The grand hall of the palace, modeled after the old European palaces, was slowly emptying of whispers and curiosity, yet the city remained unaware of the full magnitude of what had occurred. Crystal chandeliers scattered light across the polished marble floors; echoes of laughter and conversations lingered softly among golden columns. Adrián Valmont was slipping away discreetly, adjusting his jacket, leaving behind Astrid's unwavering gaze. She intercepted him before he could round the corner of the palace.
"Where do you think you're going?" Her voice was sharp, yet threaded with vulnerability.
He paused, turning his head just slightly."To rest. Nothing more."
"No!" Astrid pushed him into a deserted corridor, away from guests and murmurs. "You don't understand!"
Her words mingled with quick breaths; each step echoed across the ancient marble. Astrid was unleashing everything: frustration, jealousy, the helplessness of seeing him with Katherine, and the weight of her own wounded pride.
"You're always calm, always perfect! And I… I'm trapped watching the world bend before you!" she shouted, lightly pounding the wall with her fist.
Adrián took a step forward, trying to calm her, but she shoved him again, this time against the wall. Tension turned into physical force. Pushes, grabs, measured movements, each gesture loaded with restrained emotion.
"Astrid, calm down," he said firmly. "This won't help you."
"Calm down?" she panted. "You don't understand what it's like to lose control!"
The struggle ended with both of them breathing heavily, staring into each other's eyes—anger tangled with a thread of mutual respect and a tension neither could deny.
Meanwhile, Li Shen was making his way down the corridor of the palace's upper wing, searching for Astrid's room. He knocked softly, but an agitated voice replied from inside:
"No! Don't come in!"
He paused, listening to the strange sound: gasps mixed with a rhythm that almost resembled sharp, staccato applause.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.
"Yes… yes… I'm fine…" she gasped. "Go. I'm busy."
Li Shen tilted his head. His trademark calm and control remained, but curiosity grew. Astrid needed that space. He would respect it… for now.
Moments later, Adrián returned to the main hall. The atmosphere had shifted: whispers intermingled with restrained laughter, and the scattered guests discreetly raised their glasses in acknowledgment. Some commented in hushed tones on Li Shen's intervention, approaching him with measured admiration, while others bowed slightly before Adrián, the undisputed master of Valenheim.
Katherine Starling, heiress of one of the most influential families from another city and raised to handle these events with finesse, remained surrounded by the Duvalls, the Albrechts, the Álvarez, and, ironically, the Roches. Her carefully measured smile revealed nothing of her awareness of power: each word, gesture, and nod was a piece on the board of alliances and multimillion-dollar contracts that she could maneuver effortlessly.
The most ironic detail: among those vying for her favor was Astrid's father, Leonard Roche, subtly bowing, offering courtesies and carefully calibrated remarks, unaware that his own daughter, without even greeting Katherine, already felt an instinctive rejection of her. Astrid observed from a distance, noticing how the elite bowed to Katherine and how her own world trembled under the mix of power, money, and social strategy.
The scene was a display of calm and precision, where every calculated gesture reinforced hierarchy: Adrián maintained perfect composure, unflappable, while Katherine shone as the centerpiece of the board, and the rest of the hall played their roles between admiration and calculated interest.
The minister's granddaughter, Isabelle de Lorme, approached Li Shen with measured steps, as if each had been rehearsed since childhood. She wore sober elegance, far from ostentation, yet impossible to ignore.
"Thank you for what you did for my grandfather," she said, inclining her head slightly. "The doctors said that without your intervention…"
Her voice broke just enough to be human. No more, no less.
Li Shen responded with a slight bow, not touching her, not smiling.
"I only did what had to be done."
That simple, emotionless statement was enough.
Isabelle's eyes shone.
It wasn't loud admiration or explicit desire. It was something more dangerous: silent devotion. To her, the man who asked for nothing, raised his voice to no one, and demanded no reward embodied a virtue she believed extinct… or reserved only for stories.
"If you ever need anything… anything at all," she added, "the de Lorme family will owe you."
Li Shen nodded once more. That was all.
From the other side of the hall, Adrián observed the scene attentively.No contact.No promises.No inappropriate words.
And yet, everything in that brief interaction felt irritatingly familiar.
Typical, he thought.A generic novel trope.
A hero with a lab coat or miraculous medical skills. An elderly man saved at the last moment. A grateful granddaughter. Adrián furrowed his brow slightly.
These are the most dangerous, he mused with irony. They always start by healing… and end up causing poison, psychological trauma, or, in the worst case, reproductive incapacitation.
He could recognize the beginning of a story.
Admiration.Gratitude.Idealization.
The type of tale where the protagonist, sooner or later, gives everything, believing it was their choice.
Adrián looked away, a barely perceptible smile on his lips.
"So predictable," he murmured to himself.
Far away, in a monitored airport, Marcos endured humiliation in silence. Still handcuffed, he was escorted to the plane that would take him back to the country where the operation would occur. An attack. An assassination. And then, the return.
Adrián Valmont… wait for me, he thought, gritting his teeth.
Above them all, invisible but attentive, the threads began to move.The hero shone.The villain faltered.
And the sky, patient, watched as the board accepted another move.