I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage like it was desperate to escape. The air in the room had shifted the moment she spoke—sharp, commanding.
"I'm Selena. Selena Blackwood," she announced, her voice slicing through the silence like a blade.
She said it confidently, like she knew her name held power.
The kind of power mine didn't if I said it, I guess.
The crowd reacted as if a glass had shattered—an unspoken ripple of tension spreading through the room. And then… him.
Niklaus.
His presence was a storm in a tailored suit, dark and regal, his sharp features a mask of cold disdain. He didn't need to speak to command attention—he was the kind of man whose mere glance could silence a crowd.
And when his gaze landed on Selena, the corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile, but something far crueler. The sound that escaped his lips, a low, humorless scoff, sent shivers down my spine.
"Say hello to Mr. Blackwood for me," he said, his voice smooth—too smooth. "I hope he teaches you more about courtesy before you decide to step outside next time."
The room didn't just go quiet—it bristled. I could feel the collective inhale, the sharp, unspoken ohhhhhh hanging in the air.
Selena's jaw tightened, her confidence wobbling like a house of cards. For once, the crowd's gaze wasn't fixed on me—it was pinned to her.
And then the whispers started.
"Did you see her face? She deserved that."
"She's always trying to overshadow Hermia. Pathetic."
"Hermia is much prettier—it's no wonder Selena's always clawing for attention."
I blinked.
It was surreal—like I had stepped into some alternate reality where I wasn't the target of their ridicule. The same people who used to compare me to Selena in hushed tones were suddenly… defending me?
I didn't know how to feel. Shocked? Relieved?
Pity stirred in my chest—a small, unexpected pang as I watched my sister's composure crack beneath the weight of their words.
But the moment didn't last.
Selena's eyes snapped to me, blazing with fury. As if I had orchestrated this entire thing—as if I had made Niklaus humiliate her.
I met her glare head-on, my face neutral, but inside? My heart was racing. I didn't ask for this. I never did.
And then, without a word, Selena spun on her heel, her heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor as she stormed off, pushing past the whispering crowd.
I stood there, the sudden shift of attention leaving me raw and exposed.
Breathe, Hermia. Just breathe.
I adjusted my bag, my fingers trembling slightly. "I'll be leaving now," I said softly, breaking the silence. "Thank you for inviting me, but I won't be able to wish the celebrant a happy birthday before I go. I've cause enough ruckus."
Before I could move, a voice—his voice—cut through the air.
"I'll drive you home," Niklaus said.
Firm. Certain. Like it wasn't a suggestion—it was a statement.
I blinked up at him, my brain scrambling to catch up. His gaze was steady, intense—but there was something else hidden beneath the ice. Something warm. Protective.
Who was this man?
I'd seen his name on magazine covers, heard it whispered at high-society gatherings. Niklaus Blackwood. Ruthless businessman. Untouchable.
But standing here—so close—I realized I didn't know him. Not really.
And I didn't want to.
I shook my head, clutching my bag like a lifeline. "No, please. You don't have to bother. I don't want any more trouble."
His jaw clenched, his voice softening—but only for me. "Mia, you could never be trouble to me."
The room reacted like he'd dropped a bomb. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
I felt my stomach twist.
The last thing I needed was more eyes on me—more rumors swirling, more whispers about why Niklaus Blackwood was suddenly so concerned about Hermia Blackwood.
I stepped back, my voice breaking as frustration bubbled to the surface.
"But you are trouble to me," I said, louder than I intended. "Please, just leave me alone."
Silence.
Thick. Heavy.
Niklaus's expression faltered—shock, maybe even hurt flashing across his face for a split second before his mask slipped back into place.
"Mia—" he began.
But I was already gone.
Pushing through the crowd. Ignoring the stares. Desperate for air.
Desperate to get away from him and the additional attention he brought.
From everything.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Niklaus POV
>
"Mia!"
Her name tore from my lips, sharper than I intended.
But she was already gone.
Her heels clicked against the marble floor—a staccato rhythm that echoed through the room—fading with each step until the only thing left was the faint, delicate trace of her scent. A soft, lingering reminder of what I'd just lost… if only for now.
Silence hung thick in the air, but the whispers slithered back almost instantly.
"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…"
That last one—vicious and dripping with venom—slid through the crowd like poison.
And then I saw it.
Selena's smile. Subtle. Sly.
Sickening.
Her fingers toyed with the strap of her bag, ready to make her exit too—head high, as if my loss was her victory.
And the crowd… pathetic. A sea of vultures feasting on scraps of gossip.
"I feel so sorry for Selena," someone muttered behind me. "She has to put up with all of this—"
"Shut up. All of you."
My voice cracked like a whip, slicing through the murmurs.
The room froze.
Eyes widened. Lips sealed.
I could feel the weight of their stares—curious, fearful—but none dared speak again.
Silence.
Thick, suffocating silence.
I raked a hand through my hair, my jaw clenching so tightly it ached. The rage simmered beneath the surface—not because Mia had walked away, but because of them.
