Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 101

Chapter 101

Julian

To make sure Sloane was really pregnant, I took Sloan to Dr. Chen for

a check–up after Elara left.

The ultrasound machine hummed in the private suite at Lenox Hill.

Dr. Chen smiled warmly, adjusting her glasses.

“Congratulations, Mr. Vane and Miss Kennedy. Based on the

ultrasound and blood work, the fetus is developing well.

Approximately eight weeks.”

Sloane’s eyes filled with tears. Her hand squeezed mine. “Julian. We’re

really going to have a baby.”

I sat in the chair beside her. My hand covered hers. I nodded. Smiled.

Inside, nothing.

Just a vast, echoing blank.

Eight weeks. I calculated backwards. That would be… the night I’d

gotten drunk. The one time with Sloane. The details were fragmented.

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Alcohol burning my throat. Her perfume. Waking up with her beside

1. me.

I remembered nothing of the actual act.

Now there was a baby. A consequence I’d had no conscious part in

creating.

Irritation crawled up my chest. Sharp. Unwelcome.

This wasn’t in my control. Wasn’t part of the plan.

Dr. Chen continued talking about prenatal vitamins and

appointments. Sloane glowed. I made the appropriate sounds-“Of

course.” “Whatever you need.“–but my mind kept circling back to that

empty space where feeling should be.

I should want this. Should feel something.

Sloane turned to me. The joy in her eyes began to dim. “Julian… you

don’t seem happy. Do you not want this baby?”

My chest tightened. I smoothed my expression. Reached up to touch

her hair. “Of course I do. I’m just… adjusting. This is my first time

too.”

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Her smile returned. She leaned into me. “I knew you’d be happy. Our

baby, Julian.”

I held her. Looked past her shoulder at the Manhattan skyline

through the window.

My face showed perfect tenderness.

My eyes felt hollow.

I thought: I have to be happy. Have to show anticipation. This is what

the script requires–the perfect fiancé, the devoted father–to–be.

But why can’t I feel it?

Why is there nothing there?

The car pulled through the iron gates of Blackwood Estate. Gothic

spires cut dark shapes against the late afternoon sky.

The main dining room was already prepared. Grandfather sat at the

head of the table. Victoria perched in her usual seat. Tristan stood by

the window, drink in hand.

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Sloane couldn’t contain herself. She burst out before we’d even sat

down. “Grandpa! I’m pregnant! Dr. Chen confirmed it–eight weeks.

The baby’s healthy!”

Grandfather’s face split into a rare, genuine grin. He stood, his cane

thumping on the marble. “Excellent! Excellent! This is wonderful

news for the Vane family!”

Victoria shrieked. She threw her arms around Sloane. “Oh my God!

I’m going to be an aunt!”

Tristan’s smile looked stiff. Forced. His fingers tightened around his

glass until the knuckles went white.

Grandfather clapped his hands together. “The wedding must happen

before the baby arrives. January. We’ll apply for the marriage license

next month. I’ll arrange the best wedding planner in New York.”

Sloane nodded through happy tears. “Thank you, Grandpa. Thank you

so much.”

I said the things I was supposed to say. “Yes.” “Thank you.” “We

appreciate your support.”

My voice was steady. Empty.

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My eyes drifted to the empty chair where Elara usually sat during

these dinners.

The realization hit me like cold water.

She wasn’t here.

For years, she’d been a fixture at this table. Silent. Watching. Always

watching me.

Now there was just an empty space.

I looked back at the celebration. At Sloane glowing with happiness. At

Grandfather already discussing nursery renovations. At Victoria

squealing about baby clothes.

This was what I wanted. My perfect family. My perfect life.

So why did it feel incomplete?

Why did I notice that empty chair?

I gripped my champagne glass harder. Pushed the thought away.

She doesn’t belong here. She’s nothing. This is better without her.

P

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But the hollow feeling in my chest didn’t go away.

Dinner was elaborate. Crystal chandeliers threw light over plates of

caviar and lobster. Everyone toasted to the baby. To Sloane. To the

future.

Victoria gushed about designer baby clothes. Grandfather talked

about trust funds and legacy. Sloane smiled and thanked everyone,

one hand resting protectively on her still–flat stomach.

I raised my glass. Said the right things. Smiled at the right moments.

And all I could think about was that empty chair.

About Elara’s pale face in the hospital corridor this afternoon. How

thin she’d looked. How her eyes had gone carefully blank when Sloane

announced the pregnancy.

I shook my head sharply.

Stop thinking about her.

This was my life. This was what I’d always wanted–Sloane, a baby,

the family legacy secured.

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After dinner, Grandfather pulled me aside. “Julian. Take Sloane

upstairs. Make sure she rests. She needs to be careful now.”

“Of course.”

I walked Sloane to her room in Blackwood–the pink guest suite she’d

stayed in during school breaks. The one with the four–poster bed and

Monet prints on the walls.

She changed into a silk nightgown. Sat on the bed, patting the space

beside her. “Julian… stay with me tonight?”

Her voice was soft. Hopeful. Vulnerable.

“Like we used to at school. Remember? We’d fall asleep on the library

couches studying together.”

I stood at the edge of the bed. Looked at her. At the life we were

supposed to build.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Disappointment flashed across her face. But she nodded. Lay back

against the pillows. “Okay. Just… don’t leave right away?”

“I won’t.”

B

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I sat on the edge of the mattress. Watched her close her eyes.

The room grew quiet. Sloane’s breathing evened out.

I stared at her face in the dim light. Perfect features. Slightly parted

lips. Like something from a Renaissance painting.

I should feel grateful. Should feel lucky.

“Do you really want to marry her?”

The thought came unbidden. Sharp as a knife.

I froze.

Of course I wanted to marry her. We’d been together for years. She

was perfect–beautiful, accomplished, from the right family. Everyone

approved. Everyone expected it.

“Do you want this baby?”

My hands clenched.

I waited for the answer. Waited for that warm rush of yes, of course,

of certainty.

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Nothing came.

Just… blankness.

I’d never asked myself these questions. Because marrying Sloane was

the plan. It was what made sense. What was expected. What fit the

image of my perfect life.

But now-

Now I couldn’t answer.

And that scared me more than anything.

I stood abruptly. Sloane stirred. “Julian…?”

“I have an urgent email to handle. Go back to sleep.”

I left before she could respond. Strode through the hallways. Out the

front doors into the cold night.

The air hit my lungs like ice water.

I got into my car. Drove into the empty Manhattan streets, neon

lights blurring past the windows.

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My hands gripped the steering wheel.

“You’ve changed.”

The thought was unavoidable now.

A few months ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. Yes to

marrying Sloane. Yes to the baby. Yes to this perfect life.

Now I couldn’t.

The plan I’d followed for years–the blueprint I’d built my

existence around–had cracks in it.

And I didn’t know how to fix them.