Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me Chapter 152

**NATHAN’S POV**

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.

Dinner drags on, flowery conversation floating around about wedding preparations and honeymoon plans. Each word has me imagining all the ways to remove myself from this misery.

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

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.*

“You know, Julian carries around a penny for moments like this.”

I arch a brow at Lara as she steps out of the dark. “Huh?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s a stupid joke.”

“So,”—she slides onto the bench—“I guess I wasn’t the only one itching to get out of that company.”

“I don’t know how you can sit next to him, knowing what you know.”

She shrugs. “You sit next to Valerie. Can’t imagine how you haven’t throttled her.”

I chuckle dryly. “I’ve considered it.”

Lara leans forward, resting her chin on her folded palms as comfortable silence blankets us.

I break it a moment later. “I’m sorry.”

Her brows rise. “For?”

“I know you’ve been in love with Lucas for a long time. I can’t imagine how it felt to find out his true colors.”

She straightens, her lips pursing. “It’s weird. I look at him and I feel…betrayed.” She shakes her head. “It’s stupid. He didn’t hurt me, and yet…” She sighs. “I *hate* him so much. I hate him more than I ever loved him.”

I settle into the bench opposite her. “Do you… Do you think that’s how April feels?”

She cocks her head. “Why would you ask that?”

I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. “I actually hurt her directly. I broke her heart.” I clench my fists. “She must loathe me.”

“I can’t speak for her,” Lara says softly. “But I can speak for everybody when I say seeing you tethered to Valerie St Claire is as wrong as a mouse marrying a snake.”

I snort.

“Why’d you do it?”

I look at her. “Are you kidding?” I point to the house. “You just got a clearer view of what they’re like.” I shake my head. “I have to protect her from it all.”

Lara rolls her eyes. “Does April strike you as the kind of girl who needs protecting?”

I frown. “You forget what happened at the bridal shop.”

Lara purses her lips. “Okay, bad example.” She leans forward. “But, Nathan, you don’t seriously think your family is the worst thing in the world, do you?”

“What?”

She tilts her head. “April lost her parents young and raised her sick sister all on her own. She’s seen more hardship in her life than most people, and look how strong and amazing she is. Her tragedy didn’t break her, and you do her a huge disservice if you think something like your sucky family is what will break her.”

My mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

“She’s going to Paris.”

I blink. “What?”

“She’s going to Paris,” Lara repeats. “Mom got her an in with *Institut Français de la Mode* to study fashion. Julian is helping her with her portfolio. She’ll be gone by the end of summer.”

The words don’t hit me all at once. They fall slowly, like ice cubes down the back of my spine. First shock. Then cold. Then ache.

Paris.

*“Where would we live?”*

*“What about Paris?”*

She’s actually doing it. She’s leaving this place, this family, this nightmare, for something she’s always wanted.

“Good,” I say, but my voice cracks halfway through.

Lara doesn’t say anything.

I glance up at her, forcing a shrug. “She deserves it.”

“You still love her,” she says softly.

“I never stopped,” I reply, just as softly. I will love her till the day I die.

And then, because the truth makes my chest feel like it’s collapsing in on itself, I stand. I smooth my jacket. I straighten my spine.

“But she’s better off without me,” I say. “She deserves it,” I repeat.

“And what about you, Nathan?” Lara looks up at me, her eyes sharp and assessing. “What do *you* deserve?”

“I…”

She smiles, sad and soft. “I hope one day you stop punishing yourself for crimes you didn’t commit.”

April's voice rings in my mind. *“You’re not the sinner. Why the fuck would you think you deserve to be punished?”*

When Lara reaches out and places a hand over mine, I realize I’m shaking. “Before it’s too late.”