Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me novel Chapter 198

Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me

Chapter 198

APRIL’S POV

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33

It’s been two weeks since the world cracked open.

Two weeks since the Ashfords were dragged out from behind their polished facades and paraded, rotten cores and all, for the world to see.

The Ashford Files, as the media dubbed it, has snowballed into something bigger than we ever imagined.

It’s everywhere–headlines, podcasts, late–night talk shows, exposés, angry op–eds. I scroll through my feed, and it’s wall–to–wall Ashford. Corruption investigations. Tax evasion. Illegal lobbying. Bribery. Sexual misconduct. Even campaign fund tampering.

Senators are distancing themselves. Judges are being questioned. Lucas is…gone. He’s vanished from the public eye after that pathetic, aborted press conference where he never even showed up.

Valerie, too, has disappeared. All her social media accounts have been deleted, and the last I saw of her was a candid photo of her taken at the airport, so she’s probably hiding out at some private island till all this is over.

God knows when that’ll be.

Samuel Ashford, on the other hand, doesn’t have a hope in hell of disappearing. Right now, he’s under a microscope; everything he does is scrutinized. The man takes a shit, and there’s a podcast analyzing his bowel movements.

The Ashford name is toxic now–fucking radioactive.

And yet, despite the satisfaction I should feel, I’m unsettled. Because in the middle of this glorious downfall, there’s only one thing on my

mind.

Nathan.

I haven’t heard from him since the rehearsal dinner.

1 finally caved and took his number from Lara’s phone and texted him, but I haven’t gotten a reply. No text, no call, not even an emoji.

And after what I learned–that he helped Lara pull the trigger on the Lucas exposé–I can’t stop worrying. Is he okay? Has his family turned on him? Does he regret it?

Does he regret me?

“Earth to April?” Lara waves a hanger in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts. “We’re picking between this dress and this dress. Focus.”

If only it were that easy.

We’re at an upscale boutique downtown, one of those places with diffusers in every corner and a ‘no phones in the changing room‘ policy.

While I’ve been overwhelmed since I stepped foot in here, Lara’s in her element, a queen in her kingdom.

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She’s holding up two sleek outfits, both perfect for the occasion–of which I have no idea.

Lara just insisted we “shop for something celebratory.”

I blink. “Sorry. I was thinking about-

“Nathan,” she finishes for me, not unkindly. “You’ve got that moony ‘where is he?‘ look again.”

I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong. “It’s just weird. He literally helped blow his own life up, and now he’s disappeared.”

“He’s probably lying low. Maybe getting therapy. Or planning a quiet exit from that nightmare of a family.”

“Or he’s regretting it all and wants nothing to do with any of us.”

Lara snorts. “You really think he’d do that after everything? He’s not Lucas.”

I don’t answer, because even though I know that’s true, I wouldn’t blame him if he’s using this to disappear in his own way.

After being shackled to his awful family for years, he’s probably taking advantage of the chaos to finally be free.

“Try this on,” Lara says, thrusting a black velvet mini into my arms. “You’ll look hot and mysterious. Perfect for moping in style.”

I laugh despite myself. “Fine. But only if you try the green one.”

“Deal.”

33

We head to the changing rooms, and for a moment, I let myself just be consumed by the comfort of the seemingly mundane act of shopping.

As we try on dress after dress, Lara and I talk about everything and nothing, ranging from wondering what Eliza and Peter might be doing in Italy right now to how the media has finally stopped hounding us and turned its full attention on the Ashfords–thank God.

After the leak, there was a brief period where our names were still being tossed around–calling us vindictive and revolutionary in the

same sentence.

But it died quickly. The Ashford story grew too big, too explosive, too important. Compared to all that, our drama seemed like a footnote.

By the time we’re done shopping–we found the perfect dresses–my mood has significantly lifted.

Afterward, on our way back to Lara’s house, we hop on a video call with Eliza, who’s lounging in a silk robe with the Amalfi coast shimmering behind her. Peter waves in the background, wearing a ridiculous straw hat.

“I swear, he’s turning into a tourist cliché,” Eliza giggles. “He ordered a pizza in the worst Italian I’ve ever heard. The waiter nearly cried.”

I smile. “You sound happy.”

“I am happy,” she says. “Married life is ridiculously sweet. And weirdly relaxing. I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“I can,” Lara says. “You two are gross. But cute.”

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“We’re going to Paris next,” Eliza adds, beaming. “We’re going to be there when you arrive, April.”

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