Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 117

Two staff members hurried forward to take down the painting. Sloane

stood frozen in the center of attention, no longer the gracious gift-

giver but the fool who’d been duped.

She bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, fingernails digging

crescents into her palms.

Then her head whipped toward me.

If looks could kill, I’d have died a thousand deaths in that moment.

Pure venom blazed in her eyes.

I met her gaze steadily. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

The evening dragged on. Guests began filtering out around ten, their departures accompanied by polite farewells and carefully neutral

expressions.

I stood near the windows, counting the minutes until I could leave.

A scream shattered the drowsy atmosphere.

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“Help! Someone help! Miss Kennedy collapsed!”

Everyone surged toward the side parlor. I found myself swept along in

the crowd.

Sloane lay on the floor, face pale as death, lips tinged blue. Her

breathing came in short, desperate gasps. One hand clutched at her

throat while the other pressed against her stomach. Sweat beaded on

her forehead despite the cool air.

Julian reached her first, dropping to his knees and gathering her into

his arms. “Sloane! What happened?!”

She pointed weakly at a teacup on the nearby table, her voice barely audible between gasps. “Tea… something in the… tea… can’t…

breathe…”

Her body went limp in his arms.

Two security guards seized Anna, who stood nearby clutching an

empty tray. Her face had gone white.

Mr. Vane Senior stormed over, cane thumping against marble. “Anna!

Did you serve that tea?!”

The tray clattered to the floor. China shattered. “I… yes, I served it,

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but I didn’t-”

“If you served it, who else could be responsible?!” The old man’s roar

made her flinch.

Anna’s whole body shook. Her eyes darted around the room, landing

on face after face before finally settling on mine.

Something shifted in her expression. She bit her lip, as if making a

monumental decision. I saw her hand move to her pocket–felt the

weight of whatever she found there.

“It was…” Her voice trembled but carried clearly. “It was Miss Elara

who told me to put something in the tea.”

The room exploded.

“What?!”

“Elara? No way…”

“Actually, it makes sense–she just humiliated Sloane with that

painting thing…”

“Yeah, and Sloane embarrassed her in return. Makes sense she’d want

revenge…”

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The floor tilted beneath my feet.

“I didn’t!” My voice came out strangled. “I never said anything like

that! Anna, why are you lying?!”

I remembered our confrontation in the hallway–her parting words:

“You just wait.”

This was her revenge.

Anna kept her head bowed, voice breaking. “I’m sorry… Miss Elara,

but you did say… when we were upstairs… you said Miss Kennedy had stolen your place and you wanted her to suffer…”

“You’re lying!” I tried to push forward. Security held me back. “You’re

only saying this because I caught you stealing wine! This is payback!”

Anna raised her head, a flash of triumph in her eyes. “Stealing wine?

Do you have proof? But I heard you with my own ears–you wanted to

hurt Miss Kennedy!”

Julian lifted Sloane in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder.

She looked ghostly pale, breathing shallow.

He glanced at me once. His expression cycled through doubt, anger,

struggle, and something that might have been unwillingness to

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believe.

But Sloane needed a hospital. He didn’t have time to sort through the

truth.

“Get the car.” He strode toward the exit without a backward glance.

Watching him disappear through the doors, Sloane in his arms, my

heart sank like a stone.

He’d chosen. Again.

All those tender moments–keeping my room unchanged, helping

with my zipper, holding my hand on the stairs–they’d meant

nothing.

When it mattered, he still stood with Sloane.

Mr. Vane Senior planted himself in front of me, his cane pointing at

my chest.

“Kneel.”

I raised my chin, tears blurring my vision. “I didn’t do it.

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“The evidence is clear!” His laugh was harsh. “Anna has worked in this

house for years. She has no reason to frame you. But you–you’re

ungrateful, vicious. You embarrassed me in front of my guests. And

now you’ve tried to poison Sloane…” His cane jabbed toward the

center of the great hall. “Kneel there. Right in the middle where

everyone can see what happens to traitors. You don’t move until I say

so.”

Not the private chapel. Not a discreet corner.

The main hall. Where staff would see me first thing in the morning.

Where family members would pass by on their way to breakfast.

Maximum humiliation.

Two guards gripped my arms, forcing me to the center of the room.

The cold marble sent a shock of pain through my knees as they hit

the floor.

Above me, the crystal chandelier threw rainbow fragments across

expensive leather sofas and priceless artwork. All that luxury

suddenly felt like mockery.

Staff members huddled in corners, whispering.

“Miss Elara actually poisoned someone…”

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