The way they twisted everything into a spectacle. The way Selena fed off it.
Where was the damn bandit in charge of this circus?
"Where's the host?" I asked, voice like ice. "Or has he abandoned his own event too?"
Then—
"Hoho! Big brother, I only went to grab this!"
The booming voice shattered the tension.
I turned to see Dante—my younger brother—striding into the hall, a stupid helmet dangling from his hand.
Of course.
A helmet.
"A helmet, Dante?" I deadpanned, my patience hanging by a thread.
Dante grinned—carefree, charming—his tousled hair somehow making him look effortlessly roguish, a stark contrast to my carefully controlled elegance.
"The owner's coming, don't worry," he said, his voice loud enough to draw nervous chuckles from the crowd. "Now, let's party!"
And just like that, the spell broke.
The guests shifted back to their seats, some still stealing glances at me, others too eager to pretend the tension hadn't existed. The formal charade was over—they were ready for the real celebration.
Drinks would flow. Music would pound. And the vultures would circle again, waiting for the next moment to feast on.
But I wasn't paying attention to any of it.
My gaze drifted to the entrance.
Where Mia had disappeared.
She'd walked away from me tonight. Defiant. Frustrated.
But I wasn't worried.
Not even a little.
Because this wasn't the end.
It was only the beginning.
She could run—flee from me like I was some danger she wanted to escape—but the truth was, I wasn't the one chasing her.
She was running from herself. From whatever it was between us—wild, unspoken, undeniable.
And I had time.
Plenty of it.
I leaned against the wall, fingers brushing my chin, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
She was mine.
She just didn't know it yet.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hermia POV
>
I stepped out and the night air bit at my skin, and I pulled my coat tighter around me, though it did little to ward off the chill creeping into my bones.
My phone screen glowed in my hand—Uber arriving in 5 minutes—but the minutes felt like hours, each second a cruel reminder of how stranded I was.
I'd tried hailing a cab. Of course, none had stopped.
So here I stood—stuck outside this wretched event, every echo of my heels on the pavement a silent accusation.
Then—click.
The distinct sound of approaching heels. Sharp. Purposeful.
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
"Hermia," Selena's voice came—syrupy sweet, yet laced with venom. "I must say, you've outdone yourself tonight. Embarrassing, really. Let's see what our parents have to say about your little performance."
I closed my eyes for a fleeting moment, gathering the last frayed threads of my patience before slowly turning to face her.
She was smiling. Of course, she was. That small, cruel twist of her lips—the one I remembered far too well—like a cat playing with a wounded bird.
My voice came out quieter than I liked, but steady. "Why are you doing this, Selena?"
Her smile only deepened. "Oh, I forgot—you only have one parent. And even that's questionable."
The words hit harder than I expected. I sucked in a sharp breath, swallowing the ache rising in my throat.
"Can we not fight?" I asked softly, though I already knew the answer. "We're sisters."
Selena's eyes turned cold—like twin shards of ice—and the laugh that slipped from her was just as freezing.
"No," she said, her voice like a blade. "I'm not your sister. You're a mistake. And frankly? I'm leaving you here."
I blinked. It shouldn't have hurt—I should've been used to this—but somehow, it still did.
Before I could respond, she pulled out her phone, her fingers moving with slow, deliberate grace, as if savoring every second of my humiliation.
"Hello? Bernard?" Her voice was suddenly sweet again. "Come pick me up—I'm ready to leave."
I stood there, staring at the cracked pavement, feeling like I was sixteen again—helpless, overshadowed, forgotten.
But I wasn't sixteen anymore.
I wasn't the same girl who cried herself to sleep when Selena told Dad I'd stolen a pencil at school.
I wasn't the same girl who watched her comic books get packed up and donated—all because Selena knew how to twist the truth until I looked like the villain.
No.
I was done being that girl.
I swallowed my pride—not for me, but for Dad. For the fragile peace I was desperately clinging to.
"Selena," I said quietly, "can you… not tell anyone at home about tonight?"
She arched a perfectly sculpted brow.
"I just got back," I added, my voice soft. "I don't want to cause trouble for Dad."
Selena tilted her head, a mockery of sympathy flashing across her face. "Now you're worried about causing trouble?" she echoed. "You should've stayed wherever you were. Besides, you've already brought shame on us by making Niklaus Hathaway look like a fool."
Niklaus.
The way she said his name—like it was a weapon—twisted something in my stomach.
Of course, this wasn't just about me.
It was about him.
It always came back to him.
My heart thudded painfully in my chest as the sleek black car pulled up, its headlights slicing through the dark.
Bernard stepped out—impassive, polite—and opened the door for Selena.
She moved to get in.
I didn't think—I just acted.
I stepped in front of the open car door, blocking her path.
"Selena, please," I said, my voice cracking—part plea, part defiance.
Her hand froze on the car door.
For a moment, there was only silence between us—thick, tense.
Then… her smile returned.
Crueler than before.
And I knew—I knew—I had just made a terrible mistake.