Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 204

Chapter 204

“Breathe,” a voice commanded in my ear–Julian’s voice, rough and strained and absolutely uncompromising. “Breathe, Elara, goddamn it, just breathe-

I tried, God, I tried. But every inhale brought another coughing fit, more water forcing its way out of my lungs in painful, humiliating gushes. I was dimiy aware of hands reaching down from the pool deck, of being lifted and pulled and deposited onto solid ground that felt impossibly hard against my back after

the water’s fluid cradle.

“Don’t move her- someone was saying, but Julian ignored them, rolling me onto my side so the water could drain more easily, one hand pressed flat between my shoulder blades while the other cradled my head to keep it from hitting the concrete.

I vomited pool water and bile, my body convulsing with the force of it. Somewhere nearby, I could hear Sloane coughing too, the delicate, theatrical kind of coughs designed to draw attention and sympathy. I heard someone–Ethan?-saying, “Here, take my jacket, you’re freezing- and Sloane’s trembling reply: “I’m fine, I’m fine, just–is Elara okay? I tried to help her, but she was panicking, she grabbed me and-”

Liar.

I wanted to scream it, but all that came out was another wretched cough and a thin string of saliva. Julian’s hand moved to the back of my neck, his thumb pressing against the tense muscles there in a gesture that was probably meant to be soothing but felt more like he was checking to make sure I was still

alive, still here.

“You’re okay,” he said, voice low and fierce, meant only for me. “You’re okay, you’re breathing, just keep breathing-”

But I wasn’t okay. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered, my vision still spotty, my throat raw and my chest aching like I’d been beaten from the inside out. And worst of all, I could hear the crowd murmuring, could feel their eyes on me, could already imagine tomorrow’s headlines: “Elara Vance Nearly Drowns at Kennedy Party–Witnesses Say She Pulled Sloane Under in Jealous Rage.”

Because that’s what they’d all seen, wasn’t it? Sloane’s performance had been flawless. She’d made sure of it.

‘Julian- another voice called, sharp with concern. I forced my eyes open and saw a man in his thirties kneeling beside Sloane, wrapping a towel around her shoulders. Ethan was there too, hovering anxiously, and beyond them I could make out a sea of faces, some concerned, many merely curious, all of them

watching, always watching.

“Julian, Sloane needs-” the man started, but Julian cut him off without even looking up.

“Ethan’s got her. She’s fine.”

The dismissal in his tone was absolute, and I saw Ethan’s expression flicker with something that might have been hurt or anger before he turned his full attention to Sloane, murmuring something soothing I couldn’t make out.

Meanwhile, Julian’s hands were still on me–one at my neck, one at my shoulder–and his face when I finally managed to focus on it was a study in barely controlled panic. His hair was soaked, water dripping down his temples and jaw. His expensive shirt clung to his chest, completely ruined. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, and there was something in them I couldn’t name, something that looked almost like-

Fear.

Not for Sloane. For me.

“Why didn’t you call for help?” he demanded, voice cracking on the last word. “Why didn’t you–Jesus Christ, Elara, you can’t swim, why the hell did you-

“She pulled me,” I managed to rasp out, each word scraping my raw throat like broken glass. “Sloane–she pulled me under-

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His hands tightened on me fractionally, and for one wild second I thought he might actually believe me, But then Sloane’s voice rut across the yace between us, high and trembling and perfectly, devastatingly wounded:

I was trying to help her! She grabbed my leg and wouldn’t let go–1 thought she was going to drown us both!

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