In Love With My Bully-Chapter 91: The Heiress

Have you ever seen someone and instantly wished you could be them? Not admired them, not envied them, but actively prayed to the universe for a sudden, magical transformation? A swap of souls, a body-switching, Freaky Friday-type situation?

That was the silent, desperate wish of every admirer of Queen Numero.

And it was understandable.

Because Queen Numero wasn’t just a woman...she was an experience. A visual, emotional, and intellectual masterpiece. A walking exhibit of power, grace, and dangerously high self-esteem.

As she stepped into the grand reception of Numero Corps, the headquarters of her family’s empire, it was as if the very air shifted in her presence.

The security guards straightened their postures. The front desk attendants forgot their rehearsed greetings. The janitor, who had been mopping the already-immaculate floor, simply stopped and whispered, "Why bother?"

The click of her designer heels against the marble floor was a rhythmic symphony that hypnotized the onlookers. Every step was calculated, a mix of confidence and elegance. The way her Chanel sunglasses rested on the bridge of her nose? Flawless. The way she removed them with a single, dramatic swipe? Oscar-worthy.

Her eyes...those sharp, piercing, possibly mind-reading eyes—scanned the room, soaking in the attention before she strode toward the elevator.

Somewhere near the entrance, an intern sighed dreamily.

"I want to be her when I grow up."

His colleague scoffed. "You’re 32, James."

But that was the effect of Queen Numero. She made people feel unaccomplished, yet inspired. Envious, yet in awe.

The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. The ride was smooth, silent, and filled with her own thoughts. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

She had a board meeting to attend, and more importantly... she had a legacy to claim.

The moment Queen stepped into the boardroom, time itself took a deep breath.

Seated at the long, intimidating mahogany table were some of the most powerful business minds in the city.

And yet, as she entered, they all fell into the same predictable routine.

Awe. Admiration. And a tinge of jealousy.

At the head of the table, her father...Richard Numero, the reigning king of the empire...looked up. His face was a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

"Ah, there she is," he announced, leaning back in his chair. "Fashionably late as usual."

Queen smirked and approached him, slipping her delicate fingers into his for a brief, affectionate squeeze before taking her rightful seat beside him.

"Shall we begin?"

The meeting was... expected. Numbers were discussed. Charts were analyzed. PowerPoint presentations were tolerated. But the real issue?

The Tradition.

According to Numero Corp law, before she could officially take over from her father, she had to be married.

Because, of course, nothing says capable CEO like a legally binding romantic contract with a man.

The meeting was over, but Queen’s mind was still spinning with irritation.

Marriage. Marriage. Marriage.

The board didn’t care about her IQ, her leadership skills, or the fact that she once single-handedly negotiated a deal that saved the company $1.2 billion.

Nope.

They just wanted her to walk down the aisle before she walked into the CEO’s office.

So now, she found herself walking through the park with her father, a casual tradition they’d kept since she was little. A father-daughter debrief session.

A few steps behind them, their bodyguards followed...tall, silent, and terrifying.

Richard turned to her, his hands in his pockets. "So... Liam, uh?"

Queen didn’t miss a step. "Yes, Dad. Liam."

Richard sighed. "I don’t know, baby. I just... I don’t see it."

Queen raised an eyebrow. "Dad, not every marriage has to be as yucky as yours and Mom’s."

Richard halted. "What do you mean yucky?"

She sighed dramatically. "Dad, you and Mom are gross. The PDA? The constant hand-holding? The way you call her ’sexy’ in public?" She shuddered. "It’s... a lot."

Richard looked genuinely offended. "Excuse me, yucky? I love your mother. How is that yucky?"

"You two act like teenagers."

"Teenagers don’t have an idiot and a big mouth for a daughter, Queen."

"You two make people uncomfortable."

"Your mother and I are romantic. It’s called love, young lady."

Queen smirked. "And that is exactly why I moved out of the mansion."

Richard grumbled. "Is that why? Not because you wanted independence and privacy?"

She gave him a pointed look.

He sighed again. "An unmarried woman living on her own..."

Queen rolled her eyes. "Not for long, Dad. I’m sure Liam will propose soon."

