.
For Astrid, Oliver was nothing more than background noise.
"Comfortable back here?" Adrián whispered, bringing his face close to her ear as the professor took his seat.
Astrid felt the warmth of his breath, a shiver running down her spine, evoking memories of Li Shen's poison and the night in the office."The view is better from here, Adrián," she replied, her voice low and confident, eyes fixed on the back of Oliver's head. "You can see much better how the pieces move… before they're devoured."
Adrián opened his laptop. The screen reflected his impassive face.
The classroom door opened, and the murmur died instantly. Elena Vance entered with the authority of someone who not only holds doctorates but secrets capable of moving governments. At 38, she embodied the definition of "middle-aged beauty": sharp maturity, thin-framed glasses hiding intelligent eyes, and a body that even a formal suit could not entirely conceal.
In a conventional story, she would be Oliver's protector. And so it seemed to begin.
"Good morning," said Elena, placing her briefcase on the desk. "For those who don't know me, I am the head of Emerging Markets Strategy. My class is not for lazy heirs; it is for those who truly want to change the country."
Her eyes swept the room and stopped at Oliver. There was a flash of recognition and hope. Oliver returned a humble smile; she had supported him with his research on microcredits and social funds. She was his moral pillar, his compass amid the university's noise.
But then Elena's gaze rose to the back row.
There was Adrián Valmont, leaning back with the arrogant calm that made him seem the owner of the world. Beside him, Astrid: the star student, the panther who had stopped being merely brilliant and had become dangerous, exhaling contained power. Oliver's light in the front row faced the dark aura radiating from both in the back, and Elena frowned.
"Miss Roche," she said, sharp as a scalpel, "what are you doing back there? That is not your seat."
Adrián did not even straighten. He rested his back against the chair, one hand subtly brushing Astrid's thigh under the table—a gesture half provocation, half declaration of ownership.
"Dr. Vance," Astrid replied, with a cold, measured smile. "I will sit here next to him. I will help my partner excel… and I think he will also learn a thing or two from me."
Oliver felt something tighten in his chest and could not hold back.
"Don't waste your time," he interjected, his voice loaded with frustration. "Adrián isn't interested in studying."
Elena nodded, grateful, giving him a quick look of support.
"Exactly, Oliver. Someone without goals, whose life is already settled, loses motivation."
The hall whispered at her statement—the typical "buff" of the hero, as if Oliver's moral system shone. But Adrián remained impassive, as always.
"I don't think it's fair to judge me like that," Adrián said, rising with the elegance and authority that even made Elena correct her posture. "But, since this is a Business School, not a Charity School, I propose a challenge."
The Aula Magna remained silent as Elena Vance stood before the class. Her eyes swept over the students, stopping at Oliver, who, despite his shyness, lifted his gaze with determination.
"Good," Elena began. "This semester will be different. We will not evaluate theory alone; we will test your real management, strategy, and leadership skills."
She paused, letting the tension thicken.
"We will divide the class into two groups. Each group will have a fund of 100,000 euros and twelve weeks to show results. But pay attention: initial capital will not be the only evaluation criterion. We will consider financial profitability, social impact, and, above all, the efficiency of the administrative and organizational system each team implements."
Oliver swallowed. It was evident that Adrián had advantages he could not match: unlimited capital, invisible contacts, real experience.
"To balance the competition," Elena continued, with a calculated smile, "I have decided to assign Astrid Roche to Oliver's group. Her experience in management and leadership will help level the playing field and ensure resources are used effectively."
The murmur spread like a contained fire. Astrid raised her eyes for a moment, showing that feline calm that made everyone understand she was not there for the professor, but because her own game allowed it. Her look toward Adrián, sitting in the back row, said it all: absolute loyalty, absolute desire.
Adrián barely smiled, letting the air between them speak for itself. Elena was unaware that he was the majority shareholder of Astrid's company, nor that he considered her entirely his. All she saw was the façade: Astrid "helping" Oliver. The irony could not have been more delicious.
