Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 14

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“But you’ve been obsessed with him for a year,” she insisted, as if I’d

violated some unspoken rule by stopping. “You followed him

everywhere. You learned jazz because he likes it. You started drinking

black coffee even though you hate it. You memorized his schedule.

You-”

“I made a fool of myself,” I interrupted gently. “And I’m sorry for that.

To all of you. Especially to you, Mr. Vane.” I looked at Julian. “You

were right this morning. I was inappropriate. I made you

uncomfortable. I refused to accept your boundaries. And I apologize.”

His knuckles whitened around his wine glass.

“So.” I took a breath. “Congratulations on your upcoming engagement.

I hope you and Miss Kennedy will be very happy together.”

The words came out steady. Level. Empty of everything except

sincerity.

And that, somehow, was what finally broke the spell.

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Chapter 14

Victoria made a small, choked sound. Tristan set down his fork with a

soft clink, staring at me like I’d sprouted a second head. Mr. Vane

Senior opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

Julian just stared, something dangerous shifting behind his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Victoria whispered. “You’re not… you’re really…”

“I’m really giving up,” I confirmed. “Because you were right. All of

you. It was pathetic. And I’m tired of being pathetic.”

I stood, my napkin folded precisely beside my plate.

“Thank you for dinner. I have studying to do.”

I walked out, spine straight, footsteps measured and even.

Behind me,

the silence stretched like a wound.

Then Victoria’s voice, small and confused: “What just happened?”

Tristan murmured something I couldn’t hear.

And Julian said nothing at all.

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I climbed the stairs to the third floor, entered my room, and closed

the door with a soft click.

Then I slid down against it, wrapped my arms around my knees, and

stared at nothing.

You did it, I told myself. You sat through dinner with them. You heard

them plan his engagement to her. You didn’t break.

But my hands were shaking. My chest felt tight. The PTSD therapist

I’d seen after Lily’s death–before they’d declared me unfit and locked

me up–had called these “body memories.” The mind could rationalize

all it wanted, but the body remembered trauma in its bones.

Right now, my body remembered sitting at that table while they

planned Julian and Sloane’s wedding. Remembered being pregnant

with Lily while they toasted the happy couple. Remembered holding

my daughter’s ashes while they danced at the reception.

I pressed my palm against my flat stomach.

Not this time. I won’t let it happen this time.

A knock on the door made me jerk upright.

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“Miss Elara?” Anna’s voice, dripping with false sweetness. “Aren’t you

going to prepare Mr. Julian’s evening refreshments?”

I stood slowly, opened the door.

Anna stood there in her black uniform, that familiar expression of

disdain poorly masked by professional courtesy. In my previous life,

she’d been one of my cruelest tormentors–small insults, deliberate

mishaps, constant reminders that I wasn’t really family.

“Prepare what, exactly?” My voice was calm.

She blinked. “His… his usual? Warm milk, sandwich, whatever he

prefers? You always—”

“I used to.” I leaned against the doorframe. “But as I mentioned to Mr.

Vane Senior this morning, I’m focusing on my studies now. If Julian is

hungry, I’m sure the kitchen staff would be happy to assist him.

That’s what they’re paid for.”

Anna’s mouth opened, closed. “But you always… It’s your habit to…”

“It was never a habit, Anna. It was a delusion.” I smiled without

warmth. “One I’ve recovered from.”

“But Mr. Julian expects-”

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Chapter 14

anymore.

Through the door, I heard Anna’s retreating footsteps, her muttered

complaints about “ungrateful girls” and “forgotten their place.”

I wrapped my arms around my knees and let myself shake.

Today I’d done the impossible: turned my back on a year of obsession.

Sat through dinner while they planned Julian’s life with someone

else. Refused to play the role of convenient servant–sister–secret-

admirer.

Every choice was a deviation from the path that had led to the Glass

House, the psychiatric ward, the courtroom where they’d taken Lily.

Every choice hurt like tearing out my own veins.

But I’d do it. I’d do it all. I’d become someone they couldn’t hurt anymore, couldn’t control, couldn’t reduce to a footnote in their

perfect family story.

That version of me was dead. I’d drowned her in the Atlantic Ocean,

and I wouldn’t resurrect her no matter how familiar the temptation.

I returned to my desk, opened my calculus textbook. Numbers were safe. Derivatives were logical. Mathematics didn’t care if you were

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Chapter 14

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