Richard gave her a skeptical glance, his gut telling him something was off about that boy. There was just something about Liam Falco that didn’t sit right with him.

But before he could voice his concerns, Queen changed the subject.

"Have you spoken to Abby?" she asked, referring to her younger sister.

Richard nodded. "She’s busy. Brain surgeons usually are. The fellowship is tedious. But I think she’ll be home soon for a brief visit."

Queen exhaled. She missed her sister. They were opposites in every way—Abby was kind, selfless, intimidatingly smart, and somehow unbothered by wealth.

Meanwhile, Queen? She enjoyed the finer things. The power. The prestige. The wardrobe.

Richard chuckled. "Your mother and I don’t know what to do with ourselves now that you two have left the nest."

Queen grinned. "You could always adopt another baby and start over."

Richard paled. "Are you out of your mind? Your mother and I finally have the house to ourselves!"

Queen smirked. "So... the PDA is only going to get worse, huh?"

Richard beamed. "Oh, absolutely."

She groaned. "Great. That’s my cue to never visit home again."

They both laughed, a warm, easy moment between father and daughter.

*****

Chayara had her coffee halfway to her lips when she saw the one person she really didn’t want to see.

Strutting toward her like a woman who had way too much free time, was her grandmother Lilian.

And, as always, she looked ridiculously pleased with herself.

It was as if she had nothing better to do than haunt Chay’s personal space.

Ever since Chayara’s grandfather passed, Lilian had been hovering around like a fly around a cow’s tail—persistent, irritating, and incredibly hard to ignore.

She watched as Lilian took a seat right in front of her, flashing a syrupy sweet smile that had absolutely zero sincerity behind it.

"Hello, darling," Lilian purred.

Chayara took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee.

Maybe, if she ignored her long enough, she would evaporate. Or burst into flames.

A girl could dream.

Lilian sighed dramatically, clasping her hands together.

"I wanted to apologize, sweetie. I shouldn’t have said what I said the other day."

Chay took another sip, still refusing to make eye contact.

"Oh?" she said finally, barely interested. "You mean when you suggested I be envious of my sisters? Be jealous of them?"

Lilian’s lips pursed ever so slightly. "Chay, they are not your sisters."

Ah.

There it was.

The main event.

The reason Lilian was truly here.

Richard wasn’t your father. Nita wasn’t your mother.

Chay knew it by heart at this point, because Lilian repeated it at every given opportunity.

Chay finally looked up, her eyes steady, unimpressed, and mildly annoyed.

"They are the only family I know," she said simply.

Lilian gave her a sickeningly sweet smile, the kind that made people instinctively check for hidden knives.

"Sweetheart," Lilian said, with the forced patience of someone explaining basic arithmetic to a particularly slow hamster, "I am your family."

"So," Chayara said slowly, "because you show up out of nowhere a few years ago, that magically makes you family?"

"Blood is blood, darling," Lilian insisted.

"Right," Chayara said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because you have been such a strong presence in my life."

Lilian bristled. "You know I fought for you. But I lost. I wasn’t allowed to see you."

Chay sipped her coffee, pleased. "Sheesh! I wonder why. Besides my Dad told me to stay away from you."

"I think you should listen to me instead of Sam." Lilian pressed, leaning forward. "Your father is a spineless son of a bitch! I should have thrown him in the bin the moment he popped out of me."

Chay snorted.

"Of course," she said. "Some family."

She reached into her purse, pulled out a couple of bills, and dropped them onto the table with dramatic finality.

Then she stood, tilting her chin just so, and channeling the raw power of a woman who knew how to make a memorable exit.

"Stay away from me, Lilian," she said, and walked out of the café without looking back.

Outside, Chay took a deep breath, letting the cool evening air wrap around her like a comforting embrace.

She had no idea why Lilian had ramped up her visits lately, but one thing was very clear, this woman had an agenda.

And Chay?

Chay didn’t trust her as far as she could throw her.

Her phone buzzed.

It was a text from Queen.

QUEEN: Hey. Wanna go clubbing this weekend?

Chay smiled, feeling a small weight lift off her chest.

CHAY: You know I do

QUEEN: Okay. I’ll pick you up Friday night.