Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Elara

“The soup.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. Blinked hard. “I feel…

strange.”

Every drop of relief evaporated. My blood turned to ice.

I turned back slowly.

Julian was still on the couch, but everything had changed. His tie lay

discarded. Collar unbuttoned. Face flushed deep red. When he looked

up, his pupils were dilated so wide I could barely see the color of his

irises.

“Mr. Vane.” My voice came out thin. “Should I call a doctor?”

“No.” He tried to stand. Swayed. Sat back down hard. “Damn it.”

His gaze locked on mine. Clarity battling something chemical and

dangerous.

“You.” Each word forced out through obvious effort. “You brought me

the soup.”

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“You asked me to-”

“What did you put in it?”

The accusation hit like a physical blow. My back slammed into the

wall.

“Nothing!” Too loud, too desperate. “It was already prepared–the

hotel-”

His laugh was rough. Bitter. “The hotel.”

I watched comprehension dawn in his eyes. The pre–made soup.

Sloane’s insistence on driving him home. The urgency in her voice.

The champagne had been meant for me. But the soup–the soup had

been meant for him.

This was Sloane’s backup plan. Get him impaired, get him alone,

create a situation that would force his hand. If she’d driven him

home, she would have served this soup. She would have been here

when it took effect.

But Julian had refused her. And now he was here, drugged and losing

control, with me.

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The trap had sprung on the wrong victim.

“I should go.” My hand found the doorknob. “I’ll call the front desk-”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. “If you leave–if anyone finds out-”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

If I ran, I’d look guilty. The girl who’d served drugged soup and fled. It wouldn’t matter that I hadn’t known. Julian would wake up convinced

I’d tried to trap him.

But if I stayed-

My phone. The doctor. Eight minutes. If I could just hold out until she

got here, she could help. She could be my witness.

“Elara.”

Julian’s voice pulled my focus back. He was staring at me with an

intensity that made every nerve scream danger. His eyes were dark

and unfocused, but underneath I could see something raw and

hungry.

“Come here.”

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Chapter 21

“I can’t.” My voice shook. “Mr. Vane, you’re not yourself—”

“Come. Here.”

Not a request anymore.

The suite’s digital clock blinked to 10:52 PM.

Eight minutes until the doctor arrived.

Eight minutes might as well have been eight years.

Julian stood. Swayed. Caught himself on the back of the couch.

Then he moved toward me.

Not walking. Stumbling. Each step uncertain but driven by something

chemical and relentless. His pupils had swallowed the color of his

eyes. Sweat beaded at his temples.

“Elara.” My name came out rough. Desperate. “Don’t–don’t run.‘

I pressed harder against the wall. The doorknob dug into my spine.

Eight minutes. The doctor would be here in eight minutes.

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“Mr. Vane.” My voice shook. “You need to sit down. You’re not well-”

“I know.” He reached out. His hand found my wrist. Hot. Too hot. “I

know what she did.”

His grip tightened. Not painful yet, but firm enough that I couldn’t

pull away without a fight.

“The soup,” he continued, words slurring slightly. “Sloane made it. For

1. me. To” He stopped. Blinked hard. “To trap me.”

“Yes.” I kept my voice steady. “So please, let me call the front desk-”

“No.” His other hand came up, braced against the wall beside my

head. Caging me. “Can’t. If anyone knows–if the press-”

He was right. A scandal like this would destroy him. Destroy the Vane

family’s carefully maintained image. But that didn’t change the fact

that he was losing control, that the drug was winning, that I was

trapped between him and the wall with nowhere to go.

His body heat radiated against me. The clean scent of his cologne

mixed with something sharper–sweat, desperation, the chemical

wrongness of whatever drug was coursing through him.

“Julian.” I tried his first name. Desperate. “Look at me. Really look.”

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He did. His gaze locked on mine, and for a second I saw him fighting

-fighting the chemicals, fighting his own body’s response, fighting to

stay in control.

Then his eyes dropped. Traced the line of my throat. The curve of my

collarbone exposed by the neckline of my dress.

Lower.

My breath caught.

“You” He leaned closer. His breath was hot against my neck. “You’re

always–watching me. Following. Those drawings-”

His lips brushed my skin. Not a kiss. Just contact. A whisper of heat

that made every nerve ending scream.

I went rigid. “That was before. I told you, I’m done—”

“Liar.” The word vibrated against my throat.

His mouth moved up. Along my jaw. Deliberate now, despite the drug.

Or because of it–I couldn’t tell where Julian ended and the chemicals

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