Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me novel Chapter 162

Chapter 162

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My dad once told me that after his car crash, he stayed awake for a while. He said there was so much adrenaline rushing through his body that he didn’t feel the initial pain.

His body was in shock, numbed, and focused only on surviving. But then, as he sat there–wedged between the steering wheel and the door, a shard of glass lodged in his right lung–the adrenaline wore off.

Slowly. Then all at once. And with it came the agony–sharp, raw, merciless. It was the pain, not the injury itself, that eventually made him pass out before the ambulance arrived.

Now I understand what he meant.

As Valerie nods with that perfect, polished smile, and Nathan slips a diamond ring (is it mine? I can’t tell from here) onto her finger, I think: oh.

Oh.

That’s all I can manage at first, just a tiny syllable, but it feels like an earthquake beneath my ribs.

I must have been running on adrenaline for the past week since I left the Ashford Estate. The hiding, the pretending I was okay. The keeping–myself–busy–so–I–don’t–have–to–feel.

But now, like someone flipped a switch or shut off a tap, it’s gone.

And, oh God, the pain…

The pain hits me with the force and magnitude of a collapsing skyscraper. No warning. No time to brace myself. Just impact.

It feels like my chest caves inward as I clutch it, breath catching mid–inhale. It’s like trying to breathe through molasses, or maybe drowning in the thick silence of betrayal.

My vision blurs instantly–tears, maybe, or maybe my body short–circuiting under the emotional whiplash.

The pain isn’t clean or sharp. It’s messy. A living, writhing thing inside me that claws at my lungs, corrodes my stomach lining, curdles my blood into something sour and sluggish.

My body is malfunctioning. Every system is shutting down.

Through something that feels like a vacuum, I hear Lou’s voice. Panicked. Frantic.

“April? April!”

I think I hear Lucas say, “Lara Ellington, will you marry me?”

Then–silence. Everything drops out. The air. The sound. Even the room.

A pair of arms wrap around me, grounding me just enough to register the sensation of warmth.

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19:11 Tue, Oct 14 d.

Chapter 162

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“Oh God, April,” Lou is whispering. Her voice is thready, fragile with concern. But everything sounds muffled. Like I’ve been submerged in water or someone stuffed cotton balls in my ears.

I slap my chest desperately, stupidly thinking I can jumpstart my heart like it’s a broken engine.

But it’s not just my heart–it’s all of me. I feel fractured and untethered, like my body is floating an inch outside of itself.

It feels like my skull has cracked open. Like my brain is spilling out across the room, dragging memories with it–flashes, bursts, pieces of the past rising with brutal force and no permission.

My room. That awful, bright fluorescent light that flickers sometimes. Nathan, standing there, sweaty and shaken from a nightmare.

“It’s always been you,” he said once, voice still raw from sleep. “From the moment you fell into my arms that first day.”

A kiss. My first kiss. Dizzying and electric and more real than anything that had ever touched me. “You drive me crazy, April.”

A library. Rows of books. Me nestled in his lap, his hands firm on my waist. His eyes saying everything his mouth couldn’t.

His room, my chest still tight with the betrayal of his elimination. “I don’t want to marry anyone else. You’re the only family I want.”

A bathroom. That one night. Me on the counter. Him between my knees. “Nobody is perfect for me but you.”

A supply closet. “Shut up and kiss me, smartmouth.”

A doctor’s office. Nathan bruised and bandaged, but trying to be strong for me. “Worry about me, and I’ll worry about you. We’ll take care of each other.”

A bed soaked with sweat, arms clinging tightly, desperate not to fall apart. “Thank you. For not turning away. For not being afraid of the broken parts.”

A coat closet. A quiet, stolen kiss. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Tough luck,” I told him, smiling. “You have me.”

A black iron gate. The empty football field behind it. “I would do anything for you.”

The ballroom. Two warring brothers. “I choose April Farrah.”

His bedroom. Us. No performance, no pretense. Just emotions stretched so thin they nearly snapped. “I can’t lose you, April.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re never losing me.”

A morning so soft it felt like a dream. No terrors. “You’re the cure,” he said.

His room again–his sanctuary, and somehow mine too. “April Farrah, my love, the literal light of my life, will you marry me?”

“I love you,” he told me once, looking at me like I was something sacred. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And then–the switch.

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19:11 Tue, Oct 14 d

Chapter 162

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