Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 161

Elara

Before Raven could protest further, I pulled myself up. The climb was

easier than I remembered–muscle memory guiding my hands and

feet to the right spots, my body lighter now than it had been at

sixteen when I’d first discovered this route. Within seconds, I’d

cleared the top of the wall and dropped down into the manicured

gardens on the other side.

The landing jarred my knees, sending a spike of pain up my legs, but I

stayed low,

1. crouched behind a row of sculpted hedges. From here, I

could see

th

main house ablaze with light, every window glowing

The

a beacon. circular driveway was clogged with luxury vehicles

-Bentleys, Maseratis, the occasional Rolls–Royce–their polished surfaces reflecting the estate’s carefully orchestrated grandeur. Valets in crisp uniforms moved between the cars with practiced efficiency while guests in evening wear made their way up the marble steps to

the entrance.

I watched a woman in a floor–length Dior gown pause to adjust her diamond bracelet before ascending the stairs, her companion–some silver–haired man in a tuxedo that probably cost more than my rent- offering his arm with the kind of casual gallantry that came from a lifetime of privilege. They belonged here. They fit seamlessly into

Chapter 161

this world of old money and older traditions, where engagement

parties were political theater and love was a commodity to be traded

between families.

And then there was me, crouched in the bushes like a trespasser at

my own former home, wearing yesterday’s jeans and a hoodie that

still smelled faintly of the subway.

The contrast should have been humiliating. Should have sent me

running back to the wall, back to Raven, back to the safety of knowing

my place. But instead, I felt something else entirely–a cold,

crystalline anger that made my vision sharper, my purpose clearer. I’d

been raised in this house. I’d eaten at their table, slept under their

roof, absorbed their lessons about propriety and place and the

invisible lines that separated people like them from people like me.

And all of it–every single moment–had been a lie wrapped in the

pretense of charity.

Well. Tonight, the charity case was coming home.

I skirted the edge of the garden, staying in the shadows cast by the

towering oaks that lined the property. From somewhere inside the

house, I could hear the delicate strains of a string quartet–probably

the same ensemble that had played at Mr. Vane Senior’s birthday

party, at Victoria’s debutante ball, at every significant Vane family

event for the past decade. The music floated through the evening air,

mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst

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Chapter 161

of laughter.

My path took me past the garden where I’d once spent hours

sketching, past the fountain where Julian had found me crying the

day after my father’s funeral and said nothing–just sat beside me in

silence until the tears stopped. The memories pressed against my

consciousness like ghosts, each one trying to resurrect the girl I’d

the one who’d believed that love and loyalty could bridge the

tween servant’s dad heir apparent.

that girl was

ghts to Lily, a

the Atlantic

and her d

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