Sweet For You, Ruthless For Others
Chapter 19: Like A Good Girl.

Chapter 19: Like A Good Girl.

I tried to sit still, my shoulders tense, my fingers clutching the dress bag like it was a lifeline. The leather seat beneath me was soft, but I felt no comfort—just a gnawing anxiety that refused to loosen its grip.

Niklaus, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. I could feel his gaze on me, studying me the way someone might examine a riddle they were dying to solve. It made my skin prickle—the weight of his attention, the way his silence seemed louder than the soft hum of the car engine.

"You look like you’re about to jump out of the car," he finally said, his voice smooth and calm, shattering the heavy silence.

I flinched slightly, snapping out of my spiraling thoughts. "I’m just... processing," I muttered, my voice small, like I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to hear me.

He tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. "Processing what?"

I swallowed, my gaze falling to my lap. The bag crinkled in my grip as I twisted the handles tighter around my fingers. "Why you’re doing this," I admitted softly. "Why me?"

For a second, there was silence. I almost regretted saying anything—almost wished I could take the words back and pretend I wasn’t curious, wasn’t shaken by the way he kept inserting himself into my life.

Then, a faint smirk touched his lips. "Because I want to," he said simply.

That was it. No explanation. No deeper reason. Just because he wanted to.

I opened my mouth to ask more, to demand an answer that actually made sense—but before I could, the car slowed to a stop.

"We’re here," Niklaus announced.

I blinked and looked out the window. The building looming before us was tall and sleek, with a modern glass façade that gleamed under the soft glow of the streetlights. It was elegant—too elegant.

"This doesn’t look cheap," I said, frowning at the obvious luxury.

"But it is," he replied, already stepping out of the car. He didn’t offer a hand this time, didn’t wait for me to follow. He just assumed I would.

I hesitated for a moment, then opened the door myself, my feet hitting the pavement with a small thud. The night air curled around me, lifting the hem of my sundress, and I straightened my posture—determined not to look as flustered as I felt.

Niklaus was already waiting, watching me with that same amused expression that made me feel like I was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all night. With a subtle gesture, he motioned toward the entrance. "After you."

I clenched the bag a little tighter and forced myself forward, each step feeling heavier than the last.

This wasn’t just about getting a dress anymore. It felt bigger than that—like I was stepping into something dangerous, something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

Behind me, Niklaus followed, his presence a dark shadow at my back.

The doorman opened the glass doors for us, bowing his head slightly—though whether it was out of respect for Niklaus or mere politeness, I couldn’t tell.

The moment we stepped inside, a wave of cool, perfumed air washed over me. The boutique was breathtaking—crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, their soft glow casting delicate patterns across rows of elegant gowns.

Each dress looked more like a work of art than something anyone would actually wear. The fabrics shimmered, the intricate beadwork caught the light just right, and I felt a pang of dread.

This place wasn’t cheap. It wasn’t even close to cheap.

Why did he bring me here?

Niklaus’s voice broke through my thoughts. "Wait here. I need to talk to the owner."

I nodded stiffly, my lips pressed into a thin line. I wanted to ask why—why did he need to speak to the owner, why was I even here—but before I could, he was already striding away, his long legs carrying him across the boutique with the same unshakable confidence he always seemed to have.

Heads turned as he passed. People noticed him—how could they not? He wasn’t just handsome; he was the kind of man who commanded a room without saying a word.

I let out a quiet breath and shifted my focus to the dresses, hoping to ground myself.

My fingers hovered over the delicate fabrics, each one practically whispering for me to touch them. Silk, satin, lace—they were all too beautiful, too expensive.

I didn’t belong here.

No matter what Niklaus said, this wasn’t a "cheap" store. It was a place for people like him—people who could buy a dress without thinking twice about the price tag.

I was out of place—like a child wandering into a world meant only for adults.

And I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.

>>>>>>>>>>

Niklaus’s POV

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Niklaus’s POV

"Wait here. I need to talk to the owner."

