Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me novel Chapter 165

The black car drops me off in front of what looks like an abandoned warehouse–until I see the velvet rope.

It’s subtle, guarded by a man in a tailored overcoat who checks names off a list.

Past him, the building glows from within, lit by soft amber lights that spill through tall windows and flicker against the cracked brick walls. It pulses with an energy I’m not sure I can match.

“Name?” The man asks, eyeing me expectantly,

“Uhm… April Farrah.”

This is it. He’s going to check the list, then scoff. Eye me like the store clerk looked at Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

But he glances down, barely nods before unhooking the velvet rope, stepping aside for me to enter.

Well, shit.

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The moment I step through the doors, the space opens up like a cathedral.

Steel beams. Concrete floors polished like mirrors. Velvet banquettes and floating platforms where models pose like sculptures in motion.

Spotlights cut through a thin haze of fog, illuminating fabric like stained glass. Music–something ambient and soothing–throbs through the floorboards and into my spine.

Holy–and I cannot stress this enough–shit.

I move slowly, careful not to trip in my borrowed heels.

Everyone else looks like they belong–like they’re right at home. They lean against installations in structured gowns, whispering in French or fashion–speak.

There’s a woman in a metallic corset eating a single olive from a crystal tray. Someone else is laughing like they invented the concept.

I rub my sweaty palms against Lily’s dress–mine now, I guess. I know thanks to her, I look the part. But unless she can give me confidence in a garment box, I feel so completely out of place.

A waiter materializes beside me, offering a flute of champagne with a gloved hand. I take it out of instinct and hold it like a prop.

I scan the room for Lara, a familiar–albeit indifferent–face,

I let out a breath of relief when I spot her across the room, lit like the cover of a magazine. But for once, she’s not the most alluring presence in the room–because she’s standing next to Lily.

Dressed in something, sculptural and inky black, her fiery hair twisted like a crown, Lily Ellington is fucking luminous.

She’s mid–conversation with a tall young man I don’t recognize, her demeanor smooth and assured. Power radiates from her in gentle waves, like perfume.

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She glances up and smiles when her eyes land on me.

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I’m struck by how….sincere her smile is. In this showroom of plastic smiles and rehearsed gestures, Lily Ellington looks genuinely happy to

see me.

She lifts a manicured hand and waves me over.

I hesitate–just a breath. Then I set the untouched glass down on the edge of a marble pedestal, square my shoulders, and take a step

forward.

Everything here is sharp, beautiful, elegant. I walk slowly, like I’m learning how to move in someone else’s skin.

I don’t belong here. Perhaps the man at the entrance misread the name on the list.

Maybe April Farrow is who should be here tonight.

That thought curdles my already frayed nerves, and by the time I reach Lara, Lily, and the mystery man, I’m a complete wreck inside.

“April!” Lily exclaims, pulling me in for a hug. It’s not the superficial air hug most socialites give. She actually presses me to her and

squeezes.

When we pull apart, I’m breathless from doing nothing.

Lily gives me a once–over and her smile bares perfect teeth. “Oh, I knew it would look amazing on you.”

She turns me to the man, showing me off like her new puppy. “Doesn’t she look gorgeous, Jules?”

The man–Jules–rolls his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips. I see the beginning of a dimple, just waiting for his smile to widen so it

can deepen.

Up close, I realize that I do know him. He’s familiar, though I can’t quite put my finger on it. But as I take in his red hair, darker than Lily and Lara’s, and his dark green eyes, I make the connection.

“Mom, she’s not a shiny new toy for show and tell,” he says, his voice holding fond exasperation.

“Oh, shush,” Lily swats his words away.

“April, I don’t believe you’ve met my son, Julian?”

Julian Ellington. One of Lara’s three older brothers. The one whose class Lucas was in.

He’s tall enough that even in my heels, I have to crane my neck back a little, Windswept, reddish–brown hair frames an angular face that looks sculpted. As I suspected, his dimple winks as he reaches out a hand to me, an easy–going smile on his face.

“Hi, April.”

I reach out to shake him, internally cringing when I realize my palm is sweating. His grip is warm and firm.

“Julian just came back from Paris,” Lily says proudly. “He’s a writer for L’Officiel, one of the most exclusive fashion magazines in France.”

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Julian sighs. “I, also, am not a shiny toy for show and tell.”

🙂))

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I hear a soft snort, and Julian’s arm reaches out and tugs Lara to his side. She blinks at her brother, startled. “And here’s my shiny sister, April. Not only is she a model, she’s engaged to the heir to the most powerful family in Chicago.”

My breath catches when Lara’s face shifts to that damned mask again. “We know each other,” she says blankly, not dislodging her brother’s arm from around her shoulder.

I force a smile. “Hi, Lara.”

She looks away.

Lily claps her hands. “You three mingle. I see some people I need to say hi to.” She’s gone in a cloud of glitter and perfume.

The air is suddenly tense, and I fight the urge to fidget before Julian, the stranger, and Lara–once a stranger, then a friend, and now… I don’t know.

“I’m hungry,” Julian declares out of the blue.

Lara rolls her eyes. “You’re always hungry.”

“And yet, you never feed me.”

She gestures to herself. “Do I look like an endless cornucopia?”

He squeezes her cheeks and coos, “No, but you’re so adorable I could just eat you up!”

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