Niklaus's POV
>
My family was a study in contrasts, each member playing a role that made the Hathaways both revered and feared.
Grandma Roberta—stern, indifferent—was the unshakable matriarch. She didn't give affection freely. The only exception was Grandpa Roberto. To him, she was a pillar of strength and, surprisingly, a source of tenderness, cradling his head like he was the last fragile thing on earth. To everyone else, though, she was a force. Her sharp words cut deeper than any blade, and if she smiled at you, you always had to wonder—was it genuine or calculated?
Grandpa Roberto, on the other hand, was a legend in the underworld. Retired now, he played the role of an old man too tired for battles, but his reputation still lingered like a shadow. Everyone knew—if Roberto Hathaway ever rose from his peaceful chair, there would be consequences.
Then there was my mother, Lola—a paradox. With my father, Lorenzo, she was ruthless, a relentless bully who demanded apologies for the smallest misstep. It reduced him to sighs and muttered "sorrys" like a student caught by a strict teacher. Yet, to the world, she was charm personified—warm smiles, nurturing words, all hiding the sharp mind that ruled the Hathaway household like a queen.
My father, Lorenzo—cutthroat in business, much like me. Or perhaps more. He built the Hathaway empire alongside Grandpa Roberto, and his idea of strategy often blurred the lines between ambition and ruthlessness. It was why we clashed so often. We were too alike—both relentless, both unwilling to yield.
We were a dysfunctional machine—every member a cog, turning in their own way, but ultimately propelling the family forward. Love, fear, necessity—we stayed united, a fortress the world could envy or dread.
But the Hathaways weren't just powerful. We had a dark side too.
The dining room was as elegant as ever, the long oak table gleaming under the soft glow of an ornate chandelier. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and an array of breakfast dishes filled the air, but a quiet tension settled over us.
I sat at the head of the table, unfolding my napkin with slow precision. The black suit I wore was impeccable, though the slight mess of my hair and the dark circles beneath my eyes betrayed my lack of sleep.
Across from me, my brother Dante lounged in his chair, the picture of carelessness—casual clothes, unbothered expression.
Lola smiled warmly at me, too sweet to be genuine. "We made your favorite, Niklaus—eggs Benedict with smoked salmon and truffle oil."
I glanced at the plate, offering a polite smile. "Thank you, Mom," I said, taking a deliberate bite.
Dante, never one to let anything slide, muttered, "Wow, must be nice having a favorite. Nobody ever knows mine."
Grandma Roberta didn't even blink. "That's because you don't have a favorite, Dante. You eat whatever is put in front of you—like a stray dog."
Dante grinned, jabbing his fork into his hash browns. "And yet, I'm the happiest one at this table."
A few chuckles rippled through the room, but the laughter was fleeting, fading into the quiet clink of cutlery against china.
Then came the sound I dreaded—Grandma Roberta clearing her throat.
"Niklaus," she said, her voice calm, too calm. "Have you given any thought to marriage?"
The fork in my hand froze mid-air. My jaw tightened. Of course. It always came back to this.
Lola tilted her head, her tone dripping with faux innocence. "We're just curious, darling. You run one of the most successful family businesses in the country, but you're not getting any younger. Don't you think it's time to find someone?"
Grandma Roberta smiled thinly. "Or we could arrange a blind date for you. Plenty of suitable women from good families."
I set my fork down, appetite gone. "You mean women who could 'help the company,'" I said, casting a glance at my father, who had been silent until now.
Lorenzo finally looked up from his plate, his voice firm. "Exactly. This isn't just about you, Niklaus. Marriage is strategic. It's about alliances, not emotions."
My teeth clenched. Before I could respond, Lola cut in. "Oh, Lorenzo, don't be so old-fashioned. If Niklaus wants to marry someone from the U.S., we won't judge. Right, Roberto?"
Grandpa Roberto, half-asleep with his head resting against Grandma Roberta's shoulder, mumbled, "Sure. Just make sure she's not useless."
I let out a sharp breath, leaning back in my chair. "This," I said, my voice edged with frustration, "is exactly why I hate dining with you all. You make my life unbearable."
Grandma Roberta's glare was a dagger. "Eat," she snapped. "You've been picking at your food like a bird."
"I've lost my appetite," I shot back. "And stop thinking it's your job to pick a wife for me."
Dante, mouth full of food, laughed. "Glad I don't have to deal with that. I'm never getting married."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Even Grandpa Roberto opened one eye, his expression unreadable.
"Excuse me?" Grandma Roberta's voice was low, dangerous.
Dante shrugged, still chewing. "Marriage isn't for me. Too much drama. I like my freedom."
Lorenzo's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "That's enough."
Dante, for once, got the message. He shut up.
But I was done.
I rose, adjusting my jacket. "I'm going to work."
Lorenzo's hand hovered over his coffee cup. "Before you go—about the client meeting next week—"
"Lorenzo," Lola said sharply, a warning in her tone. "Let him leave."
I grabbed my coat and keys, casting one last look at my family. "Enjoy breakfast," I said coldly before walking out.
The morning air was crisp, a brief relief from the suffocating walls of the Hathaway mansion.
As I loosened my tie and strode toward my car, the weight of my family's expectations settled back on my shoulders.
The Hathaway name—was it a blessing or a curse?