The reports started arriving two days later.
Not all at once.Not chaotically.
Organized. Classified. Summarized with surgical precision.
Adrián read them in silence, sitting at his desk as the afternoon light slanted through the windows of the residence. There was no rush. The truth wasn't going anywhere.
The Roche family.
The surname appeared again and again among charts, balances, and growth schedules.
—Just as I thought… —he muttered.
The Roches were wealthy, yes.But not powerful.
Their assets were solid, respectable by normal standards. The kind of wealth that guaranteed comfort, top-tier education, and some social presence. Nothing more.
Nothing that justified the rise they had experienced in recent years.
Adrián turned the page.
There was the answer.
"Anonymous" foundations.Silent venture investments.Advantageous contracts with companies that, coincidentally, orbited around the Valmont name.
It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
From the moment the original Adrián had met Astrid Roche, the machinery had started moving.
In the shadows.
Indirect financial support.Doors that opened without explanation.Competitors who suddenly disappeared from the map.
It hadn't been a one-off act.It had been sustained. Methodical. Expensive.
The Roche family's progress wasn't the result of talent or luck.
It was sponsorship.
—What idiocy… —Adrián thought, without anger. Only cold contempt.
If it weren't for Henri Valmont's constant oversight, it would have escalated even further. Without limits. With no turning back.
According to projections, if that pace had continued for another five or six years…
The Roches would have contested first place in Valenheim.
All for one girl.
Adrián leaned back in his chair and let out a short, humorless laugh.
—The original Adrián was an idiot.
And the worst part wasn't what he had done, but what he would have done next.
Novels were clear on this point: the villain in love never knew when to stop. Every concession led to another. Every "small favor" turned into dependence. Until, without realizing it, he handed over his kingdom for an illusion.
Astrid Roche.
The protagonist's future wife.
Helping her wasn't a romantic act.It was self-sabotage.
Adrián closed the last report and activated the internal communicator.
—Summon the CFO and the legal officer —he ordered—. Now.
Minutes later, both were standing before him.
—I want confirmation —Adrián said bluntly—. Every contract, investment, and indirect agreement between the Valmont family and the Roches. Absolutely everything.
—There are several links, young sir —the CFO replied—. Some have been active for years.
—Perfect —Adrián nodded—. Cancel them.
The silence was immediate.
—All of them…? —the lawyer asked, choosing his words carefully—. Some are strategic.
Adrián looked up.
He didn't raise his voice.He didn't frown.
He didn't need to.
—All of them —he repeated—. No exceptions. Clean exit clauses. Minimal compensations. Nothing that could be traced back to us.
They exchanged a quick glance.
—And the official reason? —the CFO asked.
—Restructuring —Adrián replied—. Change of priorities. End of interest.
He paused.
—And make this clear —he added—. From today, any link between the Valmonts and the Roche family is forbidden. Direct or indirect. Commercial, political, or social.
The lawyer took notes quickly.
—Understood.
—The Roches' luck is over —Adrián concluded—. And I don't want anyone, under any circumstances, trying to "help them" on their own initiative.
—Even if…? —the CFO began.
—Even then —Adrián cut him off.
Silence fell again.
—You may leave.
Once the door closed, Adrián was alone.
He looked at the city from above. Valenheim remained there, indifferent, functioning as always. Powers rising. Others falling.
Nothing personal.
Simply… order.
—If this is a novel —he thought—, the villain's mistake is always the same.
Confusing love with weakness.Confusing desire with destiny.
He wouldn't make that mistake.
He wouldn't fund the protagonist's wife.He wouldn't pave the hero's path.He wouldn't be the step others use to shine.
If the protagonist wanted to rise, he'd have to do it without invisible subsidies.
And Astrid Roche…
She'd have to discover what her world was truly worthwhen money stopped falling from the sky.
The original Adrián was an idiot. Even hens don't stay quiet when they lay an egg, and he thought helping in secret meant something.
Adrián barely smiled.
It wasn't cruelty.
It was narrative correction.
And, for the first time since opening his eyes in that world,he was playing to win.
The impact was immediate.
No public statements.No scandalous announcements or alarming headlines.
But in the right circles, the change was felt like a power outage.
