The question fell like a stone into still water.

No one answered immediately.

Valeria’s breath hitched in her chest. She didn’t lift her head, but she knew that question wasn’t just a courtesy. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t the kind of question rich men ask to fill the time.

It was a question that demanded an answer.

Beatriz was the first to react.

She let out a short laugh, a high-pitched, unnatural sound that echoed off the walls.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “She’s just a little clumsy. You know how girls are after such a long day. The stress of the competition—”

“I didn’t ask you.”

Alejandro didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even move. But the words cut through the room like steel.

Beatriz’s smile froze.

For the first time that night, someone had interrupted her. Not just interrupted—stopped her.

Valeria slowly lifted her head.

Alejandro’s eyes were still fixed on her. Dark. Still. Unwavering.

He was waiting.

Her throat felt dry. She knew she should stay silent. She knew what her mother expected of her. Silence. Obedience. Submission.

But something in that gaze—not soft, not kind, but… attentive—made something inside her crack.

“I fell,” she said softly.

The lie came almost automatically.

Alejandro just looked at her for a few seconds.

Then, he finally stood up.

The movement was slow, controlled. But as he stood at his full height, the room suddenly felt smaller.

He was taller than she had expected.

He walked around the desk without taking his eyes off her.

Valeria’s heart began to race.

Beatriz interlaced her fingers, her voice slightly strained:

“I’m sure you understand, Mr. Valdes, that my daughter is not used to… these types of situations. She’s still young. She—”

“Get out.”

The words were soft.

But there was no room for negotiation.

Arturo lifted his head, shocked.

“Sir… we have an agreement—”

Alejandro finally took his gaze off Valeria and looked at him.

It wasn’t anger.

It was worse.

It was total indifference.

“You came for money,” he said calmly. “You got it. Now, leave.”

Mateo spoke quickly, almost desperately:

“But—but we have to make sure that—”

Alejandro just tilted his head slightly.

That was enough.

Mateo’s words died in his throat.

The silence became heavy.

Beatriz slowly stood tall, her pride like a mask she quickly put back on.

“Fine,” she finally said, her voice cool. “We trust that you will be… satisfied with the transaction.”

She looked at Valeria.

That look was sharp, a warning.

Don’t say anything.

Don’t do anything.

Don’t forget who you are.

Then she turned and walked toward the door. Arturo followed her without a word. Mateo looked at Valeria one last time—not with guilt, not with shame, but with something hollow—and then he left too.

The door closed slowly behind them.

And then—

Silence.

A real silence.

Not the tense, threatening silence of her mother.

Not the uncomfortable silence of her father.

But something else.

Valeria didn’t know what to do.

She stood there, her hands clutching her dress tightly.

Alejandro said nothing for a few seconds.

Then, he took a step closer.

Instinctively, she stepped back.

He stopped immediately.

That small detail made her frown.

He didn’t chase her.

He didn’t move closer when she pulled away.

He just… stopped.

“You’re afraid,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question.

Valeria didn’t answer.

He took off his jacket and threw it over the back of a chair, slowly, without losing sight of her.

“Sit.”

She didn’t move.

She didn’t know if it was an order or a suggestion.

He pointed to the sofa.

“You can barely stand. You’re going to fall.”

Her knees were indeed beginning to tremble.

Against her will, she slowly sat down.

The soft leather gave way beneath her.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then he turned and walked to a small cabinet against the wall.

He opened it and took something out—a small container, a bottle.

When he came back, he didn’t sit next to her.

He kept a bit of distance.

“Let me see.”

Valeria stiffened.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he added, still calm.

Those words almost made her laugh.

Not hurt her?

After everything that had happened?

But still…

He didn’t move to force her.

He waited.

Again.

Slowly, hesitantly, she turned her face slightly toward him.

He came closer—just enough to see.

His fingers didn’t touch her immediately.

He looked first.

Closely.

Attentively.

Then, very lightly, he lifted her chin.

His touch was warm.

And surprisingly gentle.

Valeria’s breath hitched.

He studied the bruise under her eye, the cut on her lip.

His jaw tightened slightly.

“You didn’t fall,” he said.

His voice was still calm.

But there was something underneath it.

Something dark.

Valeria closed her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.

“It matters to me.”

His eyes found hers again.

For a moment, she felt as if he were seeing something no one had ever tried to see.

Not the crown.

Not the beauty.

Not the role she had to play.

But her.

Just her.

It was… unsettling.

“Why?” she asked, barely audible.

He didn’t answer immediately.

He opened the bottle and poured a little liquid onto a cloth.

Then he carefully touched her lip.

It stung.

She winced slightly.

He pulled his hand back immediately.

“Sorry.”

The word surprised her even more than the touch.

No one ever said sorry.

Not at home.

Not tonight.

He tried again, this time slower.

“I don’t like paying for things that are broken,” he finally said.

Valeria opened her eyes.

“I am not a thing.”

He looked directly at her.

“No,” he said. “You are not.”

The silence that followed was different.

Heavier.

But not cold.

Then he added, softer:

“And that is exactly the problem.”

Valeria didn’t understand what he meant.

But for the first time that night—

She didn’t feel like a product.

And that was perhaps the most dangerous thing of all.