Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 230

Chapter 230

I needed to break the pattern before it became permanent.

The afternoon sun slanted through the oak trees as I pushed through the doors. I’d make it to the subway before Julian arrived. I’d text him later, something polite and distant, reminding him of the boundaries that had started blurring this week.

I was halfway across the parking lot when a black Bentley pulled up right in front of me, blocking my path.

Atlas got out of the driver’s seat. My heart sank.

“Miss Elara. His voice was polite but firm. “Mr. Vane would like to see you.”

‘I don’t want to see him today.” I tried to go around the car, but Atlas moved with me.

“It’s about the competition. The Praxis semifinals. He has information you’ll want to hear.”

The words hit their target. I stood there on the cold asphalt, students starting to come out behind me, and felt the trap close.

Three seconds. That’s how long I hesitated, weighing my need for distance against my desperate need for any advantage in the competition.

“Fine. But I’m not going to Blackwood.”

“He’s at the office. I’ll take you there.”

The office. Neutral ground, or as neutral as anywhere in Julian’s world could be. I got in the back seat, and Atlas closed the door with a quiet thud.

The drive took twenty minutes through rush hour. Atlas didn’t try to talk, and I was grateful. I used the silence to remind myself why I’d been avoiding exactly this. Julian had resources I needed–information, connections, power that could open or slam doors–but accepting his help would create a debt I

couldn’t afford.

I can do this alone, I told myself as we pulled into the underground garage. I have to.

But I felt the exhaustion pulling at me. The weariness of fighting every battle by myself, carrying every burden without help.

The elevator was lined with mirrors. I watched my reflection multiply as we rose through the building. Sixty floors between the street and Julian’s domain. With each floor, I felt smaller, more uncertain, until the doors opened and I barely recognized myself.

Atlas led me down a hall of glass and steel, past assistants who looked up with blank faces, to double doors at the end. He knocked once, opened the door,

stepped aside.

“Miss Vance,” he said, almost apologetic.

I walked through. The doors clicked shut behind me.

Julian’s office was exactly what I expected: huge windows overlooking Manhattan, furniture that probably cost more than a year’s rent, art I recognized from auction catalogs. The setting sun turned everything gold and amber, painting the room in warm colors that should have felt welcoming but instead felt staged.

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9:11 am P P P P

Chapter 230

Julian stood by the windows with his back to me, hands in his pockets. He’d taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were tense. For a long moment he didn’t turn around, and I had time to notice: the table set for two by the windows, expensive plates, wine breathing in a crystal decanter. All prepared in advance. Waiting for me.

And on the wall behind his desk, in a simple black frame, was my painting from the Praxis preliminaries. Someone had taken a high–resolution photo and blown it up huge. My broken window, my wounded seedling, impossible to ignore.

You had no right. The words came out sharp. “How did you even-

I bought the photo rights from the competition. He turned to face me. “All of them. Every angle. This one was the best.”

“You can’t just ” I stopped, because of course he could. He could buy anything. The rules bent around him. “Why?”

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