Sweet For You, Ruthless For Others
Chapter 36: Weetway Housing.

Chapter 36: Weetway Housing.

The car pulled up to the modest housing complex, the soft hum of the engine fading into silence. My fingers twitched against the torn fabric of my dress, the material clinging awkwardly to my figure. I felt ugly. Uncomfortable. Exposed.

Niklaus shifted in his seat beside me, that insufferable, faintly smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We’re here," he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

I turned to him slowly, suspicion lacing my every move. "Thank you?" My voice wavered, uncertain.

Without another word, he stepped out of the car with that effortless grace of his, like every move was choreographed for effect. The dim glow of the streetlights cast long shadows as he strode to the trunk, retrieving my bags with a quiet ease.

I hated how natural this felt for him—handling my things, making decisions for me, leaving me reeling in the aftermath.

The night air sent a shiver down my spine, and I hugged myself as Niklaus turned back to me, his expression softer than I expected. "Did I tell you," he murmured, his voice dipping into something intimate, "you look beautiful in that dress? And I’m sorry it tore."

A lump rose in my throat. Heat crept up my neck.

Beautiful? No one ever said that to me. Not when it mattered. And now—when I was standing here, feeling like a mess, my dress ruined, my life uncertain—it was the last thing I expected to hear.

I dropped my gaze, fingers brushing the frayed hem. "Thanks," I mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Niklaus winked, a playful glint in his dark eyes, before stepping back into the car. Just like that, he was done.

I stood frozen, gripping my bags, watching him settle into his seat as if none of this had left an impact on him.

Then, just as the car began to roll forward, the window on his side lowered smoothly.

"Congratulations, Mia." His voice carried a rich, layered meaning, thick with irony.

I blinked, caught off guard. "Congratulations?" My lips parted, questions hovering on the tip of my tongue, but before I could demand an explanation, the window slid up again.

With a subtle smirk, he gestured for Steffon to drive.

And then—he was gone.

The sleek car disappeared into the night, its taillights vanishing around the corner, leaving me standing there in the quiet.

I exhaled slowly, the cold air burning my lungs. "Congratulations," I echoed under my breath, shaking my head.

I guess he’s right. I stayed. I had an opportunity. I didn’t run to the airport. And now I have a job—whatever that means.

Squaring my shoulders, I glanced down at my bags. This was my choice. My next move. I just needed to use my last card to get a place here.

Gripping the handles tighter, I took a deep breath and stepped forward, my heels clicking softly against the pavement.

The scent of rain lingered in the air, mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

The building loomed before me, sleek and modern, its luxurious exterior illuminated by a lone flickering bulb above the entrance.

I pushed the glass door open, the faint squeak of its hinges echoing into the night.

What awaits me now?

The lobby swallowed me in cool air-conditioning, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth outside.

It was beautiful—gleaming marble floors, soft golden lighting, and ornate chandeliers casting intricate shadows overhead. The faint scent of fresh lilies drifted in the air, adding an oddly calming effect.

To my right, a sleek receptionist desk stood like a command center, manned by two women.

The cashier, a petite woman with sharp features and dark curls pinned back in a neat bun, was mid-conversation on the phone. But the moment I approached, she dropped it.

Her colleague, the receptionist, had softer brown eyes and a composed, reserved demeanor.

I adjusted my grip on my bag—only to have it gently pulled from my hand.

Startled, I turned to see a burly yet kind-faced man, the entrance guard, offering me a small smile.

"Let me take this up for you, Miss."

"Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"

"Nonsense," he chuckled. "You’re carrying enough as it is."

I hesitated. I hope this doesn’t turn into trouble later.

The cashier greeted me with a bright smile. "Good evening! Checking in?"

I brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Yes. I’d like an apartment, please. Something on the seventh floor."

Not too high. Not too low. Just right.

Her smile widened as she typed rapidly into her computer. "Lucky you! We have a beautiful unit available—two bedrooms, fully furnished, with a stunning city view. You’re going to love it."

