Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me Chapter 100

Have you had a full-on meltdown before? And then afterward, you stared in the mirror, wiped your tears, put on Taylor Swift, and wondered why the hell you were being so dramatic?

That’s how I feel later that evening while we wait in the ballroom for the next stage of the competition.

Nathan and I spent what felt like hours in the coat closet. I cried while he held me. I told him stories about my parents, about what I’d gone through after they died.

Then he held me tighter while I cried some more.

I’m in the middle of giving Eliza a half-assed reason for why I didn’t show up at the pavilion ("I got a headache and went to my room to take a nap") when a voice interrupts us.

“This seat taken?”

Eliza and I look up to see Lara looming over us.

A smile breaks out on my face. I haven’t seen Lara since the moment before the awfulness at our fundraiser.

She returns my smile, joining us on the floor without waiting for an invitation.

“It’s good to see you alive, April,” she says, leaning forward to pat my hair affectionately.

“Yeah. Thanks for…” I heard she stood watch over me while I was in the trance, barking at anyone but Nathan who tried to justle me. “…everything.”

She waves it away. “How’s June?”

The thought of my sister doesn’t make me feel as sad as it did earlier today, which is proof that my little catharsis session with Nathan in the closet worked.

“She’s good,” I answer. “She’s not here anymore, though.”

Lara has the same reaction as everyone who hears that June is no longer living with me in the Ashford household. “Good.”

Easton arrives then, summoning us with that hand clap that’s starting to make me feel like a sheep in a herd.

As we rise to our feet, my mild annoyance gives way to curiosity when the three Ashford brothers follow Easton in. Their entrance gives rise to curious whispers and excited giggles.

Nathan’s eyes instantly land on me, and the small, private smile he gives me sends tingles up and down my spine.

I raise my brow in question, my eyes tracking his ascent to the stage. *What are you doing here, and why didn’t you tell me about it in the closet?*

He shrugs in response.

Peter leans in to whisper in Nathan’s ear, and he rolls his eyes, shoving his brother away.

Peter chuckles, winking at me, and I roll *my* eyes.

Easton clears his throat and starts, “The press conference, the ball, the charity competition. All these events tested your ability to fit seamlessly into the Ashford empire, testing your mettle to hold such a high-class title. But the winners of this competition won’t just be Ashford Ladies...” He pauses for unnecessary dramatic effect. “...you will be wives.”

A ripple runs through the ladies, and I raise a brow. Pretty sure we all knew that already.

Easton continues, “This means you not only have to be compatible with the Ashford title, you have to be compatible with your future husbands.”

My gaze instantly shifts to Nathan, and my heart skips a beat when his eyes lock on mine.

Nathan, my future husband.

The thought makes me momentarily dizzy.

“That being said,” Easton says, “over the next couple of days, the Ashford heirs will be going on individual dates with you ladies.”

My eyes widen, someone gasps, another person squeals, and Eliza grips my hand hard enough to hurt.

Meeting Nathan again and falling in love has happened so unconventionally. Going on a date with him feels weirdly…mundane.

Yet, a thrill runs through me, and I find myself dancing nervously on the balls of my feet.

A hand shoots up, and all eyes turn to Bea.

“Yes?” Easton asks.

“How does it work?” she asks, “Are we all going to go on dates with three of them?”

An uncharacteristic smirk pulls on Easton’s lips. “No. We’re leaving it up to fate.”

I frown. What the fuck?

“There will be three random selections. For each one, the Ashford heirs will pick a contestant to go on a date with.”

“But that’s too arbitrary,” Jamie pipes up. “A girl can go on dates with two, maybe all three brothers and some might not go on any dates.”

That unnerving smirk widens. “Precisely, Miss Wallace. Before now, you have all simply been competing to be an Ashford. Now, the dating selection will determine who you’re competing for.” His eyes roam over us. “And, of course, I don’t have to tell you that any girl who doesn’t get picked will have their chances almost entirely diminished. There will be no more eliminations, but your presence in the competition will be simply performative.”

The thrill previously running through me suddenly congeals and settles in my stomach—a big, sludgy ball of panic.

Random selections.

The chances of my going on a date with Nathan are being left entirely up to chance. Nathan could pick three times and never get me.

He could go on three dates with three other contestants, making my presence here merely for show. After the competition, I’ll receive a handshake and be sent on my way.

The smile on Nathan’s face has disappeared. He was also unaware.

“Now, without further ado…” Easton rubs his hands together, looking like an evil butler—well, he *is*, but that’s beside the point.

A male servant I’m unfamiliar with climbs up on stage, holding a glass box with folded pieces of paper.

My stomach churns. It’s like the reaping in *The Hunger Games*—but in reverse. I *want* my name to be called out.

As the servant stops in front of Lucas, the churning in my stomach worsens. Jamie was right—the selection is arbitrary. Arbitrary and chaotic.

Not only could I never be picked by Nathan, but I could end up being picked by Peter—or worse, Lucas. That would put me in the running to be their wives, and I could end up with Nathan as my brother-in-law.

Bile rises in my throat.

Lucas picks out a folded piece of paper, and the servant moves to Nathan and then to Peter.

“Master Lucas.” Easton bows to the eldest brother, gesturing for him to read out the unfortunate girl who has to go on a date with him.

Lucas unfolds his paper, and a smile spreads on his face.

Oh God, please don’t let it be me. Please, please, *please.*

“Lara Ellington,” Lucas announces, smiling down at her.

Lara barely reacts, but her lips twitch, and I see her eyes dance.

“Of course,” someone next to me mumbles.

My concern for my friend and her impending date with the devil takes a backseat when Easton urges, “Master Nathan,” and I stop breathing.

Nathan unfolds the paper slowly, so slow that I want to rush to the stage and open the damn thing myself. The last time Nathan stood on this stage and called my name, it felt like the worst thing ever. But now, I’d give anything to have him call my name.

When his jaw clenches as his eyes read the name on the paper, my heart sinks. It’s not me.

As if it isn’t bad enough that my chances of winning have been reduced to two out of three, Nathan finally reads out the name on the paper, and I have the urge to drop to the floor, kicking and screaming.

“Valerie St Claire.”