Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 163

Chapter 163

Elara

“Headache, I heard,” came the response. “You know how he gets at

these things. Too much pressure, too much noise.”

I pressed myself flatter against the wall, my heart hammering. So he’d

escaped the party, retreated to somewhere quiet to nurse a migraine

while his grandfather performed the social rituals on his behalf. It was so typically Julian–present enough to fulfill his obligations, absent enough to avoid actually engaging with the reality of what was

happening.

“Nevertheless,” Mr. Vane Senior continued, his tone brooking no acknowledgment of his grandson’s absence, “we look forward to welcoming Sloane officially into the Vane family. Her

accomplishments in the art world speak for themselves, and her grace and intelligence make her the perfect partner for Julian as he prepares to take on greater responsibilities within Vane Group.”

More applause. Sloane executed a small, elegant curtsy that somehow managed to be both humble and self–assured. She was good at this, I had to admit–the performance of perfection, the careful calibration of confidence and deference. She’d been trained for this role her entire life, groomed to be exactly the kind of wife a man like Julian

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Vane would need.

Unlike me,

who’d stumbled into his orbit by accident of birth and

tragedy, who’d never learned the intricate dance of high society,

who’d foolishly believed that love might matter more than lineage.

“Sloane has also shared with me some exciting plans for the nursery,”

Mr. Vane Senior was saying, his expression warming in a way I’d

rarely seen directed at anyone outside his immediate family. “She’s

been working with designers to create a space that honors both Vane

and Kennedy family traditions while providing the most modern

amenities for our future grandchild.”

The way he said “our grandchild“-with such pride, such certainty of

belonging–made my chest constrict painfully. Lily had been his grandchild too, his blood, his family. But she’d never rated a mention

in polite company, never warranted nursery plans or designer consultations. She’d been an embarrassment to be hidden away, then discarded entirely when she became too inconvenient to maintain.

I needed to move. Needed to find Victoria before my presence was discovered, before someone noticed the girl in the hoodie lurking in the shadows of her former home. But my feet seemed rooted to the floor, my eyes fixed on the tableau before me–the glittering guests, the radiant bride–to–be, the proud patriarch, all of them participating in this elaborate fiction that everything was exactly as it should be.

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“-and of course, we’ll be making a formal announcement about the

wedding date once Julian and Sloane have had time to finalize their

preferences,” Mr. Vane Senior concluded. “But for tonight, let us

simply celebrate the joy of this union and the bright future it

represents for both our families.”

The guests erupted into applause again, more enthusiastic this time. I

watched Sloane accept their congratulations with practiced grace,

watched her hand flutter to her belly in that protective gesture that

was becoming her signature move. She was claiming her territory, I

realized–marking herself as the mother of the Vane heir, the woman

who would continue the bloodline, the one who mattered.

And somewhere in this massive house, Julian was hiding from all of

it, nursing a headache and whatever complicated feelings he couldn’t

afford to acknowledge in public.

I needed to move. Needed to find Victoria, to confront her about

today’s humiliation, to demand–what? An apology? An explanation?

As if either would matter, as if anything could undo the systematic

cruelty of the past months.

But before I could retreat back into the servants‘ corridor, footsteps

echoed in the hallway behind me. I spun around, my heart

hammering, and saw one of the catering staff approaching with a tray of empty champagne flutes. There was no time to run, nowhere to

hide without drawing attention.

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So I did the only thing I could–I straightened my spine, smoothed

down my hoodie as if it were evening wear, and walked directly

toward the nearest door. My hand closed around the handle just as

the caterer rounded the corner. I turned it, stepped through, and

pulled the door shut behind me with barely a second to spare.

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