Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 10

The door opened.

Julian filled the doorway in black loungewear–cashmere sweater,

tailored slacks. His hair was damp from a recent shower. He looked

like he’d stepped out of a Tom Ford ad.

His eyes swept the room: clothes scattered on the floor, the half- packed suitcase, my red–rimmed eyes, Mamá’s desperate expression.

“Grandfather said you changed your mind about Boston.” His voice

was arctic. Not a question. An accusation.

Mamá rushed to fill the silence. “Yes! Yes, she did! She was just being

shy earlier, you know how she is, but she really wants to go, don’t

you, Elara?”

I opened my mouth to contradict her, but Julian spoke first. Chapter 9

Elara

The hallway stretched before me–red mahogany panels gleaming

under crystal chandeliers, Persian runners muffling footsteps, oil

paintings of dead Vanes watching from gilded frames. I’d walked this

corridor a thousand times. In my previous life, I’d run down it at

dawn to deliver Julian’s coffee before he left for work.

Now each step felt like walking away from a grave.

“Elara!”

The voice came from the servants‘ stairwell–sharp, panicked,

desperate.

I turned. Mamá burst through the narrow door, still wearing her gray

cleaning uniform. Rubber gloves yellow with dish soap. Hair escaping

from her tight bun. She grabbed my wrist hard enough to leave marks,

“Are you crazy?” Her accent thickened with agitation. “I was outside

the door! I heard everything! Why did you refuse to go to Boston?

Why did you give back the necklace?”

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I pulled my arm free, leaving red crescents where her nails had dug

1. in. “I need to study for midterms. My GPA–”

“Your GPA?” She laughed–a high, brittle sound. “Dios mío, what GPA

matters more than Julian? Elara, the Kennedy gala–do you know

what kind of opportunity that is? All those important people, and if

you’re there beside him, everyone will think you’re his-

“His what?” The words came out flat. Dead. “His girlfriend? His

companion? His pet?”

She flinched. “Don’t talk like that. You know what I mean. If you just

try harder, if you show him-”

“Show him what?” My voice cracked. “Mamá, I’ve spent a year showing him. Every morning at 5 AM, making his coffee. Learning about jazz because he mentioned Miles Davis once. Wearing colors I thought

he’d like. Not making friends because I was too busy being available

for him.”

I could see her mouth opening to protest, so I pressed on. “And you

know what he showed me? That he finds me disgusting. That I’m beneath his notice. That I’m-” I choked on the word. “-nothing to

him.”

“You’re giving up.” Her eyes filled with tears. “After everything. After a

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Chapter 9

whole year of trying, you’re just giving up?”

In my previous life, those tears would have broken me. Made me

apologize, promise to try harder, agree to go to Boston.

Now I just felt tired.

“I’m not giving up, Mamá. I’m waking up.”

My bedroom door clicked shut behind me. Twenty square meters of

space that wasn’t quite servant quarters but wasn’t quite family either–the perfect metaphor for my existence at Blackwood Estate.

I slid down the door until I sat on the carpet, knees pulled to my

chest.

The tears came then. Silent. Wrenching. Not for Julian–never for him again–but for the girl I’d been. The one who’d believed in fairy tales. Who’d thought love could bridge the gap between management and

staff, between Vane and Vance.

Who’d been so fucking stupid.

I was not that girl anymore.

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Chapter 9

I stood. Walked to my desk where my laptop sat open, surrounded by textbooks and flashcards. AP Calculus. AP US History. SAT prep books with dog–eared pages.

In my previous timeline, I’d let these slip. Too busy chasing Julian to

maintain my 3.95 GPA. Too pregnant to take the SAT. Too broken to

apply to colleges.

Not this time.

I opened Common Application and pulled up my saved draft. Target

schools: UC Berkeley. Stanford. Northwestern. Universities as far from

New York as possible. As far from the Vanes as I could get.

Early Decision deadline: November 1st. Regular Decision: January

1st.

I had time. I could still salvage this.

I grabbed my journal–the one that used to be filled with “I love

Julian” written in a hundred different fonts–and opened to a blank

page.

October 20, 2024 / Day 1 of Rewriting Fate

Goals:

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Chapter 9

1. ✓ Avoid Boston trip (completed)
2. Ace midterms–push GPA to 4.0
3. SAT in December–target 1550+
4. Apply to California schools (get far from East Coast)
5. Find who drugged the wine (Sloane’s cousin? Victoria?)
6. Make them pay for Lily (long–term)

I stared at that last line. My hand shook as I wrote it.

In my previous life, I’d never gotten justice. The foster parents who’d

ignored her allergies faced no consequences. Julian had married

Sloane, started a family, lived happily while my daughter rotted in a

cheap plastic urn.

Not this time.

Six PM. I was three chapters deep in AP Calc when my door slammed

open.

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Chapter 9

Mamá stood in the doorway, dragging my suitcase. Her eyes were red-

rimmed but determined. Manic.

“I talked to Mr. Vane Senior,” she announced. “I told him you changed

your mind. You’re taking Julian’s private jet to Boston tomorrow at 7

AM.”

The textbook slipped from my hands. “You did what?”

