When they arrived at the Valmont mansion, Katherine was greeted with impeccable courtesy, as if she were already the future lady of the family. Everything was in its place: the perfect rug, the subtle scent of carefully selected flowers, and Élise's calculating gaze, evaluating every gesture of the newcomer.
Adrián, on the other hand, remained indifferent. Katherine was undeniably beautiful: golden hair that gleamed under the chandeliers, cold eyes that were not easily impressed, a posture worthy of a magazine cover. But he had his rules: any woman who entered his radar as a potential female protagonist automatically earned a spot on his blacklist.
He observed her with that cold assessment he applied to everything that could represent either a threat or a use. Her social position, her history, her bearing… everything was noted and categorized. Katherine wasn't just a pretty face; she was a pawn with connections, history, and a potential risk if not handled carefully.
He didn't need more information. The Sterlings were powerful, yes, but on the edge of decline. Katherine's engagement wasn't a whim, but a desperate move to protect what remained of their influence. And the Valmonts, masters of negotiating with cold precision, agreed to help… but always in exchange for something substantial.
Henri Valmont was a wolf in business. He could hear fear, desire, and weakness from miles away; he knew how much to consume and how much to leave to others in order to survive. Adrián, though young, had inherited that cunning: he understood that the alliance between Valmont and Sterling had nothing romantic about it. The marriage was secondary. The real play was elsewhere.
And, as in every generic novel, there was the hero saving the beauty. An almost comical threat, always ready to ruin plans or impose nonexistent morality. Adrián allowed himself a faint smile: if Katherine had to be "rescued" by some self-proclaimed hero idiot, he would simply watch, categorizing moves, calculating risks and benefits. Nothing more.
The game had begun. In Valenheim, beauty was a weapon… and power, a silent poison.
Katherine took a deep breath before stepping into the mansion. Every movement was calculated; every gesture had to convey calm, confidence, control. Her heart was pounding, but no one should notice. She could not afford nervousness: her family depended on how she handled every word, every glance.
Adrián's first impression was disconcerting. Cold. Distant. Observant. Every detail of his posture, every measured gesture, seemed to evaluate her without passing judgment. And worse: there was no lust in his eyes, no hidden desire, none of the automatic romantic interest most men showed her. Only coldness. Only calculation.
Katherine nodded to herself. She had to maintain control. This was not a game of seduction; it was strategic survival. The mansion was even more impressive than she had imagined. She had gathered information about the Valmonts, yes, but nothing had prepared her for reality. Every room, every corridor, every detail… all designed to convey power and security. Powerful families hid their strongest cards, and the Valmonts were no exception. What she saw was only the surface; what lay beneath… would probably be even more striking.
And then she remembered that idiot bodyguard: Marcos. If anything went wrong, if he ruined the mission or compromised her image before Adrián and his family… he would pay dearly. She mentally promised herself that if she had the chance, she would tear him apart for ruining her initial preparation.
Katherine knew what she could achieve with her beauty and poise. A look, a smile… could charm almost any man. But with Adrián… nothing. Only indifference. A wall that didn't yield, ignoring the tricks that normally worked. The only possible explanation was Marcos. Perhaps the bodyguard had filtered her intention, distracted the man, or simply positioned Katherine so that Adrián couldn't touch her with his attention.
Even so, she maintained her composure. Her voice was soft, her posture impeccable, her gestures precise. Nervous, yes, but no one would notice. Her mind raced at a thousand miles per hour, evaluating every possible scenario, every move by the Valmonts, every reaction from Adrián.
Because, even if she were the future wife of a Valmont, the real power game was just beginning.
Katherine entered the grand hall of the Valmont mansion with measured steps, maintaining the flawless smile expected of a future lady of the house. Henri greeted her with the courtesy of a man used to running empires: firm, direct, with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Every word, every gesture, was carefully measured. Katherine noticed immediately; nothing there happened by chance.
"Katherine," said Henri, extending his hand firmly. "I'm glad to finally meet you in person."
"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Valmont," she replied, returning the handshake with confidence. "I appreciate the welcome."
He nodded, as if evaluating a project rather than a person, and led her toward Élise, Adrián's mother. The woman observed her with a kind, discreet smile, but Katherine caught the subtle scrutiny in her eyes: every gesture was being weighed and measured.
"Katherine, welcome to our home," said Élise, offering her hand, which Katherine took gently. "I am confident this will be a positive encounter for both families."
"I hope so, Mrs. Valmont," Katherine replied, keeping her composure while her mind analyzed every word, every pause, every possible hidden intention behind the maternal smile.
As the introductions continued, Adrián remained in the background, arms crossed, patience contained. He wanted to leave, to disappear from the scene, but Henri interrupted him with a gentle gesture:
"Not so fast, son. Stay a little longer. I want you to see how your future allies conduct themselves," he said with firm calm that brooked no argument.
