The library was quieter than expected, considering how chaotic the rest of the campus was. The group settled around a large wooden table, notebooks and laptops spread out between them. Some students had already started highlighting key points, marking pages in thick textbooks.

"Okay," one student said, adjusting his glasses, "so we all know this is going to be hell, right?"

A collective hum of agreement rippled through the group.

"Then let's get ahead while we still can."

Leila nodded, flipping to the assigned chapter. She could feel it now—the weight of the next four years, the pressure to keep up, the unspoken competition that no one acknowledged but everyone felt.

She wasn't the smartest in the room.

She wasn't the loudest, either.

But she could work hard, and sometimes, that mattered more.

As she listened to one of the students explain a basic engineering principle, she realized something important:

Engineering wasn't just about intelligence.

It was about endurance.

And she had no choice but to endure.

The night was young, but Axel already wanted it to end.

The upscale bar was packed—loud music, expensive liquor, and university students who partied like they had nothing to lose. The rooftop venue overlooked the city, neon lights reflecting off the high-rise buildings, giving everything a dreamlike haze.

Axel leaned back on the lounge sofa, a whiskey glass dangling between his fingers, barely listening as Diego and Javi debated which program had the hottest girls.

"I'm just saying," Diego said, waving his drink, "medicine students have no time for dating, business girls will eat you alive, but law students? Law students are a different breed."

Javi snorted. "And engineers?"

Diego made a face. "They're too busy suffering."

Axel chuckled under his breath, tilting his head back to take another sip of his drink. The liquor burned down his throat, but it did nothing to silence the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind.

Another useless night. Another pointless party.

He knew he should be enjoying himself, but there was something off—a nagging irritation under his skin, a feeling that something was waiting to go wrong.

Then, it did.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure walk into the lounge across from their rooftop bar.

Tall. Distinguished. Powerful.

Anthony Valencia.

Axel's fingers tightened around his glass.

His father was supposed to be at the gala, playing the role of a perfect businessman, smiling for the cameras, making speeches about philanthropy.

So why the hell was he here?

And then, Axel saw her.

Ivy Reyes.

His father's mistress.

She walked beside Anthony with the same practiced elegance, the kind that said she knew exactly what she was doing. She wore a deep-red silk dress, the fabric hugging her curves, her manicured hand resting delicately on Anthony's arm.

Axel could have laughed at the sheer boldness of it. No disguise, no effort to hide. Anthony didn't even look like he cared about being seen.

Because he didn't expect anyone who mattered to be here.

Axel exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on his whiskey glass so tight it nearly cracked.

Javi noticed first. "Dude, what's up with you?"

Axel didn't answer.

His father and Ivy settled into a private booth, just far enough to be discreet but still visible to the right pair of eyes.

Axel stood up abruptly.

Javi raised a brow. "Where are you going?"

Axel drained the rest of his drink, tossing a few bills onto the table. "I need air."

And before they could stop him, he was gone.

The alcohol no longer burned. It settled, dull and heavy in Axel's stomach, a warmth that did nothing to quiet the storm beneath his skin.

He should have expected this.

Of course, he should have.

Axel gripped the edge of the marble bar counter, knuckles turning white as he stared into the amber liquid swirling in his glass. The rooftop lights cast long shadows, distorting the world around him. Music played, people laughed, but none of it reached him. His focus was elsewhere—on the private booth across the lounge, where his father sat with Ivy Reyes like he had nothing to hide.

Anthony Valencia, the esteemed businessman. The respectable family man. The devoted husband.

What a joke.

Axel inhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. The first instinct—the raw, visceral need to storm over there, to drag his father out by his collar, to make a scene—was overwhelming. But he swallowed it down.

No. That would be too easy.

Instead, he watched. Observed.

His father leaned in, murmuring something to Ivy that made her laugh—soft, practiced, familiar. She touched his wrist in response, a brief brush of her manicured fingers against his skin, something small but undeniably intimate.

Axel felt something in his chest curl and wither.

For years, Anthony Valencia had been a towering figure in Axel's life. Not a warm one, not a gentle one—but still, a presence. The kind of father who commanded respect, who ruled with discipline and expectations, who demanded perfection in exchange for approval.

And Axel had tried, hadn't he? As a kid, he had tried to impress him. He had tried to live up to that impossible standard.

But now, sitting across the room from his father's deception laid bare, he realized something.

It wasn't just hatred building in his gut. It wasn't just resentment.

It was disgust.