I didn’t wait for a response—just turned and strode across the boutique, my steps measured, my mind already three moves ahead.

The moment I moved, the room shifted. The attendants stopped what they were doing—eyes wide, backs straight, their hushed greetings blending into a soft murmur of "Good evening, Mr. Hathaway." No one dared to cross my path. They never did.

Power did that to people—it bent the air, made space where there wasn’t any.

Jared Lawrence, the store owner, spotted me almost instantly. His smile was warm, professional, but there was an unmistakable flicker of nerves in his eyes as he hurried to meet me halfway.

"Mr. Hathaway," Jared greeted, his voice smooth but a touch too eager. "It’s an honor to see you again."

I gave a curt nod—polite but distant. "I brought someone. She needs a dress."

Jared’s brows lifted ever so slightly. The gears were already turning in his head. If I brought someone here, it meant one thing—a sale so large it could cover his monthly overhead.

"Of course," he said, his voice practically dripping with anticipation.

I didn’t bother with small talk. "Remove all the price tags."

For a split second, Jared blinked at me, the words clearly scrambling his thoughts. "Remove them? Are you sure, Mr. Hathaway?"

My jaw tensed, my gaze flickering briefly toward Hermia—still standing where I left her, clutching that bag like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She looked like she didn’t belong here. Not because she wasn’t beautiful—she was—but because this place, this world, had never been hers.

And I didn’t want her to see the price tags and let that damn insecurity sink in.

"Yes, Mr. Lawrence," I said, my voice calm but firm. "Do it. Quickly."

Jared cleared his throat, his mask of professionalism slipping for a fraction of a second. "If I do that, sir, it means you’re agreeing to purchase all of them outright."

"Fine." The word came out sharper than I intended, but my patience was already thinning. "Just make sure she doesn’t see the prices."

Jared’s lips parted slightly. "She’s... paying?"

My gaze darkened. "Are you refusing to sell them?"

"N-No, of course not!" Jared stammered, his face paling. "It’s just that these dresses are... well, they’re extremely expensive. For you, it’s nothing, but for her—"

"Cut the prices down by 80%," I said flatly, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Jared let out a short, startled laugh—one that turned into a cough the moment he realized I wasn’t joking.

"You’re serious?" he asked, his voice an octave higher than before.

I met his wide-eyed stare with a cold, unwavering look. "Do I look like I’m joking?"

Silence. The kind that made men sweat.

Jared swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Of course, Mr. Hathaway. Consider it done."

"Good."

I didn’t wait for his response—just turned on my heel and walked back toward Hermia, leaving Jared standing there like he’d just seen a ghost.

She was still in the same spot, her gaze flickering over the glittering rows of dresses, a mixture of awe and skepticism written all over her face. She didn’t belong here—and yet, she did. She belonged anywhere I said she did.

I closed the distance between us, and when she noticed me, her back straightened—like she was trying to gather whatever scraps of composure she had left.

"Have you picked a dress yet?" I asked, my voice smooth, warm—a stark contrast to the ice Jared had just heard.

Hermia turned, her gaze locking with mine, and for a moment, I saw the flash of frustration in her eyes. "You told me to wait here," she snapped, her voice sharper than I expected.

I couldn’t help it—my lips curled into a slow smirk. "And you waited like a good girl," I teased, my tone low enough that only she could hear.

Her cheeks flamed instantly, the blush spreading down her neck. She opened her mouth—probably to fire back a retort—but all she managed was an indignant roll of her eyes.

"I’m not a rebel," she muttered, fingers tightening around the bag she still clutched like a lifeline.

I chuckled softly, the sound rumbling from my chest. "You’re sounding like one—talking back to me like that."

And I liked it. More than I should.

Her jaw tightened, her breath hitching ever so slightly. "Can I just get the dress now?" she asked, her voice clipped, desperate to steer the conversation away from the tension thickening between us.

But the game had already begun.

And we both knew it.