The receptionist finally looked up, offering me a polite smile as she handed over a stack of papers. "Just fill these out and sign at the bottom. Once that’s done, we’ll take care of the payment."

I stepped to the counter’s edge, glancing at the neatly printed forms.

For a split second, a thought crossed my mind—Would Niklaus have insisted on following me inside? Would he have taken over, settled everything before I had the chance to protest?

I shuddered at the thought. Thank God he didn’t.

I can’t let him keep paying for everything.

My loan was already massive as it was.

As I filled out the forms, the cashier leaned in slightly, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You know, we’ve never had a tenant as pretty as you."

I looked up, startled. Then let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "That’s kind of you to say."

She shrugged, grinning. "I’m serious! This building’s full of rich men and retirees, but you—you’re like a breath of fresh air."

The receptionist shot her a subtle look, as if to say, Focus.

I handed back the completed forms, and the cashier quickly stamped them with an air of importance before sliding them into a folder.

"Okay! Let’s handle the payment. Card or cash?"

I let out a slow breath, gripping my wallet tighter.

Here we go.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the hum of the lobby. The air around me shifted, heavy with something ugly.

I turned, my grip tightening on the counter.

An older woman stood a few feet away, dressed in an elegant but severe-looking coat, her sharp eyes raking over me like I was something vile stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Her lips curled, disdain practically dripping from her voice. "You’re Mariella’s stepdaughter, yes?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "Yes, I—uh—can I help you?"

Her laugh was cold, brittle. "No, you can’t ever help me. But you are a sore stain, and I have no idea what you’re doing here."

I straightened, annoyance flaring hot under my skin. Oh, so we’re doing this right now?

"Obviously, I’m here to get an apartment," I shot back, my voice even but laced with irritation. "What’s it to you?"

She ignored me entirely, her gaze shifting to the receptionist instead.

"Don’t let this daughter of a whore come in and stain our prestigious building," she sneered, as if she were bestowing some royal decree.

I froze.

The words hit me like a slap, cutting through my breath like a jagged knife. A slow burn started in my chest, a familiar, suffocating heat of humiliation and rage.

The receptionist’s eyes widened, flicking uncertainly between us. "Ma’am, you don’t even live here," she pointed out, hesitant but firm.

The woman scoffed, lifting her chin. "No, but my son does." Her gaze flicked back to me, burning with accusation. "God only knows what you plan to do to him."

I clenched my fists.

I should have ignored her. I should have walked away. But the fury in my blood was faster than reason, louder than restraint.

Why’d she have to call my mother? Who does she think she is? I know most of my bullies in this world would be because of my mother but don’t fucking call her name.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I grabbed a glass of water from the counter and—

Splash.

Gasps rang out in the lobby as the water hit her square in the chest, soaking her expensive coat, dripping down her pearl necklace.

A stunned silence followed.

Her mouth fell open. For a moment, she just stood there, her expression twisting from shock to pure outrage.

I lifted my chin. "Oops."

"You little—" She lunged, but a pair of security guards appeared out of nowhere, stepping between us before she could grab me.

"Ma’am," one of them said firmly, gripping her arm, "I think that’s enough."

She was fuming, her face blotchy with rage, water still dripping down her collar. "You don’t know who I am," she seethed, jabbing a shaking finger in my direction. "She’s a disgrace! You’ll regret ever letting her step foot in this building!"

The receptionist sighed, rubbing her temple. "Ma’am, please leave before we have to escort you out."

"Are you kidding me?" she shrieked. "She attacked me!"

One of the security guards gave me a pointed look. "Miss, was that really necessary?"

I shrugged, feigning innocence. "I was just cooling down the tension."

The receptionist groaned.

The woman was still seething, sputtering curses under her breath as the guards gently but firmly ushered her toward the door.

But just before she disappeared outside, she turned and shot me one last venomous glare.

"This isn’t over," she hissed.