Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 217

Robom of Eighteen the Billionaire’s Second Chance

Chapter 217

“I know,” I eald quietly, even at part of me wanted to flinch away from the pain in her eyes. And f’in sorry. But I can’t very doing s Sloane. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair in

‘Fair?‘ She let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. You want to talk about fair? What about what’s fair to our child? Youre going to make them grow up as the bastard kid from a bunken engagement because you couldn’t keep it in your pants for a few more mORLEST

The crude language was so unlike her that it shocked me, Slowme never lost control, never let the mask slip. But now she was falling apart

in front of me, and part of me wanted to take it all back, to smooth over the cracks and pretend this conversation had never happened.

But I couldn’t.

“The child will have two parents who care about them, I said firmly. “But those parents don’t need to be married to each other. We can

co–parent, we can make this work without-

“Without what? Without you honoring your commitments?” Sloane’s voice was venomous now, all traces of tears gone, replaced by

something harder and colder. “If you do this, Julian, I will make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of man you are. I’ll tell them how

you seduced your dead housekeeper’s daughter, how you kept her as your mistress while planning a wedding with me, how you abandoned your pregnant fiancée for some nobody who has nothing to offer but her body,”

The threat hung in the air between us. A year ago–hell, a week ago–it would have been enough to make me back down, to choose the path of least resistance and maximum damage control.

But all I felt now was a strange, hollow calm.

“Then tell them,” I said. “Tell whoever you want, Sloane, Write whatever story makes you feel better. I’ll deal with the consequences.”

Her face went white. “You’re serious,” she whispered. “You’re actually serious,”

“I am.” I stood up, suddenly desperate to be out of this room, away from the tears and accusations and the wreckage of the future I’d thought I wanted, ‘I’ll have my lawyers contact you about the arrangements. We’ll make sure you and the baby are taken care of, that you

have everything you need,”

“Why?” The word came out broken, desperate, “Why her? What does she have that I don’t? I’m the one who’s your equal, your partner, I’m from the right family, I have the right connections, I can help you build the life you’re supposed to have. She’s nobody, Julian. She has

nothing.”

I paused with my hand on the door, looking back at her one last time. She looked genuinely lost, genuinely hurt, and part of me–the part that had been raised to value duty and responsibility above all else–wanted to go back to her, to apologize, to take it all back.

But then I thought of Elara’s face when I’d told her I loved her. The way she’d looked at me like I’d just handed her a beautiful le

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Chapter 217

wrapped in pretty words. The exhaustion in her voice when she’d told me she was tired of being my escape hatch.

“You’re right,” I said quietly. “You are my equal in every way that society measures these things. You is accomplisis. you fo

you’re everything a Vane wife should be.” I met her eyes. “But when I’m with Elara, I don’t have to be Julian Yane. I can

And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until it was almost too late,”

Sloane’s face twisted with something ugly–rage, or grief, or both. “Get out,‘ she hissed. “Get out of my room. Get our out my web Ag

this all falls apart, when she gets bored or finds someone richer or just decides she’s done slumming with the help, don’t you plaas vette

crawling back to me.”

I nodded once, accepting the dismissal, and turned to leave,

But before I could pull the door open, there was a sharp knock from the other side.

I opened it to find Detective Brown standing in the hallway, flanked by her male colleague. Her expression was professionally neutral bri

there was something in her eyes–a sharpness, an intensity–that made my stomach drop.

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Vane, Ms. Kennedy,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of official business. “We’ve completed our preliminary review of the pool incident footage. I need to speak with both of you, as well as Ms. Vance, regarding our findings.

Behind me, I heard Sloane suck in a sharp breath. When I glanced back, she was sitting very still, one hand pressed to her belly, her face

carefully blank.

“Now?” she said, and her voice was steady again, all traces of tears gone. “Can’t this wait until-”

“I’m afraid not,” Detective Brown said, her tone brooking no argument. “This is a time–sensitive matter. We’ve already notified Ms. Vance I’d like all parties to meet in the conference room on the third floor.”

Sloane was already reaching for the robe draped over her chair, her movements precise and controlled. She tied it around her waist with deliberate care, and when she looked up, her face had transformed–no more tears, no more rage, just the poised, gracious woman the

world expected to see.

“Of course, Detective,” she said smoothly. “I want to help in any way I can. This whole situation has been so traumatic, and I just want the

truth to come out.”

She was good. Even now, even after everything I’d just told her, she was slipping back into the role, playing the part she’d bees raised to

play.

Detective Brown’s expression didn’t change, but I thought I saw something shift in her eyes. “I’m sure we all want the truth, Ms. Kennedy she said evenly. “That’s exactly why we’re here.*

Sloane moved past me toward the door, and as she did, she leaned in close enough that only I could hear her whisper: “This isn’t over, Julian. Don’t even think about getting rid of me so easily.”

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Reborn at Eighteen. The Billionaire’s Second Chance