Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 107

Reborn at Eighteen: The Billionaire’s Second …

Chapter 107

Elara

“My friend-” I gestured weakly toward Raven. “She was in danger. I

had to-”

“So you forged identification.” His voice dropped lower. Dangerous.

“Impersonated my sister. Walked into a private club and threw

yourself at the first man who’d have you.”

The unfairness of it punched the air from my lungs.

“That’s not-” I started, but he cut me off.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” His hand shot out, gripping my chin. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that I couldn’t look away. “What I walked in on? You, drugged out of your mind, half–naked, with another man’s hands all over you?”

Heat crawled up my neck. Shame. Anger. Fear.

“I was trying to save her,” I whispered.

“By offering yourself instead?” He released my chin abruptly, stood

Chapter 107

up, started pacing. One hand drove through his hair, disrupting its

perfect styling. “By drinking God knows what he put in those glasses?

By letting him touch you?”

The jealousy in his voice was unmistakable now. Raw and vicious.

“I didn’t let him-”

“You came here.” Julian spun to face me. “To a club where men like

Damien Kennedy buy women for the night. You walked in alone, with

no backup, no plan, and you-” He stopped. Drew a breath. “When I

got the alert that Victoria was at FLUX, I thought it was another one

of her stunts. But it was you.”

Something in his tone made my chest tighten.

“You were worried,” I said slowly.

“I was ” He bit off whatever he’d been about to say. Turned away. “It

doesn’t matter.”

But it did. I could see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his

hands clenched into fists at his sides.

All the fear and fury and frustration of the past few days–Sloane’s

pregnancy, the engagement, my increasing distance–it was all

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converging here, in this smoke–filled room.

He moved closer again. Too close. His hands came down on either

side of me, braced against the sofa back, caging me in.

“Do you have any idea,” he said, voice dropping to barely above a

whisper, “what it did to me? Seeing you like that?”

His face was inches from mine. I could smell the faint cologne he

wore–cold cedar and something sharper–mixed now with the

whiskey that Damien had forced down my throat.

“I didn’t ask you to care,” I managed.

“No.” His laugh was bitter. “You’d rather risk your life for someone

you’ve known less than a week than tell me the truth about anything.”

“The truth?” The words came out sharper than I intended. “You want

the truth? Fine. Raven texted me a coded SOS. I knew she was in

trouble. I knew no one else would help her. So I came. And I’d do it

again.”

“Even knowing what almost happened?”

“Yes.”

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His eyes darkened. For a long moment, he just stared at me–at my

tangled hair, my torn clothes, the defiance I couldn’t quite hide even

through the drug–induced haze.

Then he kissed me.

Not gentle. Not asking permission. His mouth crashed against mine,

one hand fisting in my hair to hold me still, the other digging into my

waist hard enough to bruise.

It wasn’t like any kiss we’d shared before. This was punishment.

Possession. A claiming that left no room for doubt about who I

belonged to.

I tried to push him away, but my hands had no strength. Could only

press weakly against his chest while he kissed me deeper, harder, like

he was trying to devour every thought of rebellion.

He bit down on my lower lip. I tasted blood.

A whimper escaped me. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.

He didn’t stop. If anything, the sound made him more aggressive. His

tongue swept into my mouth, stealing what little breath I had left.

And God help me–even through the fear and the fury and the

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Chapter 107

chemical heat flooding my veins–some sick part of me responded.

Kissed him back. Wanted this.

When he finally pulled away, we were both breathing hard.

“You’re mine,” he said against my lips. “Not his. Not anyone else’s.

Mine.”

The room spun violently. I tried to focus on his face, but it kept

sliding sideways, features blurring together.

“Julian…” My voice came out barely audible. “Something’s wrong.”

His expression shifted. “What?”

“The drinks. I think-” The words wouldn’t come. My tongue felt too

heavy. “I think there was something-”

Darkness rushed up to meet me.

The last thing I saw was Julian’s face, shock replacing anger as he

caught me before I hit the floor.

I woke to white.

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White ceiling. White walls. The sharp smell of antiseptic cutting

through the lingering fog in my head.

A hospital room.

I blinked slowly, trying to piece together what happened. The club.

Damien. The drugged whiskey. Julian’s mouth on mine, tasting of fury

and something darker.

And then nothing.

Movement caught my attention. I turned my head–slowly, because

everything still felt disconnected–and found Julian sitting in the

chair beside my bed.

He’d removed his jacket. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, tie

loosened, hair falling across his forehead in a way that would have

looked casual if not for the rigid tension in his shoulders.

He was watching me.

“Raven?” The word scraped out of my dry throat.

“Next room.” His voice was flat. Controlled. “She’s fine.”

Relief made me close my eyes. “Good. That’s–good.”

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“You’ve been unconscious for two and a half hours.”

I opened my eyes again. Found him still staring at me with that

unreadable expression.

“The doctors confirmed you were both drugged,” he continued. “GHB.

Do you know what that is?”

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