Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me novel Chapter 138

Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me

Chapter 138

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I debate knocking on Nathan’s door, but the fear of being caught in this forbidden part of the house has me quietly turning the handle.

As soon as the door cracks open, I wince.

Nathan’s room is as soundproof as a music studio, because the second the door opens, deafening music comes blasting out into the hallway.

1 slip in as fast as I can and close the door behind me.

I press my back against the wall, my heart pounding in sync with the bass thundering from Nathan’s surround sound.

The sensory overload momentarily blinds me, and I have to blink a couple of times to adjust to the room’s interior.

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The main fluorescent lights are off, but the room is illuminated by a string of LED lights I didn’t notice the last time I was here. They’re strung throughout the perimeter, giving it an eerie blue, green, and red glow.

And in the middle of the room–sprawled on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling–is Nathan.

I don’t know if he knows I’m here, since the music is so loud that I can barely hear myself think.

I take a tentative step forward–then another, and another. I stop beside him, and when he still doesn’t move, I drop to the floor beside him, crossing my legs.

It’s been a long while since I felt so…distant from Nathan. I want to reach out to him, but he’s not even acknowledging my presence. I know he’s hurt by what I did, and I don’t know where to start in making it right.

…something ‘bout April.

I startle, paying attention to the song blaring from the speakers. I recognize it: ‘Something ‘Bout April‘ by Bazzi.

My chest clenches as the song consumes the space around us, the lyrics like a caress against my skin.

Smoke up in the air

Everybody’s there

I can hear your voice callin‘

Didn’t mean to stare

Pretty brown hair

Don’t worry I’m all in

‘Cause there’s somethin‘ ‘bout (somethin‘ ‘bout)

Somethin‘ ‘bout

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17:22 Mon, Oct 13

Chapter 138

I don’t wanna laugh

I don’t wanna die wonderin‘ what could be

I don’t wanna dance

I don’t wanna cry

I just want you next to me yeah

‘Cause there’s somethin‘ ‘bout

Somethin‘ ‘bout April

Somethin‘ ‘bout April

Somethin‘ ‘bout April

The song ends and immediately starts again. It’s on repeat. I wonder how many times Nathan has—

Abrupt silence has me opening my eyes, and my breath catches.

28

Nathan is sitting up, his legs crossed, facing me. He’s staring at me blankly, the warmth I’ve gotten so used to leached away by the betrayal I see hovering just below the surface.

I open my mouth to say something, anything. And, Ladies and Gentlemen, what comes out is: “I don’t have brown hair.”

Nathan blinks, his expression not changing.

My cheeks flush, and it’s all I can do not to run out of his room and bury myself in the verdant Ashford garden.

“Finding a song that represents how I feel about a girl named April is one thing,” he says, voice soft, “but finding a song that represents how I feel about a girl named April who also shares the same physical features as my April is a whole other ball game.”

My April.

Those two words spread warmth through me, and I latch onto the tiny flicker of hope. Maybe I didn’t fuck this up so badly. Maybe I can

fix it.

Nathan’s eyes flick to my collar, and his jaw works. “How was your date?” he asks quietly.

“Nathan,” I whisper, reaching out for him. My hand wraps around his wrist, and I freeze when he flinches.

Panic swirls inside me as I forget my inhibitions and grab the sleeve of his long–sleeved shirt, shoving it up his arm.

My eyes widen. In the dim illumination of his room, the bruise around his wrist where Samuel gripped him earlier is an ugly swollen blotch.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

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17:22 Mon, Oct 13

Chapter 138

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I look up at him, a plea in my eyes. “Please tell me there aren’t any more.” My voice wobbles. “Tell me he didn’t do anything else,

Nathan.”

He pulls his arm out of my grip, his stoic mask cracking, revealing the barest hint of emotion..

“What are you talking about?”

My tether snaps, and I move closer, our knees pressing together as I cup his cheeks, turning his head sideways. My eyes trail over his face, looking for fresh bruises. When I find none, my hands drop to the hem of his shirt, and I lift it, searching his chest.

“April-

“Are there any more?” I ask desperately. “Did he hit you after the meeting?”

Understanding dawns on Nathan’s face, and he gently but firmly shoves his shirt down. “No. My father didn’t hit me today.”

My body goes slack with relief, and I release my hold on his shirt. “Thank God.”

Nathan reaches out and catches my wrist. I notice my hands are still shaky, and I clench them into fists.

“Is–is that why you did it?”

It takes me a second to understand what he means, and I nod slowly.

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