Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 126

Chapter 126

Elara

The sheets were cold.

That was the first thing I noticed when I woke up. Not cool–cold. The

kind of cold that told me he’d been gone for hours.

I stared at the empty pillow beside me. No dent. No warmth. Just

crisp white cotton that looked like it had never been touched.

My hand reached out anyway. Stupid. Pathetic.

The bedside table held a single note. Plain cardstock. His handwriting -sharp, efficient strokes that somehow looked expensive.

“I’ll send you the information.”

That was it. No signature. No explanation for why he’d left before dawn. No acknowledgment of what we’d done.

I should have been relieved. Instead, I felt the laugh building in my chest. It came out broken. Wet.

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Tears followed. I wiped them away angrily.

“What did you expect?” I whispered to the empty room. “A love

letter?”

The bathroom mirror was unforgiving. Bruises on my neck. Red marks

on my hips. Evidence everywhere.

I turned on the shower. Made it as hot as I could stand. Scrubbed until

my skin turned pink.

It didn’t help. I could still feel his hands. Still hear his voice saying

“you’re mine.”

“I’m not,” I told my reflection. “I’m not his. I’m not anyone’s.”

The words felt hollow.

School was a blur. Emily tried to make eye contact in the hallway. I

looked away.

Raven texted during lunch: “You good?”

“Fine,” I lied.

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The email came at noon. Sender: Atlas Cooper. Subject: Per Mr. Vane’s

request.

I opened it in the library bathroom, hands shaking.

“CONFIDENTIAL INVESTIGATION: Anna Petrova”

The file was thorough. Disturbingly thorough.

Father: Carlos Petrova. Divorced when Anna was ten. Construction

worker in Newark. Current address included.

Mother: Elena Petrova. Worked as a cleaner at Blackwood Estate for

fifteen years. Died of stage–four breast cancer five years ago at

Queens General Hospital.

My throat tightened. I kept reading.

Medical Records: Elena Petrova was diagnosed with advanced breast

cancer. No insurance. Treatment delayed due to inability to pay. Died

six months after diagnosis.

Financial Records: At time of death, Anna owed $8,000 to Morrison

Funeral Home. Hospital bills exceeded $45,000.

Burial Information: Elena Petrova, buried at Elmwood Gardens

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Cemetery, Queens. Plot 4B, Section C.

I stopped. Read that line again.

Elmwood Gardens was expensive. I’d researched cemeteries when-

I pushed that thought away.

The cheapest plots there started at $25,000. For Section C, probably

closer to $30,000.

Anna was nineteen when her mother died. Working minimum wage at

Blackwood. Drowning in debt.

How the hell did she afford that?

I pulled up the funeral home records Atlas had attached. Invoice paid

in full. $8,000 for basic services. $28,000 for the cemetery plot.

Payment method: Wire transfer from KP Holdings LLC.

My stomach dropped.

I knew that name. Kennedy Properties. Damien Kennedy’s real estate

company.

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Chapter 126

to afford.

We found Elena’s grave in Section C. Simple headstone. Her photo-

Anna’s eyes, Anna’s sharp cheekbones. The inscription read: Beloved

Mother, Rest in Peace.

Fresh flowers sat at the base. Daisies.

“At the station, Anna said her mom owed the funeral home eight

thousand dollars,” Raven crouched down, checking the dates on the

headstone. “Died five years ago. She was nineteen, minimum wage.

How could she possibly afford this?”

“She couldn’t,” I said, touching the cold marble. “So someone else

paid for it.”

Raven pulled out her phone. “You said the plot cost twenty–eight

grand?”

“According to the records.”

“Plus eight thousand for the funeral home. Thirty–six total.” Her jaw tightened. “Someone showed up when she was desperate. Helped bury her mother. Then demanded payback.”

“Not just someone.” I stood. “Damien Kennedy.”

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“Sloane’s cousin?” Her voice shot up. “The one from FLUX-”

“Yes. Him.”

She looked at the grave, then back at me. “So this is the evidence. He

used Anna’s love for her mother to force her to lie and frame you.”

“I need to confirm the payment records.”

We walked to the cemetery office.

A tired–looking woman sat behind plexiglass.

“Help you?”

“I’m looking for payment records,” I said. “For Elena Petrova. Plot 4B,

Section C.”

She typed slowly. “That information is confidential.”

I pulled out my phone. Showed her the email from Atlas. “I’m working

with the police on an investigation. This is relevant.”

Not entirely true. But close enough.

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She squinted at the screen. Sighed. “One second.”

When she returned, she had a printout. “Plot purchased three years

ago. Payment in full via wire transfer. Company name…” She adjusted

her glasses. “KP Holdings LLC.”

“Do you have a contact name?”

“Just says ‘on behalf of Miss Anna Petrova.“” She looked up. “Is there a

problem?”

“No,” I lied. “Thank you.”

Outside, Raven grabbed my arm. “That’s it. That’s proof.”

“It’s proof someone paid. Not proof of why.”

“Elara.” Her grip tightened. “A grieving teenager gets offered money to

bury her mom. In exchange, she lies about you. That’s not a

coincidence.”

I knew she was right. But I needed more.

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