Sweet For You, Ruthl Chapter 1: The First Impression

Chapter 1: The First Impression.

If anyone and everyone would hate you, pray it’s not your family.

For ? Nobody knew

and my family wanted everyone to hate .

’Here goes nothing.’

I hovered at the entrance, my fingers tightening around my clutch.

The party was already in full swing—laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of expensive perfu lingering in the air.

The kind of scene I had no business stepping into.

I should turn back. Disappear before anyone noticed I was here.

I had already co this far, though. Dressed the part. Face made up. A mask over the insecurity clawing at my chest.

I exhaled slowly and stepped inside. The rhythmic click of my heels echoed against the marble, cutting through the chatter like a warning.

Heads turned. Eyes flickered in my direction—so curious, so judgntal, and so laced with sothing worse. Recognition.

I lifted my chin and walked as if I belonged.

The black lace dress hugged

just right, elegant but not too revealing.

My hair cascaded down my back in waves, polished and perfect, just like my mother always wanted.

Just like my mother, the mistress, who had no right to want anything.

Was this a mistake?

I pushed the thought aside and forced my steps forward.

I had co here to prove sothing—to them, to myself. I wasn’t going to be the forgotten daughter anymore.

Then, just as I reached the edge of the crowd, a voice rang out.

Cold. Sharp.

"You’ve got so nerve showing up here, being nothing more than the daughter of a mistress."

My breath hitched. My feet faltered.

Selena.

Her hazel eyes locked onto mine with satisfaction, her voice carrying across the party like a song she had rehearsed for years.

Gasps and whispers spread like ripples in water, the entire room soaking in my humiliation.

My fingers clenched around my clutch. I should respond. I should say sothing.

But my voice?

It was gone.

I never know how to argue when I know I’m trying to win my Dad over.

"I said you’ve got so nerve showing up here, when you know you’re nothing but a re mistress daughter," Selena sneered, her sharp hazel eyes locking onto mine.

The venom in her voice sliced through

like a blade, cutting deep before I could even brace for it.

The room didn’t just hear it—they felt it. The weight of her words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, like a slap I never saw coming.

My breath hitched.

My fingers instinctively tightened around the strap of my purse as I willed myself not to react, not to give her the satisfaction.

I hadn’t thought she’d go this far—not in the middle of a party, not with so many eyes watching.

But of course, I had underestimated her. Again.

I rushed to take the empty seat beside her, my movents stiff, my heart hamring. I could feel their stares—curious, pitying, amused.

My skin burned under their scrutiny, but I kept my gaze down, avoiding the knowing smirks, the whispered judgnts.

"Selena—" I started, my voice low, but she didn’t even let

finish.

"Why so quiet?" she cooed, tilting her head with an exaggerated pout. "What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

The laughter that followed was sharp and cold. Like glass breaking.

I swallowed hard. The air around

tightened. My pulse roared in my ears.

"Well, at least she has the decency to feel ashad," Esther added with a snort, her tone dripping with mockery.

Sha?

I clenched my fists beneath the table, nails digging into my palms, grounding myself.

I had spent my entire life drowning in their judgnt, shrinking under their ridicule, being reminded—over and over again—that I was the mistake, the stain on this perfect, polished family.

Tonight was no different.

I shouldn’t have co.

The invitation had arrived like an olive branch, and after a month of isolation, I thought—stupidly—that maybe, just maybe, things had changed.

That I could step into this world without feeling like an intruder.

But I had been wrong.

I was never supposed to belong.

A woman with overly plumped lips folded her arms, looking

up and down with a lazy sort of disgust. "Why is she even here?" she asked, her voice smooth, yet laced with condescension.

Nearby tables hushed. Heads turned. The whispering swelled.

Selena, sensing the shift in attention, leaned back with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as if my re presence exhausted her. "She clearly doesn’t know her place," she muttered. "I’m tired of her."

Tired.

I pressed my lips together, my chest tightening. I should be used to this by now—the disdain, the resentnt. I had spent years being the ugly truth in their perfect little lie.

But it never stopped stinging.

Selena’s jealousy burned through her like a quiet, steady fla.

She didn’t just hate —she hated that I existed. That no matter how much she tried to erase , I was still here.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it?

I wasn’t supposed to be the one who stood out. Who people admired. Who lived and studied in the US while she stayed behind, simring in bitterness.

I wasn’t supposed to be the one with effortless grace, the kind that made others pause. The kind that, no matter how much Selena tried, she couldn’t fake.

She hated it.

Hated .

And I hated that a part of

still craved her acceptance.

That so small, foolish piece of

still wondered if there would ever be a ti when I wouldn’t be the outcast.

Selena’s supposed friend, Sasha, suddenly spoke up, her tone casual but edged with sothing sharp.

"Selena, are you jealous of her because she got to live and study in the US?"

The tension in the air shifted instantly.

Selena stiffened. The murmurs grew.

And for the first ti that night, I saw it.

A flicker of sothing raw in her eyes.

Jealousy.

Pure. Ugly. Unmistakable.

She could humiliate

all she wanted. Tear

down in front of their eager, watching eyes.

But deep down, we both knew the truth.

She would never be able to erase .

And that would always drive her mad.