Axel dragged himself up, muttering a curse as he threw on a fresh shirt and sauntered downstairs.

The Valencia estate was a masterpiece of excess-a mansion built not for comfort, but for spectacle. The moment Axel stepped into the grand foyer, his footsteps barely made a sound against the marble floors, polished so thoroughly they reflected the morning light streaming through the massive stained-glass windows.

The walls were lined with gilded moldings, intricate floral carvings curling along the edges like vines frozen in time. At the center of the high ceiling, a chandelier the size of a small car hung low, dripping with imported crystal that scattered fractured light across the walls.

Everything was expensive, pristine, untouched.

The furniture-leather-upholstered settees, custom-made dining chairs, gold-plated side tables-was imported from places Axel had never bothered to ask about. They weren't meant to be used. The cushions were too stiff, the glass centerpieces too fragile, the entire house too curated, as if the slightest personal touch would disrupt the illusion of perfection.

The air smelled of expensive cologne, freshly polished wood, and something artificial-like wealth stripped of warmth.

Axel had grown up here, but it had never felt like home.

This wasn't a place where people lived. It was a museum of his mother's impeccable taste and his father's success-a grand display of status, meant to be admired from a distance.

The only things out of place were the faint traces of Axel's existence-a suit jacket carelessly draped over the back of a chair, an empty whiskey glass left on the side table from last night's drinking, a pair of scuffed sneakers near the grand staircase where they didn't belong.

And even those would disappear soon. The housekeepers would clean them up, restoring everything to its untouched, impersonal state-just the way his parents liked it.

A sharp click, click, click of heels echoed, followed by his mother's clipped voice.

"What is this?" she murmured, voice smooth but edged with irritation.

The head housekeeper flinched. "Madam, it's the imported roast from Italy-"

"Then why does it taste like gutter water?" Cecilia's tone remained even, but the weight of her disapproval was suffocating.

A nervous apology followed, along with hurried steps as the coffee was whisked away.

Axel watched the entire exchange from across the table, one brow raised as he took a lazy bite of an apple. His mother hadn't even looked at him yet, her focus entirely on the tragic ordeal that was her morning coffee.

A muffled apology. The clink of porcelain. A dramatic sigh.

Cecilia Valencia sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table, a vision of effortless elegance, even at this ungodly hour. She wore a midnight-blue silk robe that clung to her figure like liquid, the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of the chandelier. Her wrist bore a delicate yet unmistakably expensive diamond bracelet, its facets catching the morning light with every measured movement of her hand.

Her dark hair, pulled into a sleek chignon without a single strand out of place, framed her sharp cheekbones and perfectly arched brows. Not a hint of sleep marked her face-only expertly applied concealer, subtle blush, and lips painted in a muted shade of red, as if she had an event to attend rather than a simple breakfast.

Even as she stirred her coffee with slow, practiced precision, she radiated control. Every movement was deliberate, calculated as if the simple act of sitting at the table was a performance.

Her nails, painted in a deep Bordeaux shade, tapped lightly against the porcelain cup as she brought it to her lips. She took a sip, then frowned, her expression barely shifting but sharp enough to cut through the air.

She set the newly made coffee down with quiet disdain.

"You look like a mess," she said without looking up from her coffee.

Axel grabbed an apple from the bowl in front of her, taking a lazy bite. "Morning to you too."

Her sharp eyes flicked over him, unimpressed. "You're wearing that?"

Axel exhaled. "Mom, I'm not going to a gala."

She pursed her lips, but before she could lecture him, Anthony Valencia entered the room.

Axel's father barely spared them a glance as he adjusted his cufflinks, heading straight for his coffee. His custom-tailored suit was crisp, his movements efficient-every inch a businessman with no time to waste.

"Charity event today," Anthony reminded, his tone clipped. "Behave."

Axel gave a lazy salute. "Yes, sir."

A vibration.

The soft hum of a phone against polished mahogany broke the silence.

Anthony barely glanced at it, his fingers adjusting the cuff of his expensive suit, but Axel caught the way his father's jaw tensed for half a second-just long enough to confirm what he already knew.

