Niklaus POV
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At exactly 5:30 AM, my internal alarm dragged me out of my limited four-hour sleep. I lay in bed for a moment, my body conditioned to the demanding schedule of my life.
The faint glow of the early morning seeped through the heavy curtains, and I sighed before pushing myself up. No time to linger, no time to think. My feet hit the cool marble floor, sending a brief shiver up my spine.
My morning routine was usually precise and efficient. Back at my penthouse, I would've started the day with a rigorous workout in my private gym, followed by a cold shower to shake off any lingering fatigue. But today, I was at my father's house—a massive mansion devoid of my usual comforts—and there was no time to fuss.
I got to my feet, pulling on a crisp white shirt and a tailored black suit. Every button fastened with precision, every crease smoothed. The Hathaway name demanded sharpness in all things, and I would not disappoint. I paused briefly to adjust my tie in the mirror, making sure it sat perfectly flush.
Ignore the phone, I reminded myself when the urge to check my emails arose. One quick glance at my inbox could turn into an hour of replying, planning, and getting sidetracked by the day's chaos.
Instead, I grabbed my watch, slid it on, and took one last look at myself. Satisfied, I stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind me with barely a sound. I moved quickly and silently, my polished shoes whispering against the marble floors.
My heart felt unexpectedly calm—a rare sensation. All I wanted was to make it out of the house before anyone else woke up, avoiding the noise, drama, and overbearing personalities of my family.
But, of course, luck wasn't on my side.
The moment my foot hit the bottom step of the grand staircase, six pairs of eyes turned toward me. I stopped in my tracks, jaw tightening.
My parents, grandparents, and—unfortunately—Dante, were all gathered in the foyer.
"Good morning, Mom, Dad, Grandma…ugh, Grandpa," I muttered through gritted teeth.
The disgust in my voice was clear when I addressed my grandfather, who was currently asleep with his head cradled on my grandmother's shoulder. I turned to leave, my hand already on the door handle, when my grandmother's sharp voice rang out.
"Come back here!"
I sighed audibly, pausing mid-step. "What?" My tone was as exasperated as I felt.
"Where do you think you're going?" Grandma Roberta demanded, her stern eyes pinning me in place.
I shrugged nonchalantly. "To work. Some of us have to do that."
My mother, Lola, cut in. "We've been waiting for you."
I scoffed, a sardonic smile curling my lips. "I was wondering why you're all up this early. I should've known."
Lola crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. "You made us leave our beds this early."
Grandma Roberta nodded in agreement. "Why do you always wake up so early? Poor Roberto is still sleepy." She adjusted Grandpa Roberto's head on her shoulder, patting him like a child.
"Hug me tighter, Roberta," Grandpa mumbled, still half-asleep.
Dante's voice echoed from the stairs as he descended, yawning loudly. "How do you survive this, Mom? Dad? They're disgusting," he muttered, gesturing lazily toward our grandparents.
Lola turned sharply, glaring up at him. "And look at the ganger coming down," she said, folding her arms in irritation.
Our father, Lorenzo, finally glanced up from his magazine, raising an amused eyebrow. "It's gangster, Lola," he corrected mildly.
The room went silent as Lola turned her icy glare on Lorenzo. For a moment, she simply stared, her expression enough to drain the humor from the air. Lorenzo blinked, realizing his mistake far too late.
"Sorry," he muttered, quickly looking back down at his magazine.
The glare immediately dropped, and everyone in the room exhaled in relief as the tension broke.
Grandpa Roberto cracked an eye open, his voice a low rumble. "What gang are you even in, boy?"
Dante rolled his eyes, leaning against the railing. "I thought we were supposed to be focusing on Niklaus this morning. He's here, isn't he?"
My mother's attention snapped back to me. "You're not leaving until you eat breakfast."
I frowned, adjusting my jacket. "I have work, and I'm late."
Lorenzo folded his magazine and set it aside, his tone calm but firm. "If you're under my roof, you answer to me."
Dante's eyes widened at our father's tone. He wasn't ready for a father-and-son clash this early in the day.
I smirked, my usual cool exterior barely cracking. "I don't live here. I don't have to abide."
Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "You slept here last night."
My patience snapped as I turned to glare at my younger brother. "Because of your idiot of a second son."
Dante, utterly unfazed, was already headed toward the dining room.
I exhaled deeply—the kind of long-suffering sigh only family could provoke. "Fine. I'll stay." I peeled off my jacket with deliberate movements, muttering under my breath.
"You're not leaving anyway," Grandpa Roberto mumbled, his eyes still closed.
Grandma Roberta huffed. "He's asleep, Niklaus. Don't take him seriously."
I glared at my grandmother but kept quiet, knowing any retort would only prolong the ordeal. She was stern and indifferent to everyone except her husband, who somehow received all her sweetness.
Lola clapped her hands as Dante's voice rang out from the dining room. "Breakfast is ready!"
Lorenzo rose smoothly, folding his arm over my mother's. "Shall we?" he said, leading her toward the dining room.
I lingered, watching them go. The Hathaway family was a circus—loud, overwhelming—but for all their flaws, they were my circus.
"Let's get this over with," I muttered to myself, following the noise of breakfast chaos into the dining room.