Because Anthony wasn't powerful. He was pathetic. A man so obsessed with appearances that he preached loyalty and discipline while keeping a mistress close enough for everyone to see. A man who had built his empire on control, yet had none over his own desires. A man who thought he was untouchable, but in reality, he was just another hypocrite in a suit.

Axel exhaled, long and slow.

He wasn't going to make a scene. He wasn't going to let Anthony win that way.

No, he wanted his father to feel it.

So he moved—not toward him, but just enough to be seen.

Axel made sure to step into the right angle, into the periphery of Anthony's vision. He wasn't subtle about it. He took his time, adjusting his watch, rolling his shoulders, as if the weight of this moment was nothing more than an afterthought.

And then, when Anthony finally looked up—

Axel met his gaze.

And he didn't look away.

He held it. Let it stretch. Let it speak where words weren't necessary. No anger, no shouting—just that look. The look that said everything.

I see you.

I see exactly what kind of man you are.

And you're not worth my time.

Anthony stiffened, his expression unreadable—but there, in the flicker of his eyes, was something that hadn't been there before.

Unease.

That was enough.

Axel turned away first. Not in defeat, not in submission—but in dismissal.

You're not worth it.

And then, he left.

By the time Axel stepped into the Valencia estate, the house was cloaked in stillness.

The kind of quiet that felt too big, too empty.

The gala had ended hours ago. The staff had cleaned, the guests had gone home. Even the distant ticking of the grandfather clock felt intrusive against the silence.

Axel loosened his tie as he made his way toward the dining hall, his footsteps muted against the cold marble floors. He didn't know why he went there—not until he saw her.

His mother.

Cecilia Valencia sat alone at the long dining table, her plate barely touched, a glass of red wine half-full beside her. The image was surreal—this woman, so used to commanding attention, now sitting in a room built for power, yet surrounded by nothing but absence.

Axel stopped at the threshold.

She didn't look at him. She didn't have to.

"You're back early," she murmured, swirling the wine in her glass.

Axel swallowed. "Yeah."

A pause. The faint clink of crystal against porcelain as she set her glass down.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her what he saw. That she deserved better. That her husband—the man she had built a life with—wasn't worthy of her.

But he didn't.

Not because he was afraid, but because he knew she already knew.

Cecilia was no fool. She never had been.

And yet, she still sat here.

Still played the part.

Axel pulled out a chair, the sound breaking the silence. He didn't ask for permission—he simply sat down across from her, the space between them filled with a thousand unspoken truths.

Then, without looking up, he muttered, "...Sorry."

Cecilia finally lifted her gaze.

Not surprised. Not questioning. Just... studying him.

She tilted her head slightly, considering him, her perfectly-manicured fingers tapping lightly against the table. Then, after a beat, she pushed the plate toward him.

"Eat."

Axel hesitated. Then, for once, he listened.

He picked up the fork and took a bite.

Neither of them spoke after that.

But for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like they had to.

The first week of university was a blur of new faces, long lectures, and adjusting to a routine that felt completely different from high school. Leila had expected a challenge—she had mentally prepared herself for the workload, the pressure, and even the unfamiliarity of being in a class dominated by men.

But nothing could have prepared her for just how exhausting it would be.

Leila quickly realized that navigating the university was a challenge in itself. The engineering building was massive, and every hallway looked the same, making it easy to get lost. She had a printed schedule tucked inside her notebook, checking it every few minutes to make sure she was heading to the right classroom.

By the second day, she had found a small routine—arriving early, grabbing a quick breakfast at the cheapest food stall she could find, and rushing to class before the hallways became overcrowded.

Tessa, the only other girl she had properly bonded with so far, was a lifesaver. They walked to classes together, helping each other figure out their way around campus. The other two girls in their program were polite but distant, keeping mostly to themselves.

As for the guys—some were indifferent, others were curious, and a few were outright irritating. Leila learned quickly that being one of the few girls in Civil Engineering meant she was noticed whether she wanted to be or not.

By midweek, Leila was starting to feel like she was finally getting the hang of things. She had her routine set, her classes mapped out, and even managed to squeeze in moments to breathe between lectures.

That peace didn't last long.

Her Physics professor, Professor Estrella, was notorious in the department. The man was in his late 50s, balding but sharp-eyed, and had a reputation for pushing students to their limit.

"Engineering is not for the weak," he announced on the first day, his tone matter-of-fact. "Some of you will drop this class. Some of you will fail. And only a few will pass with flying colors."

Leila swallowed hard. So much for easing into things.