Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 136

Chapter 136

My eyes stung. I blinked hard.

“Also,” Emily added, “someone in the chat asked if you’re the same

artist who painted ‘Broken Wings. The painting at Chelsea. People

are starting to notice the similarities.”

She said it casually, but I heard the question underneath. The doubt

about Sloane’s genius. The possibility that maybe the truth was

something else.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

Emily smiled. “Keep going. Don’t let them stop you.”

After they left, I had to sit down. My hands were shaking again. But

this time it wasn’t from fatigue.

Raven handed me a bottle of water. “You have friends there. Real

friends.”

I took a sip. Thought about Emily’s words. About the other girls who’d

come to support me. About the people in line who just wanted good

art, who didn’t care about my last name or my family drama.

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Maybe there was hope. Not much. But some.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Maybe I do.”

We worked until four. By then, I couldn’t feel my fingers. Charcoal

was embedded under my nails. My back screamed every time I moved.

But we’d sold eleven portraits and three more paintings.

Raven counted the money while I packed up the easel. Her hands

were shaking.

“Eleven portraits at forty dollars average… that’s four hundred forty.

Three paintings… six hundred fifty.” She looked up at me. Her eyes

were wet. “Total is one thousand ninety dollars. Minus the sixty-

dollar booth fee and twenty for subway fare… we made one thousand

ten dollars.”

I stared at the cash in her hands. I’d earned that. With my own work.

My own skill. Not because of the Vane name. Not because Julian

arranged something. Not because I traded pieces of myself.

“Elara.” Raven’s voice cracked. “This is real money. This could cover

rent. Food. Grandma’s medication co–pays.”

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“We split it,” I said. “Seventy–thirty. You worked just as hard-”

“No way. This was your art.”

“Raven-”

A car engine cut through our argument. A black Maserati pulled up to

the curb.

All the warmth drained from my body.

Julian stepped out. He was wearing a charcoal suit and designer

sunglasses. People on the sidewalk turned to look. They always did.

He had that effect–the kind of presence that made crowds part

automatically.

He walked toward our booth. His eyes swept over the folding table,

the scattered charcoal, the business cards with my fake name.

“Pack up your things,” he said. His voice was quiet. Cold. “Get in the

car.”

Raven stepped in front of me. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Julian didn’t even glance at her. “Elara. Now.”

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I stayed in my chair. My legs felt like water. “I’m done for the day

anyway. I was about to leave.”

“I’m not asking.” His voice dropped lower. “Get. In. The. Car.”

“Why?” I looked up at him. Met his eyes even though I couldn’t see

them behind the sunglasses. “Because you don’t like seeing me work?

Because it embarrasses you?”

His jaw clenched. “You know exactly why. Do you have any idea how

many people posted photos of you today? Twitter, Instagram, TikTok.

Do you understand what that does to the family reputation?”

“I don’t care about the family reputation.”

“Well, I do.” He stepped closer. “This ends now. You’re coming with

me.”

He reached for my arm. I jerked back.

Raven moved between us. “Don’t touch her.”

Atlas appeared from the driver’s seat. He stood behind Raven,

blocking her path but not touching her. Just presence. Just threat.

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