Within a week, several Roche family projects began to falter. Investments that seemed secure were under review. Previously flexible credits became strict. Partners who used to smile now asked for extra guarantees.
Nothing illegal.Nothing aggressive.
Simply… normality.
Without the Valmonts' silent support, the Roche structure revealed its true nature: solid, but limited. Capable of sustaining itself, yes… but incapable of climbing further.
The rise halted abruptly.
They wouldn't collapse.They wouldn't disappear.
But they wouldn't grow as they had before.
Momentum was gone.
And without momentum, in a place like Valenheim, only one fate awaited.
Stagnation first.Decline afterward.
Opportunities that once seemed inevitable began to vanish. Bids lost by tiny margins. Meetings canceled "due to schedule." Proposals left on indefinite hold.
None of it could be pointed to with a finger.
There was no visible enemy.
Only the absence of a hand that once pushed from behind.
In the Roche office, the atmosphere shifted.
Conversations grew tense. Forecasts became conservative. For the first time in years, talks of cuts, strategy revisions, and "returning to basics" began.
Returning to where they started.
That would be their fate.
Not as punishment.Not as revenge.
But because they had never reached that height on their own.
No need to read any report.
One look was enough.
In class, Astrid wasn't the same.
She still sat in the same place. Took notes. Responded when called. But something had shifted in her expression, like a poorly hidden shadow behind her focus.
Concern.
Not teenage nervousness.Not fatigue.
Adult concern.
Adrián noticed immediately.
Not because he watched her with interest… but because he was trained to detect cracks. And this was a new one.
The brief smiles had vanished. Answers were shorter. Her attention drifted at times, as if part of her were always in another room, listening to conversations no one else could hear.
That was enough.
—It's begun —he thought.
No satisfaction.No guilt.
Just confirmation.
The world hadn't suddenly become cruel.
It had simply stopped being indulgent.
And for families like the Roches, that was far more dangerous than an overt enemy.
Adrián rested his elbow on the desk and stared ahead, oblivious to everything.
He didn't need reports.He didn't need numbers.
Astrid's face was the report.
—End of experiment —he told himself quietly.
The board was returning to its natural state.
And this time,no one could claim the villain had done anything at all.
Astrid had always had a plan.
It wasn't impulsive or childish; on the contrary, it was well-structured. For months she had spoken about it with restrained confidence, as someone who could see several steps ahead. Build a company. Start small, but with real projection. Become, over time, a major businesswoman.
It made sense.
She was the best at business administration. Methodical. Consistent. Ambitious, though she masked it under a responsible façade. The kind of person who never hesitates when the moment arrives.
Or at least, that's what she thought.
The final step required capital. Not an absurd fortune, but enough to avoid starting suffocated. Astrid asked her father, convinced it was a formality.
This time, it wasn't.
The answer came with uncomfortable silences, evasions, and a word she hadn't heard at home in years:
—We can't.
That was the real blow.
Not the money itself, but what it implied.
Adrián understood instantly.
In generic novels, that was never a problem. The heroine always shone. She always found a way. She always stood out as if talent alone materialized resources from thin air.
They never explained how.
Never showed the contracts signed in the shadows.The discreet investments.The timely calls.The silent favors.
Never mentioned the idiot in love.
The villain.
The heir who, believing himself special for loving, pushed without limits. Who opened doors, took risks, absorbed losses. Who financed other people's dreams while convincing himself it was "support," not dependence.
Adrián felt a pang of revulsion.
—Makes me want to vomit.
Not at Astrid in particular.
But at the whole logic.
The fantasy that someone can rise without a safety net, while someone else bears the weight without receiving anything in return. The glorification of "pure" success built on invisible help.
The old Adrián had been exactly that.
A resource.A backup.A prolonged mistake in time.
And, as in all those poorly written stories, the result was always the same: when the hero appeared, the villain had already fulfilled his role.
He had funded the rise.And was ready to be discarded.
Adrián leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and exhaled slowly.
—No —he thought—. Not this time.
If Astrid wanted to stand out, she'd have to do it like everyone else.
With limits.With failures.With real decisions.
Not with someone else's money disguised as merit.
The world didn't need another "perfect heroine."
And he, certainly, wasn't going to be the idiot who made that narrative miracle possible again.