Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 184

Chapter 184

Elara

I watched her lean into Julian, watched her hand rest on the small

swell of her belly, watched her smile and accept congratulations from

passing admirers. And I remembered the past life, the one where

she’d built her entire career on work she’d stolen from me. Where

she’d taken my right of authorship, my voice, my soul on canvas and

claimed it as her own.

This was a live competition. Everyone had painted in the same room,

under the same watchful eyes. There were judges and staff and

cameras everywhere. How could she possibly cheat under those

conditions?

But then, I’d thought it was impossible before too. I’d thought there

was no way she could steal my work when I was literally watching her

every move. And yet she’d found a way. She always found a way.

I studied her painting in my mind’s eye, trying to remember the

details. The brushwork had been confident, the technique

sophisticated. But had I actually seen her create it? Had I watched her

hands move across the canvas, seen the piece take shape under her

brush?

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The competition had been chaotic. Fifty artists working

simultaneously, staff moving between stations, judges circulating. I’d

been so focused on my own destroyed materials, on adapting to the

backup supplies, on pouring my heart into my own work. I hadn’t

been watching Sloane. I hadn’t been watching anyone.

In the semifinals, I thought, my jaw tightening with new resolve. In

the finals. I’ll watch her. I’ll watch every single stroke, every moment. I’ll

figure out how she’s doing it.

The competition had run from ten in the morning until two in the

afternoon. By the time the judges finished scoring, announced

rankings, and displayed the selected works, it was already past six. The sky outside had turned that deep purple–gray that comes just

before full dark.

The organizers announced that advancing contestants could head to the third–floor buffet for dinner. Around me, people started packing up in groups of two or three, voices bright as they talked about the day and what might come in the semifinals. I stayed by my painting,

waiting for the staff to seal it back up.

I watched the others drift toward the elevators. No one looked back at

1. me.

Nora had wanted to wait, but some students pulled her along, calling

out plans to celebrate together. She turned back. “See you at the

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buffet!”

I nodded. Watched her disappear into the crowd.

The hall emptied out. Just staff now, taking down equipment,

collecting clipboards. I cleaned my brushes slowly, one by one, fitting

them back into their slots. My hands moved carefully, deliberately. I

wasn’t ready to go upstairs yet. Wasn’t ready for the looks–some

congratulatory, some resentful, all of them wondering about Julian

and whether I’d really earned this.

When only a handful of workers remained, I finally picked up my

supply case and headed for the stairs. Not the elevator. The stairwell

would be quieter. No chance of getting trapped in a small box with

people who wanted to ask questions I didn’t know how to answer.

My footsteps echoed in the concrete passage. I’d just pushed through

the door from second to third floor when I heard voices. Low, urgent.

Coming from around the corner.

I stopped. Pressed myself against the wall,

“Ethan, I’ve told you before.” A woman’s voice. Soft but impatient.

“Don’t approach me in public spaces.”

Sloane.

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My heart kicked up. I should have turned around. Should have taken

the elevator after all. But I didn’t move. Instead, I leaned forward just

enough to see around the corner.

They stood in the shadowed space where the stairs turned. Sloane in

her cream dress, one hand on her belly like always. But her face was

cold. Ethan stood in front of her, hands clenching and unclenching at

his sides. I recognized the look on his face. I’d seen it in my own

mirror enough times–trying to hold onto dignity while begging for

scraps.

“We broke up,” he said. His voice cracked slightly. “I know that. But I

just wanted to congratulate you on first place. Is that so wrong?”

Broke up. They’d been together.

The words hit me like cold water. I stood there, trying to fit this new

information into everything I thought I understood.

Sloane’s expression softened. That practiced gentleness she could

turn on like a switch. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m being paranoid. It’s just-

I’m Julian’s fiancée now, I have to consider his feelings.”

The way she said “Julian’s fiancée.” Like she was reminding herself as

much as him.

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Ethan’s jaw tightened. “You said we could still be friends. You said

you didn’t want to lose me.”

“Of course we’re still friends.” Sloane’s voice went warm. If I hadn’t

been watching her face, I might have believed it. “We’ll always be

friends.”

She opened her arms. Ethan hesitated, then stepped into the hug. It

looked polite, careful. But I could see him squeeze his eyes shut, see

the tension in his shoulders. He was holding something back.

Sloane’s eyes stayed open. Over his shoulder, her gaze was distant.

Calculating. She wasn’t feeling anything. This was just something she

had to tolerate.

She patted his back. Twice. Quick and dismissive. “Alright. Julian’s

waiting for me. You should head to the buffet too. And Ethan?” Her

voice dropped lower. “Try not to let people see us alone together. You

know how it looks.”

He nodded. Something broke behind his eyes. “I know. You should go.”

Sloane turned and walked away, heels clicking on concrete. Her whole

posture changed with each step–shoulders back, chin up, hand

returning to her belly. When she passed the landing just above where

I stood frozen, I saw her smile. Sharp. Satisfied. The look of someone

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who’d just confirmed a useful tool was still under control.

I pressed harder against the wall. Didn’t breathe until the sound of

her heels faded completely.

My mind was spinning. Sloane and Ethan had been together. Were

they still? That hug said maybe, but her eyes said no. So what was he

now? Backup? Someone she kept around for–what?

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