[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary

The crowd erupted in gasps and excited murmurs.

Neville’s face burned with humiliation. He wished he could just kill this man in front of him, but he couldn’t without looking like an assault instead of self-defense.

Torn between his thoughts, Neville could taste the iron from his mouth. It seemed that he had bitten his cheek.

He met Mick’s eyes directly and said coldly. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I do know that you’re the one who messed up. So, don’t drag me into your mess just because your ego can’t handle a failure."

Mick’s grin faltered for a moment, but his arrogance quickly returned.

"I messed up?" He chuckled, which sounded a little forced. "Is that the story you’re going with? How convenient."

"It’s the truth," Neville said flatly.

"Truth," Mick repeated, as though tasting the word. Then his gaze darkened. "Did you also sleep with my brother, huh? Keaton? Is that how you do it—one Alpha at a time until there’s someone powerful enough to keep you?"

The murmurs around them turned ugly. Someone snickered. Another voice said, "Holy shit, did he really do that?"

Neville’s patience snapped. "You’re insane."

"Am I?" Mick tilted his head, his smile twisting. "Then why would my brother do that? Why would he—"

Mick’s sentence was stopped halfway as Killian’s boot slammed into his side.

The pain was blinding. His breath hitched as he hit the ground, palms scraping against concrete.

The sound of the crowd warped, fading in and out. The knife that Neville barely got out of his inventory had rolled onto the concrete—out in the open.

"Mr. Sergie!" someone shouted.

"Stop it, you’ll kill him!" another voice cried.

But Killian wasn’t listening. His pupils were wide open, his expression one of unfiltered rage. He pulled his foot back, ready to strike again—

And then a sharp crack split the air.

A hand had caught Killian’s ankle mid-kick, stopping the motion. One could imagine how much force that kick had by its sound.

"That’s enough."

The voice was calm and even slightly friendly, but it silenced the chaos in an instant.

Neville blinked through the haze and saw him—Liam.

Liam stood tall, composed, and smiling, totally in contrast to the mess around him. His uniform jacket was slightly disheveled, his collar undone just enough to suggest he had rushed here. But that only added to his presence, sharp and unshakable.

Killian scowled, yanking his leg, but Liam’s grip on his ankle didn’t budge. "Stay out of this, Mr.—whatever you are. It doesn’t concern you."

Liam’s smile didn’t fade. His hand tightened almost imperceptibly, just enough to make Killian wince.

"Would you please go amicably now?" he began.

"You’re on Maxwell grounds. Any further than this will concern not only me but everyone around me." His smile flattened into something mirthless. "You don’t want to escalate things, do you?"

Mick frowned, visibly irritated. He clearly didn’t like this new guy’s tone.

"Do you—"

"I know who you are, Mr. Hewitt," Liam cut in smoothly. His tone was polite, but the underlying edge made even the guards glance at each other.

His eyes briefly glanced at Neville’s unsightly appearance. For just a second, Liam’s expression tightened. Then the smile returned.

"If you have any problems, you can bring them to Mr. Stewart for further notice. However..." He let the word hang deliberately. "You decided to make a scene at the main entrance of Maxwell Corporation. As one of its supervisors, I’d like to know the reason why."

The crowd murmured in agreement. That word—supervisor—sent another murmur through the crowd. Some people gasped quietly, realizing that the man facing Mick wasn’t just some passerby. A few even chuckled nervously at the thought of being implicated.

Killian was the first to respond, "We don’t have any business with you."

"Then," Liam said, his gaze sliding toward Neville again, "do you have a problem with Mr. Hope here?"

Mick sneered. "Do you know what that slut did?"

Neville’s fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to spit a curse back, but Liam spoke before he could.

"I don’t," Liam said simply. "Which is why I’d like an explanation for this situation."

He turned slightly to Neville. "Would you like to move to another place?"

Neville’s lips parted. He didn’t know if he should just nod or say something, but Killian’s voice came first, cold and cutting.

"No."

He was determined to humiliate him in public.

Mick glanced between them—Killian’s aggression, Neville’s unsightly appearance, Liam’s patience—and suddenly smirked. He had a look like he figured out something.

"Oh, I see now." His tone changed into mocking realization.

"You’re covering for him, too, aren’t you?" He tilted his head, voice loud enough for the crowd to hear.

"Did he do you as well?" He said, pointing out Liam’s overprotective gesture.

Unable to figure out the details, a wave of gasps erupted. The crowd began coming up with their own conclusions.

"Wait, what does that mean?"

"Is that true?"

"Holy hell, is that guy—really?"

Liam’s faint smile vanished. His brows drew together, and frowning as he overheard some of the comments in the crowd.

He exhaled softly.

"Mr. Hewitt," he said, and this time his tone carried warning, quiet but unmistakable. "I’d like you to refrain from saying any further... malicious speculations."

Mick scoffed, eyes glittering with satisfaction. "Oh, I was right, wasn’t I?"

He turned his sneer on Neville, who was pushing himself up from the ground, trembling with fury. "You really do know how to pick your targets, don’t you? What a slut."

"Mr. Hewitt," Liam said again, this time stepping forward.

"Please understand that you’ve just assaulted someone in public. Even if there weren’t a hundred witnesses standing here, there’s still surveillance footage." His smile sharpened. "How do you think HW Corporation will take responsibility for this?"

Mick’s smirk faltered. "You wouldn’t dare."

Liam’s hand dropped from Killian’s leg. He straightened to his full height and met Mick’s glare head-on. "Try me."

Desperate to regain footing, Killian suddenly pointed. "He had a deadly weapon."

Neville blinked, then looked down—and realized what Killian meant. A big kitchen knife lay glinting on the pavement, sunlight bouncing off its blade.

Neville let out a short, incredulous laugh, scoffing at Killian. He knew they were going to use it against him.

"That?" He tilted his head, looking up at Killian. "That’s a kitchen knife. It fell. Not pulled out to kill."