Sweet For You, Ruthless For Others

"I'm Selena. Selena Blackwood," she announced, her voice sharp and commanding as if daring anyone to challenge her.

The air in the room shifted, a charged silence falling over the gathering as all eyes flickered to Niklaus. 

His presence was magnetic, his dark suit immaculate, and his sharp features carved in cold disdain. He stood tall, his aura so intense that even the faintest sneer from him could silence an entire room.

Niklaus tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze landing on Selena. The corner of his mouth twitched, though it wasn't a smile. The sound that followed—a low, humorless scoff—was enough to send shivers rippling through the crowd.

"Say hello to Mr. Blackwood for me," he said, his voice dangerously smooth, dripping with icy detachment. "I hope he teaches you more about courtesy before you decide to step outside next time."

The weight of his words hit like a thunderclap. Though no one dared to laugh or openly react, the room felt alive with the collective exhale of a metaphorical "Ohhhh!"—an unspoken acknowledgment of Selena's public undoing.

Selena's expression wavered, her bravado faltering as she felt the crowd's silent judgment close in on her. 

She could feel their gazes, sharp and dissecting, peeling away her confidence layer by layer.

As Niklaus turned and strode away, unbothered and regal, the whispers began. 

Soft at first, like the rustling of leaves, then growing louder as the tension loosened and the guests allowed themselves to murmur freely.

"Did you see her face? She deserved that," someone near the back said, barely concealing their glee.

"I think she's always trying to overshadow Hermia. Must be jealousy," another whispered.

"Hermia is much prettier," someone else chimed in, their tone thoughtful. "It's no wonder Selena's always trying to bring her down."

"She doesn't have an ounce of decorum. How embarrassing for Mr. Blackwood," added an older woman, shaking her head with exaggerated disapproval.

Selena stood frozen, her fists clenched tightly by her sides, her nails digging into her palms. 

She could feel her cheeks burning as her carefully crafted image cracked under the weight of their words. 

Each whisper, each judgment, landed like a dagger, cutting her deeper than Niklaus's words had.

Across the room, Hermia shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flickering between the murmuring crowd and her sister. For years, she had endured Selena's venomous words and spiteful actions. 

She had been the one whispered about, ridiculed, and cast aside. And yet, as she watched Selena's confidence crumble, 

Hermia felt a pang of something unexpected. 

Was it pity? Sympathy?

But before she could process the feeling, someone nearby said loudly, "Honestly, Hermia carries herself so gracefully. I'm sure soon people will respect her more."

Hermia's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn't expected the crowd's favor to shift in her direction. 

For so long, she had been invisible, overshadowed by Selena's forceful presence. Now, she was no longer the one being compared in whispers—but the one being elevated.

Selena's glare snapped to her, fiery and full of malice, as though blaming her for the crowd's change of heart. 

Hermia met her gaze evenly, her expression neutral but her chest tightening. She didn't ask for this.

The tension between them hung in the air, palpable and electric. Then, without another word, 

Selena turned on her heel and stormed off, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she pushed past the whispering crowd to sit on her seat again.

As the murmurs continued to swirl around her, Hermia forced herself to stand tall. 

She had been thrust into the light, and whether she wanted it or not, the spotlight was hers for the taking.

Hermia cleared her throat, the weight of Selena's embarrassment settling uneasily in her chest. 

She shifted her bag and said softly, "I'll be leaving now. Thank you for inviting me, but I'd like to wish the celebrant a happy birthday before I go."

"I'll drive you home," Niklaus offered, his voice firm yet gentle. He could sense her unease and knew she'd had enough for the day.

Hermia blinked in surprise, her gaze flickering over his features. 

Who is this man? she wondered. 

She'd heard his name whispered before, seen it on magazine covers, but she didn't recognize him—not until someone had called his name moments ago.

She shook her head, gripping her bag tightly. "No, please. You don't have to bother. I don't want any more trouble."

"Mia, you could never be trouble to me," Niklaus replied, his voice rich with an unexpected passion that silenced the room.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as they exchanged incredulous looks.

Hermia sighed, her frustration bubbling over. "But you are trouble to me," she said bluntly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Please, just leave me alone."

