Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 158

Chapter 158

Elara

I woke up in Julian’s bed with my body screaming at me in a dozen

different languages, none of them kind.

Every muscle ached. My thighs were sore in a way that made walking to the bathroom an exercise in controlled wincing. There were marks on my hips where his fingers had dug in–I could see them in the mirror, small purple shadows that would take days to fade. Evidence. Like my body was determined to catalog every moment of last night,

every

choice I’d made that I couldn’t unmake.

The shower helped, but only a little. Hot water sluiced over skin that felt too sensitive, too aware of itself. I stood there longer than I needed to, watching steam fog the glass, trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with the fact that I’d slept with Julian Vane again. That I’d let him touch me, claim me, fuck me with that desperate intensity that felt less like passion and more like he was trying to prove something neither of us could name.

“You’re mine. I’m keeping you.”

His voice echoed in my head, rough and certain, and I wanted to scrub it out along with the smell of his cologne that still clung to my skin.

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Chapter 158

But you can’t wash away words. You can’t shower off the memory of

someone’s hands on you, their mouth, their-

Stop. I needed to stop.

I turned off the water and wrapped myself in one of his towels–thick,

expensive, probably worth more than my weekly grocery budget. The

bathroom counter held my scattered belongings: phone, the clothes

I’d worn yesterday, the cheap makeup I’d thrown in my bag. Evidence

of a life that didn’t belong in this pristine penthouse with its floor-

to–ceiling windows and its view of Manhattan spread out like a

promise.

My phone buzzed just as I was pulling on yesterday’s jeans. A message from Atlas: “Registration link for Praxis Award attached.

Please complete by end of day.”

I stared at the screen, my wet hair dripping onto my shoulders. Right.

The award. The thing Julian had promised me after–after everything. The prize for letting him turn me into whatever this was: not quite girlfriend, definitely not just a hookup, something twisted and undefined that made my stomach hurt when I thought about it too

hard.

But I needed this. Needed it so badly I could taste it, metallic and desperate on my tongue. So I clicked the link, filled in my information with fingers that trembled slightly. Name. Age. School.

Chapter 157

you turn to, you always end up back here. With me.”

He was on me before I could respond, his mouth claiming mine with a

hunger that made rational thought impossible. His hands were everywhere–sliding through my hair, cupping my face, tracing down my spine. I found myself arching into his touch despite every logical

reason not to. He pulled at my bra, the clasp giving way, and then his

mouth was on my breast, his teeth grazing my nipple hard enough to

make me gasp.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“No.”

The word came out as a gasp as his hand slid between my legs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties and pulling them down roughly. I felt the cool air against my exposed skin, felt him

position himself between my thighs.

“Liar.”

His fingers found me wet, and he made a sound low in his throat that sent heat coursing through me. He pushed two fingers inside me without warning, and I cried out at the sudden intrusion. He worked them in and out, his thumb finding my clit and pressing hard.

Chapter 158

“Yeah,” I texted back. “Meet you there at noon?”

“Perfect. Bring your A–game, Picasso. We’re gonna kill it.”

I smiled despite myself, despite the ache in my body and the

confusion in my head. Raven had that effect–she made things feel

possible even when they probably weren’t.

The penthouse was empty when I emerged from the bedroom. No sign

of Julian, though I could smell coffee from the kitchen and see

evidence of his morning routine: a half–empty mug on the counter,

the Wall Street Journal folded open to the business section, his phone charger still plugged in by the couch. He’d left in a hurry. I’d heard

him taking a call around seven, his voice low and tense even through

the closed door, and then the sound of the front door closing with

that particular firmness that meant something important was

happening.

Good. Better that he wasn’t here. Better that I didn’t have to face him

in the cold light of morning and figure out what we were supposed to

say to each other after last night.

I grabbed my bag, double–checked that I had everything, and let myself out. The elevator ride down felt longer than it should have, like the building was reluctant to release me back into the real world. Or maybe that was just me, reluctant to leave the safety of Julian’s carefully constructed empire for the chaos of my actual life.

Chapter 158

Outside, the city was already humming with Sunday energy: joggers

in Central Park, families heading to brunch, tourists taking photos of

buildings that would never stop being impressive no matter how

many times you saw them.

I took the subway back to the Bronx, wedged between a woman with

three shopping bags and a teenager blasting music through headphones that weren’t quite adequate to the task. Normal. This was

normal. This was my life–crowded trains and aching feet and the

constant mental calculation of how to stretch twenty dollars across a

week.

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