Chapter 4: In Niklaus Hathaway’s Arms
I stumbled.
The world tilted without warning.
One mont, I was upright, my heels clicking confidently against the marble floor. The next, my balance wrenched out from under , and I was falling—helpless, weightless, at the rcy of gravity’s cruel hands.
My purse slipped from my fingers, its contents scattering like a betrayal. The air whooshed past my ears, a hollow rush that filled the space where my breath should have been.
The floor rushed toward , gleaming like a mirror polished just to witness my humiliation. My mind scread for sothing—anything—to grab, but the air around
was empty, useless.
This was it.
I could already hear the gasps, the sharp whispers. Did you see that? Did she just trip? How pathetic.
My fall stretched into eternity, ti mocking
as my overactive brain conjured every possible scenario—Would I land on my face? My back? Would my dress betray
too, riding up for the whole damn world to see?
God, I’m going to die.
Or worse—be embarrassed to death.
But just as the world tilted completely out of my control, an arm shot out—firm, strong, and unwavering.
A startled gasp escaped
as I was caught mid-air, an iron grip securing my waist.
My hands instinctively clutched at the stranger’s shoulders, my heart hamring in my chest.
Dazed, I blinked up at him—and my breath hitched again.
Icy blue eyes.
Piercing and unreadable, like a frozen storm, they locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
He wasn’t soone from my sister’s circle. I was sure of that.
In fact, he didn’t look like he belonged here at all—towering, imposing, and utterly indifferent to the attention he had just drawn.
Then, slowly, he smirked.
Cocky. Effortless. Dangerous.
My stomach twisted as sothing inside
coiled tight.
"Who is this man?"
"Hello, Mia," he drawled, his voice deep and smooth, dripping with lazy confidence.
The way he said it—like he already knew , like we shared so unspoken history—sent a jolt of unease through .
Mia?
My thoughts spun.
How did he know my na?
And more importantly, why did he already have a nickna for , as if we were... acquainted?
I squird, trying to pull away, but his grip was effortless, like he wasn’t even exerting strength to hold
in place.
My heels skidded against the slick floor, making
lean into him even more.
Heat flooded my face.
I must have looked completely powerless.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice an unreadable mix of amusent and indifference.
I swallowed hard, looking away. Was he going to let
go or not?
But he didn’t.
He held
like he had all the ti in the world.
"You don’t have to be shy with ," he mused, his smooth voice carrying an unsettling warmth. His gaze drifted over —assessing, knowing.
I tried to steady my breathing, but it was impossible.
He slled intoxicating—clean, crisp, with a hint of sothing darkly alluring. His hold was firm, solid, and disturbingly reassuring.
For a fleeting mont, I wanted to sink into his warmth.
Soone had saved .
In a sea of wolves, a king had taken my side.
The hall fell into a stunned silence, thick with disbelief and tension.
Chairs scraped against the floor as people rose, their curiosity pressing down on
like a heavy weight.
Who had the audacity to save the unwanted pest?
The stranger straightened to his full height, lifting
with effortless grace. Even with my feet now planted on the ground, his arm remained securely around my waist.
He was tall. Towering.
Broad shoulders exuded power and refinent, his sleek black hair gleaming under the soft lights.
His face was all sharp angles and striking symtry, frad by dark brows that arched over those devastating blue eyes.
And his suit—tailored to perfection—hinted at a body sculpted with the perfect balance of strength and elegance.
Then, realization crashed into
like a tidal wave.
Niklaus Hathaway.
My breath caught.
Niklaus Hathaway—billionaire heir, social royalty, and an untouchable force in our world.
And he was standing here, shielding .
A ripple of gasps spread through the room, followed by heated whispers.
Jealousy. Fury. Shock.
"What is happening?" Selena’s sharp voice shattered the silence. She shot to her feet, panic lacing her words.
But Niklaus barely acknowledged her.
His focus remained on . His lips tilted into the faintest of smiles—one that carried possession, protection, and sothing dangerously close to tenderness.
The whispers turned venomous.
"Does Niklaus Hathaway know her?"
"How does he know her?"
"Are they close? Or has she sohow word her way into his attention?"
The weight of their judgnt pressed down on
like a vice.
Selena’s voice rang out again, louder, more desperate.
"Hermia, get out of his arms! What are you doing?"
Sha burned through .
"I’m sorry," I stamred, stepping away quickly, my cheeks flaming.
The mont his warmth left , an unsettling coldness took its place.
Niklaus’s frown deepened at the loss, his icy-blue gaze sharpening as it flicked toward Selena.
The air shifted.
Selena faltered.
She took an instinctive step back, but then, catching herself, plastered on a bright, eager smile—desperate for his attention.
Niklaus didn’t spare her a second glance.
His head turned, his sharp profile cutting away from her, and his focus settled back on .
The whispers grew louder.
"Why did she fall into his arms?"
"I’m so jealous. It should have been !"
"Is this why she ca here? To seduce the most powerful man in the room?"
And then, the inevitable dagger—
"Like mother, like daughter."
The words sliced through the air, dripping with scorn.
"She’s trying to charm him just like her mother tried to seduce her way into this family—and failed miserably."
I froze.
The familiar sting of my mother’s reputation cut through
like a blade.
A slut, they had called her.
A woman who couldn’t stay loyal to her fiancé—my father—and ended up with another man.
A disgrace to the Blackwood family.
That was the story they had always told.
But there was one thing I never understood—one thing no one ever dared to address.
The tiline.
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