Her words hung in the air like a dagger.

Niklaus opened his mouth, his expression a mixture of shock and determination. "Mia—"

But she had already turned, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she walked out. 

Her scent lingered, a delicate and unyielding reminder of her presence, as every eye in the room followed her retreating figure.

"Did she just walk out on Niklaus Hathaway?"

"The audacity!"

"I would sweep his floors just to catch his attention, and she walks away like that?"

"Wait until her father's company takes a hit for this," someone murmured, the words carrying venom.

Selena's lips curved into a sly smile at that last remark. She picked up her bag too ready to leave, her satisfaction evident.

"I feel so sorry for Selena," someone whispered. "She has to put up with all of this—"

"Shut up, all of you!" Niklaus's voice thundered across the room, silencing the gossip in an instant. 

His icy glare swept over the crowd, and the tension crackled like a live wire.

Silence descended, smothering the room like a heavy, oppressive blanket.

Niklaus scanned the hall, his jaw tightening. "Where's the bandit who's supposed to be entertaining his guests?"

A loud, booming voice cut through the air. "Hoho! Big brother, I only went to grab this!"

Niklaus turned to see his younger brother, Dante, sauntering into the room with a helmet in his hand.

Niklaus raised an unimpressed brow. "A helmet, Dante?"

Dante, his tousled hair somehow looking effortlessly stylish in contrast to Niklaus's clean-cut elegance, grinned. "The owner will follow soon enough! Now, let's party!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious.

The tension in the room dissipated as everyone gradually returned to their seats. 

They all knew this was the dull, formal part of the evening, but soon the night would give way to the real celebration—a lively party befitting their high-society status. 

Of course, even in such circles, decorum dictated a certain restraint.

Niklaus, however, was barely paying attention. His gaze drifted back to the entrance where Hermia had disappeared.

He sighed softly, his fingers brushing his chin in thought.

She'd walked away, but he wasn't worried.

He had a long road ahead of him, but he knew one thing for certain.

Hermia—Mia—was his.

Meanwhile, Hermia stood outside, waiting for the Uber she'd reluctantly ordered. 

She had tried to hail a cab, but none had been in sight, leaving her no choice but to linger longer than she wanted in this dreadful place. 

She shifted on her feet, the chill of the evening creeping into her bones, when the sharp click of approaching heels made her square her shoulders instinctively.

"Hermia," Selena's voice came, dripping with malice. "I must say, you've outdone yourself tonight. Embarrassing, really. Let's see what our parents have to say about your little performance."

Hermia turned to face her, her voice weary but steady. "Why are you doing this, Selena?"

Selena's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Oh, I forgot—you only have one parent. And even that's questionable. You wouldn't know what it means to actually do right by a parent."

Hermia exhaled sharply, trying to keep her composure. "Can we not fight? We're sisters."

Selena's eyes narrowed, her tone icy. "No. I'm not your sister. You're a mistake. And frankly, I'm leaving you here."

Selena whipped out her phone and dialed with deliberate slowness, her smug expression never wavering. "Hello? Bernard? Come pick me up—I'm ready to leave," she said, her voice saccharine.

Hermia hesitated, weighing her options. She hated begging, especially to Selena, but she couldn't afford to let this escalate. 

Gathering her courage, she asked quietly, "Selena, can you… not tell anyone at home about what happened tonight? I just got back, and I don't want to cause trouble for Dad."

Selena scoffed, crossing her arms. "Now you're worried about causing trouble? You should've stayed wherever you were. Besides, you've already brought shame on us by making Niklaus Hathaway look like a fool."

Hermia's heart sank. She knew getting Selena to keep this a secret would be next to impossible. 

Memories of their childhood flashed through her mind—like the time someone at school had stolen a pencil and accused her. 

Though the truth had eventually come out, Selena had twisted the story when they got home, ensuring Hermia was punished. 

Her favorite comic books had been donated to charity, and she had cried herself to sleep that night.

Selena had never liked her and Hermia was delusional to think she'd have soften up to her now.

A sleek black car pulled up in front of them, Bernard stepping out to open the door for Selena. But before Selena could get in, Hermia moved quickly, blocking the entrance.

"Selena, please,"