Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 185

Chapter 185

Elara

I thought about earlier. How Ethan had defended Sloane at the buffet

entrance. How his eyes had tracked her during the competition with

an intensity that went beyond professional interest. How he’d

photographed my painting after the results, that unreadable look on

his face.

My stomach turned. Ethan was an editor at The New York Art Review.

He was here as a special observer. His opinions mattered. His articles

could make or break emerging artists.

And he was still hung up on Sloane Kennedy.

The judges had scored in a closed room–he couldn’t have influenced

that. But he could absolutely shape what people thought afterward.

He could write about my work with skepticism. Question whether my

“emotional authenticity” was real or manipulative. Suggest my second

place was sympathy, not merit.

While praising Sloane’s “flawless technique” and “sophisticated

understanding.” Cementing her as the legitimate winner.

Undermining mine. All under the cover of objective criticism.

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My hands clenched on my supply case strap. I forced myself to

breathe slowly. This wasn’t the time to panic. I needed more

information. Needed to understand exactly what kind of relationship

they’d had. What kind of hold she still had on him.

And Julian–did he know? Did he have any idea his pregnant fiancée’s

ex was covering this competition?

Not that it would matter. Julian had made his choice. Sloane. Their

child. The perfect life he’d always planned. Whatever complicated

feelings he had about me were irrelevant.

I waited until Ethan’s footsteps faded too. Then I came out of my

hiding spot, legs slightly unsteady. Looking up at the remaining

stairs, I could see warm light from the buffet area. Hear muted

celebration. Somewhere up there, Sloane would be with Julian. Both

of them the picture of success.

And I’d have to walk in there knowing what I knew now.

I squared my shoulders. Started climbing. Each step felt like pushing

against something heavy. But I kept going.

The door to the third floor was heavy. Took my full weight to push

open. The buffet area was exactly what I’d expected–sleek and

modern, floor–to–ceiling windows showing Chelsea’s lights, long

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tables with Italian meats, sushi, French pastries, champagne. The

twenty–five advancing contestants scattered in animated groups,

toasting, taking selfies.

I stood in the doorway. My clothes were rumpled. My hair probably a

mess. I didn’t belong in this picture.

A few heads turned. Curious glances. Some calculating. Maybe a

couple sympathetic. But no one moved to include me.

I went to the buffet table, keeping to the edges. Put some sushi and

salad on a plate I wasn’t sure I could eat. Found a seat by the

windows, as far from the main groups as possible. Tried to focus on

the city view instead of my isolation.

I should have felt good. Second place against artists with formal

training and portfolios–it was more than I’d hoped for. But it felt

hollow. The sabotaged materials. Isabella’s challenge. The whispers

about Julian. And now this thing with Ethan and Sloane.

I pushed sushi around my plate, not really seeing it. Then I felt the

room’s energy shift. Looked up.

Sloane and Julian were entering. Her on his arm. Both of them

looking like a magazine spread. The whispers started immediately.

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“That’s Sloane Kennedy and Julian Vane.”

“God, they’re perfect together.”

“I heard they’re getting married soon.”

Sloane’s eyes swept the room. I knew when she found me. She leaned

close to Julian, said something. Then they were coming toward me.

My heart sped up. I thought about what I’d just seen in the stairwell.

Forced myself to stay seated. Running would be admitting defeat.

“Elara.” Sloane’s voice was pitched to carry. “Congratulations on

second place. Sitting here all alone–aren’t you lonely?”

The concern sounded so genuine. But I caught the emphasis on

“alone.” The way her eyes flicked to the empty seats around me.

I met her gaze. Remembered those cold eyes in the stairwell. “Thank

you, Sloane. I’m used to my own company.”

“Your painting…” She paused. “It was very special. The technique

needs work, of course–you could see where you struggled with those unfamiliar materials. But the emotional expression was quite raw. It takes talent to put your pain on canvas like that.”

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She made “pain” and “raw” sound patronizing. Like my work was just

emotional vomit instead of art.

I set down my fork carefully. “Yes, I’ve experienced a lot of pain.

Unlike some people whose lives have been smooth but somehow

create such profound work. Makes you wonder where the inspiration

comes from.”

I let “profound” carry just enough edge. Sloane’s smile froze for a

second. Something cold flashed in her eyes.

Julian spoke. “Elara, your painting…” He stopped. Struggled with

something. “You painted something extraordinary today. I don’t think

I ever really understood you before.”

The words hit harder than they should have. For one moment, I

wanted to believe he finally saw me.

But then I thought about Lily. About the times I’d needed him and

he’d been with Sloane. About the engagement party. About how he’d

just walked in here with her on his arm while I sat alone.

“Mr. Vane,” I said quietly. My voice stayed steady. “You don’t need to

understand me. There’s nothing between us that requires

understanding anymore.”

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Something tightened in his face. “Elara-”

Sloane’s hand slid around his arm. Her voice went wounded. “Julian, we should leave Elara alone. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to us.” She turned to me. Triumph flashed in her eyes before she covered it. “Elara, we won’t keep you. Oh, and the semifinals are in one week. You’ll want to prepare carefully. Second place is hard to maintain.”

Barely veiled threat. I looked at her. This woman who’d stolen my work in one life and was planning to undermine me in this one.

“Don’t worry, Sloane,” I said. Matched her smile. “I’ll be very well prepared. I’m looking forward to the semifinals. It’ll be interesting to see what ‘surprises‘ you bring.”

I let “surprises” hang there. Watched uncertainty flicker across her

face.

“Come on, Julian.” She tugged his arm. “Let’s let Elara enjoy her

evening.”

They left. I watched them move through the room like royalty. People made space for them. Wanted their attention.

I looked at my plate. My hands were shaking.

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The sushi had gone cold. My appetite was gone. I stood, gathered my

things, ready to escape.

I’d just reached the exit when my phone buzzed. Multiple

notifications from Raven. The most recent: “ELARA!!! It’s exploding

online again!!!”

Below that: “Don’t look at Twitter or Instagram yet!! Just focus on the

competition!!”

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