The results were posted on Friday morning.
There were no surprises.
The digital board filled with names and numbers as it did every semester, confirming what had been anticipated weeks ago.
First place: Astrid Roche.Impeccable. Precise. Unassailable.
Second place: Oliver.Just below, carried by sleepless nights and a stubborn faith that effort should always be rewarded.
Further down, almost lost among numbers that hardly anyone cared about, was the name Adrián Valmont.
Thirty-third place.
Barely passing.Scraped grades.Just enough to get through.
For anyone else, it would have been humiliating.
For Adrián, it was irrelevant.
His mind was elsewhere.
The car waited for him outside the university residence. Black, discreet… until one looked inside. The driver, following Élise's direct instructions, had filled the backseat with absurdly expensive floral arrangements. Roses, lilies, orchids. Too many. Excessive. As if the message wasn't courtesy, but a display.
Adrián sighed when he saw them but said nothing. He didn't have the energy to argue about that, too.
As the car moved slowly past the physical board where some students were still gathered, commenting on the results with nervous laughter or poorly disguised disappointment, Astrid was there. Oliver was by her side.
Oliver was the first to notice the car.
And, of course, he didn't miss the opportunity.
"Wow," he said loud enough to be heard. "Thirty-third place. Mediocre as always, right?"
There was a smile on his face. Not cruel, but satisfied. The small victory he needed to affirm himself.
Adrián didn't even turn his head.
He had real problems.A surname to uphold.A fiancée to pick up.
A comment like that didn't deserve mental space.
It was Astrid who reacted.
"Oliver," she said, in a firm tone she rarely used. "No need."
He looked at her, surprised.
"I'm just telling the truth."
"The truth doesn't always need to be said," she replied.
Adrián was already stepping out of the car when Astrid took a step forward.
"Adrián."
He stopped, barely.
"Congratulations," she said first, almost reflexively, then corrected herself. "I mean… I saw the grades."
There was no mockery in her voice. No pity either. Just genuine, uncomfortable curiosity.
"If…," she hesitated, "if you need help with any subject, I could—"
"No," Adrián replied without looking at her.
It was immediate. Natural. Indifferent.
Astrid blinked.
"I just thought that…" she began, but stopped.
Adrián was already walking away, heading for the car door.
She frowned, confused.
"Aren't you going to pick up the certificate?" she asked, pointing to the administrative building. "They're handing them out today."
Adrián opened the door. He paused for a second, as if the question had pierced a superficial layer of his attention.
"I don't have time," he said.
Astrid looked at him, genuinely puzzled.
"Time for what?"
He barely turned his face, just enough to answer without dramatics, without any intention of impact.
"I have to pick up my fiancée."
The world froze.
Astrid felt the air leave her lungs.
"Your… what?" she whispered, though he no longer heard her.
The door closed with a crisp sound. The car drove off smoothly, taking with it the flowers, the silence, and a truth no one there was ready to process.
Oliver was the first to speak.
"Fiancée?" he repeated, incredulous. "Since when…?"
Astrid didn't respond.
She continued staring at the empty space where the car had been, her heart racing and an uncomfortable, almost painful feeling spreading through her chest.
Fiancée.
It wasn't a romantic word.It wasn't a pretty story.It was a decision.
And for the first time, Astrid understood something she had avoided thinking until now:
Adrián Valmont wasn't playing the same story they were.
He wasn't even in the same genre.
The car stopped in a clearly prohibited area of the airport.
Not double parking.Not a loading zone.
Strictly forbidden.
Adrián didn't turn off the engine immediately. He looked around calmly, assessing the flow of people, the comings and goings of security agents, cameras, airport staff.
Who would be brave enough to tell him he couldn't park there?
In Valenheim, that brave soul didn't exist.
He could have left the car in the middle of the runway, blocking a landing plane, and someone would still have approached to apologize before even suggesting he move.
That was the power of his family.
The laws existed.But not for the Valmonts.
The driver stepped out first, impeccable, holding a sign with sober letters:
KATHERINE STERLING
Minutes later, he gently tapped the window.
