Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me novel Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

I chant the mantra to myself as we walk into the massive ballroom and onto the stage. I squint slightly, blinded by the huge spotlights pointed at the stage.

As we line up, my mantra changes: Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

I can barely hear myself panic, though. The huge ballroom is packed to the brim with not only reporters and their cameramen but an actual audience, too. I squint through the blinding lights to see that the crowd is made up mostly of girls, which doesn’t surprise me in the least.

“Oh God, it’s Lara Ellington!” a voice screams from the crowd.

“Lara! We love you!” another screams from the other side of the room.

I glance at the girl in question, and she just smiles politely, as if she’s used to all the attention, maybe even expects it.

“Valerie St Clair!” I’m surprised to hear a voice scream, and other voices join, yelling about how pretty Valerie is and that they love her.

Unlike Lara’s polite, passive smile, Valerie gives a self–satisfied smirk, obviously reveling in the attention.

I hear the crowd call other names, but Lara’s and Valerie’s are the most predominant. And, of course, not a single soul knows who I am.

Not that I care. I’m too busy trying not to hurl all over the perfect stage. Everything–the lights, the cameras, the crowd…it’s all too much for me.

1 glance down at June in worry. If I’m feeling this awful, how much worse is she feeling?

I’m surprised, however, to see my sister unfazed. She’s smiling at the crowd excitedly, her eyes aglow with curiosity and wonder.

For the umpteenth time, I think how much better it would be if our roles were reversed and she was the one in the competition.

My gaze shifts from June to the other side of the stage–where the Ashfords are seated.

Glamorous and stunning as usual, they look comfortable, like they experience attention like this regularly. And Nathan, of course, looks handsome and dashing, like something out of a magazine.

My dream flashes through my mind. Audacious and delusional.

I turn away.

Easton steps on stage, and the crowd quietens a little, but the spotlight is still blinding, and the cameras still flash.

“Good day, Chicago,” his voice booms across the room, thanks to the microphone in his hand. He goes on to give an opening speech, thanking the audience, the reporters, and most importantly, the Ashfords.

“It’s an honor to introduce you today to the prospective brides of the three Ashford heirs.” He turns to us and beans. It’s a smile I’ve never seen on Easton’s face, and I wager that it’s fake–something he only whips out for events like these.

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