"Group A will be led by Oliver, with Astrid as support," Elena said. "They must generate social impact and demonstrate administrative capacity."
"Group B," she continued, pointing to the back row where Adrián sat relaxed, Astrid by his side, "will be led by Adrián Valmont. He will have the freedom to move resources, create synergies, and multiply capital as he sees fit. Everything will be recorded, and transparency is mandatory."
Astrid crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand, saying nothing. Her role was clear: obey Adrián, while everyone believed she was helping Oliver. Every glance he sent her was a reminder that she was completely on his side.
"Each team will submit weekly reports, justifying each decision and showing how their administrative system meets objectives. At the end of the semester, we will evaluate profitability, social impact, and administrative efficiency. The team with the highest score will not only be declared the winner but will receive public recognition at the closing ceremony, see their project published in the school's official magazine, and receive my personal letter of recommendation, directly influencing future scholarships and job opportunities," Dr. Vance said, her voice firm and measured, letting each word weigh in the room.
Oliver clenched his fists. For him, having Astrid by his side seemed a gift from the professor, but he did not suspect that every decision she made could benefit Adrián more than him. The pressure was immense.
"Dr. Vance," Adrián said, with a smile that did not reach his eyes as he adjusted his shirt cuff, "I appreciate your prizes, but letters of recommendation are for those seeking jobs, not for those who create them. Let's make this more interesting."
He paused dramatically, looking at Oliver with disdain before fixing his gaze on Elena.
"If my group demonstrates superior efficiency and profitability, you will work in my finance office, as one more employee."
Elena frowned, confused. "What do you mean, Mr. Valmont?"
"You teach about the 'value of humble work,' don't you?" Adrián smiled, resting a hand on the edge of the professor's podium. "If they lose, you will give up your chair for a month. But you won't go to an office. You will work as my personal domestic assistant."
The hall fell into a deathly silence. Astrid, in the back row, raised an eyebrow with a spark of mischief in her eyes. Oliver went pale.
"You will serve my coffee, clean my library, and attend to my guests at my private dinners," Adrián continued, lowering his voice. "You will wear the Valmont mansion service uniform and leave your glasses and degrees at the door. I want to see if your 'ethics and dignity' theories hold up when you have to polish my shoes."
Elena Vance felt her face flush. The humiliation of imagining the scene—her, the academic authority, serving drinks to Adrián's colleagues—was almost unbearable.
"It's… a sick proposal," she whispered.
"It's a proposal about reality, Doctor," Adrián replied. "If Oliver is the hero you say he is, he has nothing to worry about. Accept it and prove that 'good' always wins. Otherwise, admit right now that you are afraid of me."
Elena looked at Oliver, who begged her with his eyes not to do it. But her academic pride prevailed. "I accept," Elena said, her voice broken but firm. "But if Oliver wins, you will serve in the university community dining hall for the entire semester, under my supervision."
Adrián let out a brief laugh. "Deal. Prepare yourself, Doctor. I hope you're as good with a tray as you are with chalk."
"Dr. Vance," Adrián interjected, cutting through the air with a hand gesture, "with all due respect, you cannot judge this competition. Your feelings for Oliver would cloud your judgment, and your fear of ending up in a service uniform in my house would make you biased."
Elena gritted her teeth, realizing that Adrián had taken the whistle from her before the game even began.
"And who do you propose, Mr. Valmont?" she asked bitterly.
"Vanguard & Co.," Adrián replied.
A murmur of astonishment ran through the classroom. Vanguard was no ordinary firm; it was the country's most relentless auditor, known for destroying financial empires just for finding a misplaced comma. Its motto: "Numbers have no ethics, only results."
"They will install a real-time monitoring system on our accounts," Adrián continued. "They will send two junior auditors to live on campus. There will be no subjectivity. At the end of twelve weeks, Vanguard's algorithm will determine who was most efficient. If there's a tie in profitability, the winner will be the team with the strongest administrative structure."
Elena Vance, trapped in her own rhetoric of "transparency," had no choice but to nod. "It's fair. Let the numbers speak."