Adrián exhaled almost imperceptibly but did not reply. He knew resistance would be futile. His world was full of decisions he couldn't avoid, and this was one of them.
Katherine moved closer to Élise to engage her in conversation, maintaining her composure while her mind worked at full speed. Every gesture from Adrián's mother, every word, every pause, was under scrutiny. The cordiality was only a veil; beneath it, all the cards were already on the table, waiting to be played.
And while Katherine focused on the mother, a smaller figure appeared at the doorway: Adrián's sister, arms crossed, her gaze sharp as a knife. Katherine greeted her with a slight nod, but in her mind she already knew she was being evaluated—not out of courtesy, but as a future sister-in-law and a potential piece on the family board. Every gesture, every smile, every word mattered. There was no margin for error.
"So you're the famous Katherine," the sister said, her tone neutral but heavy with judgment. "I hope you live up to the family."
Katherine held her smile, inclining her head slightly.
"I will do my best to honor both families."
From a corner of the room, Adrián watched her, impatience etched into every tense muscle of his body. He wanted to leave, to disappear from the scene, to ignore the carefully calculated pomp surrounding him.
Everything seemed to flow with the typical courtesy of a meeting between powerful families: measured smiles, precise gestures, carefully chosen words. But, as in every predictable novel, someone had to ruin the scene.
Adrián let out a brief, barely perceptible laugh—more out of irony than amusement. It wasn't loud enough to break the calm, but it was enough for those present to sense that control was not absolute.
"Kathi, we're already here," announced an awkwardly formal voice from the entrance to the hall.
Everyone turned toward the intruder. Marcos, the so-called hero, appeared with the misplaced confidence of someone who believed his presence was essential to the scene. His suit was slightly disheveled, his tie crooked, and his posture screamed cheap secondary protagonist.
Katherine felt the blood rush to her face, a mix of alarm and contained fury. The smile she had kept flawless began to falter—though only a distracted eye would have noticed.
"What is this clown doing here?" Adrián thought, his icy eyes fixed on the scene.
Katherine's gaze swept the room with calculated coldness, first searching for Mónica, her secretary, evaluating whether she could handle putting the intruder in his place. Her glance was quick and precise: Mónica always knew how to move in situations like this without drawing attention, a silent weapon ready to act.
Even so, Katherine couldn't ignore the distance Adrián maintained from her. His pale calm barely concealed the sensation of slipping control—a fleeting moment of vulnerability she could not afford to show.
Marcos continued with his clumsy insistence, displaying an enthusiasm completely out of place. But the mere presence of Mónica a few steps away was enough for the tension to begin shifting sides. Adrián, seated in silence on his throne of indifference, watched without intervening. He knew he didn't need to lift a finger; everything was unfolding exactly as he wanted.
The silence in the hall was nearly absolute, broken only by the murmur of servants in the background. Every gesture from those present was a move on a board that only a few could see. Adrián evaluated, Katherine calculated, and Marcos… simply breathed out of place.
Then Henri, with the precision of a master moving his pieces patiently and without haste, broke the ice.
"And who is this gentleman?" he asked, discreetly pointing at Marcos.
Élise, Adrián's mother, her eyes glowing like embers beneath the warm light of the hall, added in a whisper laden with warning:
"Why does he speak to you so… familiarly?"
The edge of the question cut sharper than any blade. No explanation was needed: in the Valmont family, misplaced familiarity could be dangerous. Everyone in the room understood it instantly.
Marcos took a step forward, intending to regain ground. His eyes calculated every word, searching for the perfect phrase to tear down the façade of the spoiled rich boy before him. But before he could open his mouth, Katherine stepped forward, firm and implacable.
"He is my escort… or rather, my former escort," she said, her voice sharp as a whip. "He is going to be dismissed."
Marcos's eyes widened. He had never taken a blow like that before. In all his years, he had never been publicly overruled with such coldness. His plan had been simple: irritate the rich kid, provoke him into reacting, put him in his place. Now, the woman who was supposed to be his ally had ignored him, leaving him exposed and disarmed.
Adrián, for his part, didn't even lift his gaze. He remained on his throne of indifference, watching like a resting predator. Every gesture, every reaction, was sufficient information. He didn't need to intervene; everything was unfolding exactly as he wanted.
Marcos swallowed, feeling complete humiliation for the first time. In the underworld, his name inspired fear and respect. In front of that woman and that rich boy, however, he felt small, exposed, stripped of control.
And as shame took hold of him, his thoughts became clear—and dangerous: Katherine was his, his objective, his property in every sense. That she was now engaged to a rich, cold, untouchable boy was intolerable. His pride and ambition merged into a single certainty: that engagement could not be allowed… and he would not allow it to happen.