Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 193

Chapter 193

Elara

I walked away before anyone could respond, my legs shaking so badly

I wasn’t sure they’d carry me to the east exit. Behind me, I could hear

the buzz of conversation resuming, phones clicking, livestreams

continuing.

Emily was waiting by the art building, her eyes wide. “Holy shit, Elara.

That was-

“Stupid?” I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath.

‘Reckless?”

“Brave.” She pulled out her phone, showing me Twitter. The confrontation was already being clipped and shared, my words about teaching myself to paint, about hardship and grief, spreading across

the platform. “People are listening.”

But as I scrolled through the responses, I saw they were split almost exactly down the middle. Half the comments praised me for standing up for myself, for calling out Isabella’s manipulation. The other half › doubled down on their accusations, calling me defensive and entitled, saying my emotional response proved I couldn’t handle legitimate

criticism.

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I was about to hand the phone back when a new notification

appeared. Not from Isabella this time, but from Vane Group’s official

account:

“Vane Group announces emergency press conference regarding Praxis

Prize International. 4 PM today at Vane Tower. All media welcome.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh no.”

“What?”

I showed her the screen. “Julian’s going to make a statement.”

“Isn’t that good? Maybe he’ll defend you, shut this whole thing down

“Or maybe he’ll make it worse.” I thought about the last time we’d

spoken, about the complicated tangle of our relationship, about

Sloane and the engagement and everything we hadn’t said to each

other. “Emily, I have to go.”

The notification from Vane Group landed on my screen like a stone

dropped into still water, sending ripples of anxiety through my chest.

I stared at the words until they blurred.

My fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles going white. Julian

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was going to make a statement. About the competition. About me.

The subway ride to Midtown felt interminable, each station a

reminder that I was hurtling toward something I couldn’t control.

Through the scratched windows, I watched the neighborhoods shift

from residential to commercial, the buildings growing taller and more

imposing as we approached the heart of Manhattan’s financial

district.

My reflection in the glass looked small and uncertain, a high school

student in yesterday’s clothes with shadows under her eyes from a

sleepless night spent refreshing social media and reading strangers‘

opinions about whether I deserved to exist in their world.

When I emerged from the subway at Rockefeller Center, the air

carried that particular crispness that comes just before the city tips

into real winter. I pulled my jacket tighter and joined the stream of

pedestrians heading toward Vane Tower, that gleaming monument to

old money and new power that dominated the skyline like a glass

cathedral. Security barriers had already been set up outside the main

entrance, and I could see camera crews positioning their equipment,

reporters checking their makeup in compact mirrors, photographers

adjusting their lenses to capture whatever spectacle was about to

unfold.

I approached the barriers cautiously, half–expecting to be turned

away, but a woman with a clipboard and a Vane Group badge waved

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Chapter 193

me through after checking my name against some list I hadn’t known

I was on. The lobby was already packed–a sea of dark suits and

designer dresses, the air thick with expensive cologne and the

particular tension that precedes a major announcement.

I recognized several faces from the competition: Dr. Sterling stood

near the elevators in conversation with two other judges, her silver

hair pulled back in that same elegant chignon. Isabella Torres held

court near the reception desk, surrounded by what looked like her

entire Parsons cohort, all of them dressed in carefully curated

artistic–casual.

And there, near the front of the room where a temporary stage had

been erected, stood Sloane Kennedy.

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