Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me novel Chapter 182

Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me

Chapter 182

NATHAN’S POV

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Surely, stabbing myself in the eye with my dessert fork will be less painful than this ostentatious dinner.

The clink of silverware and the steady hum of meaningless conversation fill the long, glossy dining table like static.

My father raises his wine glass, a practiced smile stretched across his face, as if tonight is some grand occasion and not another exercise in pretending we’re a functional family.

“To legacy,” he says. “And to the future.”

We all raise our glasses. Crystal catches the chandelier light like a thousand tiny explosions.

I clink mine lightly against Valerie’s, though I don’t look at her. I can feel her gaze on me anyway–warm, expectant, possessive. Victorious.

Peter, as usual, vibrates with nervous energy, but tonight, he’s…different. Calmer, more centered. And it’s thanks to Eliza and the hands I know for sure are intertwined under the table.

She’s good for him; she settles something inside him.

Like April did for me.

Lucas leans back with one arm draped over the back of Lara’s chair, smug in that effortless way of his.

Lara sits stiff beside him, her spine too straight, her smile too polite. I wonder if anyone else sees the strain radiating off her like heat waves, or if I’m the only one who still bothers to look beneath the surface.

Valerie slips her hand into mine beneath the table. Her fingers are cold and delicate, but her grip is firm. Proprietary.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” she says, voice syrupy with rehearsed awe. “Three brothers, three weddings, one spectacular day. It’s so romantic.”

“It’s a PR dream,” my mother adds, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “The Ashford legacy presented with elegance and unity.”

“Not to mention convenience,” Lucas says, raising his glass again. “One ceremony, one reception, one massive tax write–off.”

My parents and Valerie laugh. Peter rolls his eyes, Eliza chuckles nervously, Lara presses her lips tightly.

And I clench the edge of the table so I don’t launch myself across it and stab him in the eye with the fork.

Valerie squeezes my hand again, harder this time. I offer a tight smile to the table, then focus on cutting into my steak.

It’s cooked to perfection, like every other food item on the table. But it all tastes like sawdust in my mouth.

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Dinner drags on, flowery conversation floating around about wedding preparations and honeymoon plans. Each word has me imagining all

18:48 Thu, Oct 16

Chapter 182

the ways to remove myself from this misery.

Fork in eye. Poison in wine. Steak knife across throat.

$273

After dessert, my mother invites everyone to the lounge for–shocker–post–dinner drinks. I mumble an excuse and step out into the side garden, not stopping till I’m in the pavilion.

The air is cooler here, sharper. The sound of laughter muffles behind the thick glass doors.

I lean against a bench–the very same one I found April sobbing against that night weeks ago.

The first of my many, many fuck ups.

My hands curl around the edges as I struggle to breathe under the weight of the memories, my regrets, the fucking choking longing.

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