"Sir, they've arrived."
Adrián stepped out of the car holding 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 a set built just for her.
Incredibly beautiful.
Light blonde hair, almost golden under the white lights. Blue eyes, cold and attentive, as if nothing escaped her evaluation. A sculpted body with elegance that didn't need exaggeration: every step measured, every gesture controlled.
Adrián swallowed.
Not from immediate desire.But from recognition.
This woman was not a decoration.She was a weapon.
By her side walked her secretary, a sharp-eyed woman with impeccable posture, already taking mental notes of everything. And a little further back… him.
A scruffy man.
Simple clothes. Too simple. Nothing expensive. Nothing striking. Hair barely tidy. No visible effort to stand out.
Alarms went off in Adrián's mind instantly.
No…
It couldn't be that obvious.
Heroes, in generic novels, were always like this.
Humble to the point of absurdity.Discreet by principle.Dressed as if money offended them.
Because if a "hero" wore elegant clothes, drove a nice car, showed real power… he lost his aura. He lost his supposed moral value.
It was an unwritten rule of the genre.
And that guy… screamed secondary protagonist from a distance.
Katherine stopped in front of Adrián.
She looked him up and down, evaluating him without hurry. 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 weren't exaggerating when they told me about you."
Adrián returned the trained, perfect smile.
But his attention returned, for a second, to the man standing a few steps behind, silently.
Great, he thought.
The fiancée… and her background hero.
If this were a novel, he already knew the pattern.
And he didn't like it at all.
As they were about to get into the car, the inevitable happened.
The scruffy man stepped forward.
Not abruptly. Not aggressively. It was exactly the type of calculated move meant to provoke a reaction. Adrián noticed immediately… and didn't react at all. He just raised an eyebrow slightly, without saying a single word.
He wasn't taking the bait.
Katherine spoke.
"Marcos," she said, in a dry tone. "Take a taxi."
The man frowned.
"Kati, it's not safe for you to go alone," he replied, glancing at Adrián, as if expecting him to intervene. "We don't know him."
Adrián didn't even look at him.
In generic novels, at this point, the villain usually loses composure. He starts provoking, belittling the hero, descending into a ridiculous fight… and ends up humiliated, beaten, or ridiculed.
Not today, Adrián thought.I'm not in the mood for that nonsense.
"I already told you not to call me that," Katherine replied, visibly annoyed. "Take a taxi."
Monica, the secretary, already had one stopped a few meters away. Not by chance. Nothing around Katherine Sterling was by chance.
Marcos pressed his lips together, clearly frustrated, but didn't insist.
Adrián didn't wait any longer. He opened the car door and sat behind the wheel.
Katherine followed seconds later.
The engine started smoothly, leaving the airport, the makeshift escort, and any attempt at a dramatic scene behind.
"Sorry about him," she said after a few seconds of silence. "He doesn't usually… gauge his limits well."
Adrián drove without looking at her.
"Is he your boyfriend?" he asked, bluntly.
Katherine turned her head to him, alarmed.
"What? No. Of course not," she denied immediately. "He's my bodyguard."
That explained too much.
"Let me guess," Adrián continued, in a calm voice. "You were attacked abroad?"
She hesitated for just a second.
"Yes."
"He helped you. He saved you. Earned your trust. And now he's stuck to you like a shadow."
Katherine looked at him attentively.
"Exactly that."
Adrián let out a short, humorless laugh.
Of course.
It was that kind of story.
The humble hero who appears at the right moment. The improvised protector. The favor earned through personal risk. The unbreakable bond born of shared danger.
The return of the dragon king, The invincible bodyguard, The hero who didn't want to be one… or any other cheap title.
Just what I needed, he thought.
I'm the billionaire villain.
Mediocre writers. Unable to create a new antagonist, recycling clichés as if they had no narrative budget.
Was it that hard to come up with something else?
Adrián gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.
He hadn't asked for this story.He hadn't chosen this role.
But if they were going to force him to play it…
Then, at least, he wasn't going to lose like an idiot.