Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 151

Chapter 151

“Because I’m good,” I said simply. “My work is original and technically

strong, and it deserves to be seen.”

“Confident,” Marcus observed. “That’s interesting.” He paused as the

server returned with the wine, poured two glasses, and left. “But half

the kids in New York think they’re the next great artist. What makes

you different?”

I thought about my paintings–the broken woman reaching through

shattered glass, the burning cage, all the pieces I’d created in stolen

moments when I was supposed to be doing something else. Each one

was a piece of truth I’d torn out of myself, raw and painful and real.

“I paint things people don’t want to look at,” I said. “The ugly parts.

The complicated parts. And I’m good enough at it that they can’t look

away.”

Something shifted in Marcus’s expression, like he was actually

listening now instead of just going through the motions. “Show me.”

I’d brought my phone loaded with photos of my recent work, had

spent an hour last night making sure the images were high–quality and properly cropped. I pulled it out now and slid it across the table,

watching his face as he scrolled through the gallery.

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Chapter 151

The silence stretched. I forced myself not to fill it with explanations

or justifications, just let him look at what I’d made and decide for

himself whether it was worth his time.

Finally, he set the phone down. “You’re right,” he said. “You are good.”

Then, after a pause: “But I’m still not sure why I should help you.”

The rejection hit harder than I’d expected, sharp and immediate. I’d

known it was a possibility, had tried to prepare myself for it, but

hearing him acknowledge my talent and still say no-

“What would it take to convince you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice

level.

Marcus took a sip of his wine, studying me over the rim of his glass. “An apology would be a good start.”

I blinked. “What?”

“The last time we met,” he said, setting down his glass, “at the Vanderbilt Club, we were having a perfectly pleasant conversation. Then Julian Vane showed up and dragged you away like I was some kind of threat. Made me look like an idiot in front of my friends.” His tone was light, almost casual, but there was an edge underneath. “I don’t appreciate being embarrassed, Elara.”

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Chapter 151

Heat flooded my face–half anger, half disbelief. “You want me to apologize because Julian interrupted us? That wasn’t my fault. And you-“I stopped myself, but not quite in time.

“I what?” Marcus leaned forward slightly, his expression amused.

“You were trying to take advantage of me,” I said bluntly. “I was drunk and upset and you knew it. Why should I apologize for that?”

“Fair point,” Marcus said, completely unbothered by the accusation. “But tell me something, Elara–aren’t you trying to take advantage of me right now? You show up here, uninvited, asking me to hand over a competition slot worth tens of thousands of dollars. You want something from me. I wanted something from you that night. How is

this different?”

The question landed like a slap. I opened my mouth to argue, to explain that it wasn’t the same thing at all, but the words stuck in my throat because–God, he was right, wasn’t he? I was here asking for a favor, expecting him to help me just because I’d shown him some paintings on my phone.

“It’s not the same,” I said finally, but my voice came out weaker than I

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