The screen was angled away, but Axel could still make out the name.

Ivy.

His father's mistress.

Cecilia, who had just taken a sip of her coffee, slowly set her porcelain cup down, the faintest clink echoing in the vast dining hall.

Axel didn't bother looking up. He had seen this scene play out too many times before-always the same script, just different variations of disaster.

His mother exhaled slowly, deliberately, before reaching into her handbag. The leather barely made a sound as she pulled out a crisp, unmarked envelope and slid it across the table with a single, effortless motion.

No one spoke.

Even the housekeepers, moving quietly in the background, seemed to fade into nothing.

Cecilia leaned back in her chair, tilting her head ever so slightly. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost pleasant.

"I had you followed."

Axel saw it then-the flicker of something dangerous in his father's eyes. A brief, controlled inhale. A slow, measured glance at the envelope.

Anthony Valencia was a man who prided himself on control. On power. And yet, at this moment, Cecilia held the reins.

Silence stretched between them like a thin, fraying thread.

Anthony stilled, then let out a slow, measured breath. "Cecilia, don't be dramatic." His voice was calm, clipped-the same voice he used in boardrooms when dismissing inconvenient truths. He didn't reach for the envelope immediately. Instead, he took a sip of his coffee, as if unaffected. But Axel saw the tension in his grip. The slight delay. The way his fingers tapped once-just once-against the table.

Then, finally, Anthony reached forward, picked up the envelope, and turned it over in his hand, as if he already knew what was inside but had to keep up appearances.

Cecilia's lips curved-not into a smile, but something colder. Sharper. A blade disguised as silk.

"I hope she's worth it," she murmured.

The words weren't loud, but they cut through the room like shattered glass.

Anthony said nothing. He didn't deny it. Didn't argue. He simply tucked the envelope into his suit pocket, as if it were just another business document, and lifted his coffee to his lips.

Axel chewed the last bite of his apple, barely reacting.

Same script, different day.

He glanced down at his phone.

Javi: Get your ass over here. We're waiting.
Diego: Ditch the family drama and bring the car.

Axel smirked to himself, pushing his chair back with a slow scrape against the marble floor.

At least someone knew how to have fun.

Axel pulled up outside the private country club, parking his sleek black sports car next to Javi's equally expensive one.

Inside, the air was thick with wealth-velvet-covered lounge seats, uniformed waiters serving champagne, and groups of elite families discussing business deals over brunch.

He spotted Javi and Diego lounging near the infinity pool, drinks already in hand.

"There he is," Javi called, raising his glass. "We thought you finally drank yourself into oblivion last night."

Axel smirked, dropping into the seat across from them. A waiter appeared instantly, placing a fresh drink in front of him.

"How bad was I?" Axel asked, swirling the glass in his hand.

Diego chuckled. "You lost 50,000 pesos in one bet. Tried to steal my watch as compensation."

Axel raised a brow. "Did I at least win something?"

"You won a very expensive hangover," Javi said, clinking his glass against Axel's.

Axel took a sip, letting the burn of the alcohol settle in his throat. The sun was warm, the pool glittered in the light, and the staff catered to them like royalty.

It should've been relaxing. But even here, he felt restless.

"We need to do something big," Diego said suddenly, leaning forward. "Classes are starting soon. One last real party before we're stuck pretending to be responsible students again."

Axel sighed dramatically. "I can't disappoint my dear father by actually failing my classes this early in the semester."

Javi grinned. "Don't worry, we all know you're an engineering prodigy. Too bad you don't give a damn."

Axel tapped his fingers against the table. That was the problem, wasn't it? He didn't care. He was just waiting-drifting.

Diego leaned in. "So, the plan-casino or yacht party?"

Axel smirked, shaking his head. "You guys are insane."

Javi clapped him on the back. "And you love us for it."

The alcohol burned down his throat, but it didn't do much to numb the thoughts pressing at the edges of his mind. This was supposed to be fun. It used to be fun. But no matter how many drinks he had, or how many parties they planned, the high never lasted.

The drinks, the parties, the expensive distractions-they were all the same. A momentary rush, followed by nothing. Just like always.