Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me novel Chapter 167

Chapter 167

“Are you two kidding me?” Lily hisses, glaring at her children. “McDonald’s? Seriously? Do you think I invited April so you could drag her along as you played hooky?”

Julian smirks and leans in. “I got you fries to go.”

She smacks his chest. “I swear you’re adopted.”

He snorts. “I would believe that, but you love telling the story of how you were in labor for twenty–four hours.”

She scoffs. “Little did I know that would be the easiest challenge I would face as your mother.” He cups her face and kisses her forehead. “Je t’aime, Maman,” he declares with a blinding smile.

His eyes flicker over her shoulder. “Oh, Jade came. I’m supposed to talk her into doing a feature for us.”

And just like that, he’s gone, blending into the sea of elites.

Lily rolls her eyes, but her expression holds affection. When she shifts her attention to Lara and me, Lara raises her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. We’re all just living in Julian’s world.”

Lily tsks. “You’re both lucky that you brought April back.”

She loops her arm through mine, and my heart skips a beat. She’s such a force, and I don’t think being in her presence will ever not be overwhelming.

“Come, dear,” she says, leading me away from Lara. “I have some people I want to introduce you to.”

She does?

Numb and a little panicky, I let her steer me through the velvet–draped corridor into the heart of the loft.

The space buzzes with quiet opulence. Models lounge like sculptures, all angles and cheekbones, dressed in pieces that defy logic and gravity.

Editors, designers, and stylists float between them in whispered conversations, their names probably recognizable to anyone who actually belongs in this world.

Lily belongs.

I do not.

But I try to walk like I do, lengthening my spine and softening my jaw like I’ve seen in photos.

As we weave through the crowd, I catch glimpses of who we’re approaching–a woman with a silver bob and wide–legged Céline trousers, a Vogue stylist I follow religiously on Instagram, and a man with a diamond ear cuff and the kind of aura that screams Creative Director. I feel my heartbeat tick up with each step.

“April, this is Celeste Noiret,” Lily says breezily. “She discovered Gala Saint–Clair back when she was modeling in grocery ads. And this is Etienne Morel–he just wrapped an exhibit in Milan. And of course, you know Yves.”

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Chapter 167

Do 1?

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49

Oh God. I think I do. He designed the sculptural jacket from the Met Gala that went viral last spring.

1 manage a smile, but most of my energy is diverted to trying not to faint in the presence of these people who might as well be gods.

“H–hi,” I say, waving.

Waving, April? What the fuck?

“It’s an honor,” I add, sounding like a robot.

Celeste gives me an approving once–over. “Is this the ‘diamond in the rough‘ you’ve been gushing about, Lily?”

Lily beams. “In the flesh. April’s brilliant. Quietly so. Which is rare—and, I find, much more enduring than the loud ones.”

My cheeks flame. Brilliant? Me?

I catch Yves studying me with narrowed eyes, not unkindly. “Are you self–taught?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice steadier now. “Mostly. I’ve been sewing since I was fifteen.”

“She made her own dress for the Ashford ball,” Lily adds, proudly. “And oh, you should see her sketches–truly inspired. She has raw talent, just waiting to be tapped.”

I want to melt into the hardwood floor. I can’t believe the Lily Ashford is bragging about me to giants in the fashion industry.

Celeste clucks her tongue thoughtfully. “Have you ever considered formal study?”

That’s when Lily’s grip on my arm tightens slightly. “Actually, we were just discussing that.”

I can’t keep the surprise off my face.

We were?

She turns to me, eyes bright with something that makes my stomach twist–anticipation or nerves, I’m not sure. “April, dear, I have a friend who sits on the board of Institut Français de la Mode in Paris. It’s the very best. I want to arrange an introduction.”

My breath catches. My eyes widen.

I blink at Lily, trying to understand if she just said what she just said or if I tripped on my heels, hit my head, and am now in a fever

dream.

“You said fashion was your dream,” Lily says, eyeing me expectantly. “Is that still true?”

“Yes,” the answer tears out of me like a gasp. “But

”

Paris? Me?

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Chapter 167

There are a hundred different reasons why this won’t work. Why it’s ridiculous and scary and-

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