Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 143

Chapter 143

Elara

The implication hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. My heart sank

even as my classmates‘ cheers died into uncertain murmurs. I’d

known the Vane family wouldn’t let this stand without a fight. I just

hadn’t expected them to move quite this fast.

I stood, forcing my trembling legs to support me. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Raven grabbed my arm. “Do you want me to come with you?”

I shook my head, managing something that might have passed for a

reassuring smile. “No. I can handle this.”

I could feel the weight of every eye in the classroom as I followed

Victoria out. In the hallway, other students parted for us, their

whispers following in our wake. Some looked sympathetic. Others

wore expressions of schadenfreude that suggested they were already

anticipating my downfall.

Victoria kept up a running commentary as we walked, her voice

dripping with disdain. “Did you really think you could cheat your way

to first place? Tristan’s been the top student for three years running.

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He spotted the anomaly in your scores immediately.”

I didn’t bother responding. There was no point in defending myself to her–Victoria had already decided I was guilty. She always did.

The principal’s office loomed ahead, its heavy oak door closed.

Through the frosted glass panel, I could make out multiple

silhouettes. My mouth went dry.

I pushed open the door to find Tristan seated at Dr. Pemberton’s desk

as if he owned it, his gold–rimmed glasses catching the light as he

looked up at my entrance. His expression was carefully neutral, but

something cruel lurked in the set of his mouth–that particular smile

he wore when he was about to enjoy someone else’s humiliation.

Several teachers stood around the room: my calculus instructor, the

art history professor, and the Dean of Students, Ms. Whitmore.

Victoria swept past me to stand beside Tristan, her arms crossed in an

attitude of vindication.

Dr. Pemberton sat behind his desk with his hands folded. His face was

grave.

Tristan rose slowly, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate precision.

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He was shorter than Julian but carried the same aura of

unquestionable authority that seemed bred into the Vane bloodline.

“Miss Vance,” he said, his voice smooth and measured. “Thank you for

joining us. We’ve been waiting.”

I stood just inside the doorway, keeping my voice level despite my

racing heart. “What’s this about, Mr. Vane?”

He crossed the room toward me with unhurried steps, stopping close

enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The

height difference was calculated, meant to emphasize the power

imbalance between us.

“As a member of the Vane family and as an alumnus of St. Valerius

Academy,” he began, his tone taking on the quality of a prepared

speech, “I have a responsibility to ensure this institution’s academic

integrity remains beyond reproach.”

He paused, letting his words settle. “Your midterm performance, Miss

Vance, presents a statistical anomaly that demands investigation. You

achieved the highest score in the grade–a ninety–seven–point–eight

percent average across all subjects. This is… unusual, particularly for

a student who has never ranked above fortieth place in three years of