“What I had to do!” She started throwing clothes into the suitcase-

including that pink lace dress I’d never worn, the one she’d bought for

“special occasions.” “You’re too young to understand, pero yo sé

mejor. I know better. This is your chance, mija. Your only chance.”

I crossed the room in three steps and grabbed the suitcase. “I’m not

going.”

“Yes, you are!” She yanked it back. “You spent a whole year on this!

Every morning with his coffee, every afternoon waiting for him to

come home, every weekend learning about his interests! You can’t

give up now when you’re so close!”

“Close to what?” My voice rose. “Mamá, he hates me. Did you see his

face today? He thinks I’m pathetic. He thinks I’m—”

“He’ll change his mind!” Tears streamed down her face. “If you just

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get him alone in Boston, if something happens at the gala, if you

drink a little and he drinks a little and you end up in his room-”

The words hit like ice water.

“You want me to get him drunk?” I asked slowly. “You want me to…

what? Seduce him? Trap him?”

“I want you to be smart!” She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me.

“¡Escúchame! We have nothing, Elara. Nothing! I’m a cleaning

woman. You’re the dead driver’s daughter. If you don’t make Julian

need you, if you don’t make him responsible for you somehow, we’ll

end up on the street!”

I thought of the hotel room in my previous timeline. The wine that

tasted wrong. Waking up to Julian’s disgust and accusations.

Had it been her idea? Had she…?

No. I couldn’t think about that now.

“Even if I did what you’re suggesting,” I said quietly, “even if I got pregnant, he wouldn’t marry me. He’d force me to abort. Or take the baby and destroy me.”

“You don’t know that-”

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Chapter 9

“I do know that.” The certainty in my voice made her pause. “Mamá, I

know exactly what would happen. And I won’t–I can’t–go down that

path again.”

She stared at me, confusion and fear warring in her eyes. “Again?

What do you mean?”

Footsteps in the hallway. Precise. Measured. The kind that made

servants straighten their uniforms.

We both froze.

Three knocks. Sharp. Authoritative.

20

“Come in, Julian!” Mamá called out before I could stop her. She

thought this was her chance–that he’d see her “dedication,” see me

“prepared” to go, and everything would work out.

She understood nothing.

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B/9

“I was walking past when I heard you two arguing.” His gaze locked

onto me. “Something about getting me drunk? Making me

‘responsible‘ for you? Making sure ‘something happens‘ in Boston?”

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Chapter 10

The oxygen left the room.

“Mr. Julian, no, that’s not-” Mamá started.

“I heard enough, Mrs. Vance,” He stepped inside, and suddenly the

room felt smaller. Suffocating. “So this is the game. You spend a year

playing the devoted little sister, and when that doesn’t work, you

switch tactics. Play hard to get in the study, then change your mind

suddenly. And in Boston, what? You spike my drink? Corner me in a

hotel room? Create a situation where I have to take ‘responsibility‘?”

Each word was a knife.

“That’s not-” I tried.

“Don’t.” The command in his voice made me flinch. “I should have

seen this coming. All that innocent stalking, all those ‘accidental‘

encounters, all those little gifts and favors. You were building up to

this, weren’t you? Waiting for the perfect opportunity.”

He turned to Mamá, and the contempt in his expression was

devastating. “And you. Coaching your daughter on how to trap a Vane.

Very ambitious, Mrs. Vance. Very calculating. I almost admire it.”

Mama’s face crumpled. “Please, I didn’t mean–we weren’t trying to-

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“If you want to keep your position at Blackwood Estate,” Julian said

softly, “I suggest you control your daughter. Because if I hear one

more scheme, one more plan, one more pathetic attempt to force

yourself into my life-” He looked at me. “I’ll file a restraining order.

And your mother will be out on the street within twenty–four hours.”

I should have felt pain when I heard this, but now I just felt…

relieved.

Because he’d finally said it out loud. The truth we’d both been

dancing around for a year.

“I never wanted to trap you,” I said quietly. “But you’re right about

everything else. I stalked you. I made you uncomfortable. I refused to

hear ‘no.‘ And I’m sorry.”

His eyebrow rose. Not in forgiveness–in suspicion.

“I’m not going to Boston,” I continued. “Not now, not ever. I’m going

to focus on school, get into a good college, and move as far away from

you as possible. You’ll never have to see me or think about me again.”

For a moment–just a fragment of a second–something flickered in

his eyes. Confusion? Doubt?

Then it was gone, replaced by cold dismissal.

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Chapter 10

“Good.” He turned toward the door. Paused. “And Elara? The next time

you feel the urge to leave sticky notes in my briefcase or save pictures

of me to your phone-” His eyes found mine in the reflection of the

window glass. “-remember that you disgust me.”

The door closed with a soft click.

The silence afterward was deafening.

Mamá collapsed onto my bed, shoulders shaking. “We’re ruined. We’re

ruined. He’ll fire me, and we’ll have nowhere to go, and it’s all your

fault, why couldn’t you just-”

“Stop.” My voice came out hoarse. Broken. “Just… stop.”

I looked at the suitcase. The pink dress spilling out. The careful

planning for a trip I’d never take.

“You asked me earlier why I’m giving up,” I said. “I’m not. I’m

choosing myself. I’m choosing a future where I’m not someone’s

unwanted burden. Where I’m not-” My voice cracked. “-where I’m