Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 146

Chapter 146

“Elara, that was amazing!”

“You’re incredible!”

“Did you see their faces? I bet they’re choking on their words right

now!”

Raven threw her arms around me, nearly lifting me off my feet. “I

heard everything through the door! You solved that Phillips Exeter

problem in two minutes! Dr. Pemberton’s jaw literally dropped!”

I found myself laughing despite the adrenaline still singing through

my veins. “You were listening?”

“Hell yes we were listening!” Raven pulled back, grinning fiercely. “We

were ready to film everything and blast it on Twitter if the principal

tried anything shady. But you handled it yourself.”

Other students crowded around, voices overlapping:

“That was so badass!”

“Victoria looked like she wanted to die!”

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“Our class finally proved we’re not inferior!”

Emily pushed through the crowd and handed me a bottle of water.

“You were brilliant in there. I know some people in the honors track

look down on everyone else, but what you did today proves that

grades have nothing to do with which classes you’re assigned to. It’s

all about effort.”

A few minutes later, the school’s electronic bulletin board updated

with the official midterm rankings:

1. Elara Vance – 97.8%
2. Tristan Vane – 96.3%

The star beside my name included a note: “Only student in the grade

to solve the Phillips Exeter Academy advanced problem.”

My classmates stood taller, their shoulders squared with pride. The

students who’d mocked me as “that poor girl from the Bronx” now

avoided my eyes in the hallways.

I’d barely made it ten steps down the hallway when a familiar figure

materialized in front of me, blocking my path so completely that I

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had to stop short.

Julian.

He stood in the center of the corridor in a black Brioni three–piece

suit, his tie knotted with mathematical precision, looking like he’d

stepped off the cover of the Wall Street Journal. His presence

commanded immediate attention–students stopped mid-

conversation to stare, several girls actually gasped audibly.

“Oh my God, is that Julian Vane?”

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s even more gorgeous in person than on Instagram!”

I tried to step around him, but his hand shot out and caught my wrist.

His fingers were cold, his grip firm enough to stop me in my tracks.

Then, as if burned, he released me just as quickly.

“Stay,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

I bit back my first response–which would have been to tell him

exactly where he could shove his orders–and forced myself to remain

calm. We were in a public hallway. Half the student body was

watching, and several people had their phones out.

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Teachers began emerging from nearby classrooms, their expressions

transforming from surprise to obsequious pleasure when they

recognized him.

“Mr. Vane! What a pleasant surprise!” Dr. Pemberton hurried over, his

earlier severity replaced by an ingratiating smile. “We weren’t

expecting you today.”

Julian inclined his head in acknowledgment, his voice taking on the

polished, impersonal tone he used for business. “I heard Elara

achieved first place in the midterm examinations. I came to see for

myself.”

The teachers immediately launched into effusive praise:

“Oh

yes,

Miss Vance performed exceptionally well!”

She even solved a Phillips Exeter Academy problem that stumps

most college students!”

“Only student in the entire grade to get it correct!”

“Her art history essay was nearly graduate–level work!”

Julian’s gaze shifted to me, his expression unreadable. After a long

moment, he said simply, “Well done.”

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I froze. Praise from Julian was rarer than snow in summer. In my

previous life, he’d never acknowledged my accomplishments–not

even when I’d ghost–painted award–winning pieces for Sloane. The

most I’d ever gotten was a dismissive “adequate” or “keep trying.”

But I caught myself before the old, pathetic gratitude could take root.

This wasn’t genuine praise. This was performance–Julian

maintaining the Vane family image in front of the school

administration.

I turned to leave.

“Elara.”

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