Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 150

Reborn at Eighteen: The Billionaire’s Second..

Chapter 150

Elara

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Raven helped me figure out

what to wear–we settled on a black dress. She insisted on doing my

makeup, her hands surprisingly gentle as she applied eyeshadow and

lipstick, transforming my face into something that looked confident

and put–together even if I felt neither of those things.

“You look beautiful,” she said when she was done, stepping back to

examine her work. “Seriously. This Marcus guy would be an idiot not

to help you.”

I studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The girl looking back

at me seemed older somehow, more polished, like someone who

belonged in the world of expensive restaurants and corporate

sponsors. But underneath the makeup and the dress, I was still just

the housekeeper’s daughter, desperate and scared and trying not to

drown.

By seven–thirty, I was standing outside Marea, my hands clenched around my borrowed clutch to keep them from shaking. The restaurant’s windows glowed warm against the darkening street, and through them I could see beautiful people eating beautiful food, their lives smooth and uncomplicated in ways mine would never be.

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Chapter 150

At exactly eight PM, a black car pulled up to the curb. I watched as

Marcus Hartley stepped out, handing his keys to the valet with easy

confidence. He was dressed in a suit that probably cost more than three months of my rent, his hair perfectly styled, his movements

relaxed and assured.

Then he saw me.

For a second, his expression didn’t change. Then recognition flickered

across his face, followed by something that might have been

amusement or might have been calculation–with guys like him, it

was hard to tell the difference.

“Well,” he said, walking toward me with that same easy confidence.

“This is a surprise. Elara Vance, right?”

The fact that he remembered my name should have been

encouraging. Instead, it made my stomach twist tighter, because it

meant he’d been paying attention that night at the club, had filed me away in his memory for reasons I couldn’t begin to guess.

“Mr. Hartley,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m sorry to just show up like this. I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “About?”

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Chapter 150

“The Praxis International Young Artists Award,” I said, deciding that

being direct was my only real option. “I know Hartley Capital has an

investment slot. I’d like to apply for it.”

For a long moment, Marcus just looked at me, his expression

unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face–but it wasn’t

a friendly smile. It was the smile of someone who’d just been handed

an interesting opportunity and was already calculating how to use it.

“Why don’t you come inside,” he said, gesturing toward the

restaurant. “We can discuss this over a drink.”

Every instinct I had was screaming at me to make an excuse and leave. This felt wrong, felt dangerous, felt like walking into a trap I couldn’t see yet. But I’d come this far, had tracked him down and gotten dressed up and swallowed my pride enough to ask for help.

“Okay,” I said.

He led me through the restaurant to a quiet corner table, the kind that was tucked away from the main dining room but still had a view of everything. A server appeared immediately, and Marcus ordered a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, the kind of casual

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