Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Elara

I met his eyes, and for the first time since waking up in this timeline,

I let him see the truth.

“I loved you,” I said. “For a year. Maybe longer. And it was pathetic,

and it was one–sided, and it made me into something small and

desperate. But I’m done now. Not because I’m trying to manipulate

you. Not because I’m playing hard to get. But because I remember

what it feels like to be destroyed by loving someone who doesn’t love

me back.”

His expression went very still.

“So keep the notebook if you want. Keep the drawings, the signatures,

all of it. I don’t need them anymore. They belong to a girl who doesn’t

exist.”

For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then his jaw tightened.

“Prove it.”

“What?”

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“Prove you’re done.” He moved closer again, and this time I didn’t pull

back. Couldn’t. His hand came up to my jaw, tilting my face toward

the light. “Come to Boston with me tomorrow.”

My heart stopped. “No.”

“Why not? If you’re really over me, if there’s nothing between us anymore, then it shouldn’t matter. Just a business trip. You’ll attend the Kennedy dinner, smile for photos, play the dutiful ward.” His

thumb traced my lower lip, the touch clinical and possessive at once.

“Unless you’re afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That being near me will remind you of all these pretty lies you’ve

been telling yourself.”

I could barely breathe. The pressure of his hand on my jaw was light, almost gentle, but I felt the steel beneath it–the absolute certainty that he could make me do whatever he wanted, and we both knew it.

In my previous life, I’d gone to Boston. I’d drunk the champagne at the party. I’d woken up in a hotel room with Julian on top of me and

no memory of how I got there.

“I’m not going,” I whispered.

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“Yes, you are.” His voice dropped lower, intimate and terrible.

“Because if you refuse, I’ll go to Grandfather right now and tell him

you snuck into my room tonight. That you tried to seduce me. That

when I rejected you, you started threatening to hurt yourself unless I

agreed to bring you to Boston.”

Ice flooded my veins. “You wouldn’t—”

“Try me.” He released my jaw, straightening. “You have two choices,

Elara. Come to Boston and prove you’ve really moved on. Or refuse,

and watch your mother get fired tomorrow morning. Watch yourself

get sent to some therapeutic boarding school for unstable girls.

Watch every door you thought you had slam shut.”

He smiled then, and it was the cruelest expression I’d ever seen on a

human face.

“So what’s it going to be? Are you really done with me? Or are you

just getting started?”

My hands were shaking. My chest felt too tight. In the lamplight, his shadow swallowed mine completely.

This was the trap. This was always the trap.

In my previous timeline, I’d gone to Boston willingly, desperately,

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hoping for scraps of his attention. This time, I’d refused. And he’d

responded by removing my choice entirely.

“Fine,” I said. My voice sounded hollow. “I’ll go.”

“Good girl.” He straightened his cuffs, composure perfect once more.

“We leave at seven. Dress appropriately. And Elara?”

He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder.

“Lose the victim act. It doesn’t suit you.”

Then he was gone, the lock clicking behind him like the closing of a

cell door.

I didn’t sleep after that.

I sat on my bed, staring at the notebook he’d left open on my desk,

and methodically tore out every page that had his name on it. Every

signature. Every sketch. Every pathetic, desperate piece of evidence

that I’d ever loved him.

The pile of shredded paper grew. My fingers cramped. By the time I

was done, the wastebasket was overflowing with the fragments of the

girl I used to be.

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But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

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