Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 232

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9:11 am P p pp

Reborn at Eighteen: The Billionaire’s Second Chance

Chapter 232

Elara

The morning of the semifinals, I woke up at five–thirty with my stomach in knots. I’d barely slept–just kept staring at the ceiling, running through color combinations and composition ideas until they blurred together into nonsense.

My phone buzzed with the official email. ‘New competition format implemented for fairness and security. Details to be provided on–site.

Right. Because of what happened in the preliminaries. Because someone had tampered with my materials and half the art world was screaming about nepotism and the other half was calling me a liar.

I got dressed in the dark so I wouldn’t wake Mom, pulled on jeans and the same black sweater I’d worn to every major exam since sophomore year. Lucky sweater. God, I needed all the luck I could get.

The venue had changed–no more open studio space. Instead, we were in some converted warehouse in Long Island City. I took three trains to get there, clutching my portfolio case like it might fly away if I loosened my grip.

Security at the entrance looked like airport TSA on steroids.

*ID and confirmation code.”

I fumbled with my phone, nearly dropped it. The guard scanned my email, waved me through a metal detector. On the other side, a woman in a Praxis Prize polo shirt started going through my art supplies like she was looking for contraband.

“All brushes must remain in original packaging until competition start.” She pulled out my favorite sable set–the ones I’d saved up three months of street portrait money to buy–and handed me a sealed box instead. “Paints will be distributed on–site. No outside materials.”

“But these are-”

“No exceptions.”

I bit down on the rest of my protest. They were trying to prevent sabotage. I got it. Didn’t mean it didn’t feel like they were cutting off my hands before

asking me to paint.

Inside, the warehouse floor had been divided into glass cubicles. Rows and rows of them, each one identical: six by eight feet, fluorescent lights, a camera mounted in the corner, a door with a badge reader. Like an office building designed by someone who’d never actually worked in an office.

I found my assignment on the monitor by the entrance. Booth 3–C. Third row, dead center. Maximum visibility from every angle.

The booth was sterile. Adjustable easel, rolling cart with sealed paint tubes, brushes still in plastic. A digital clock on the wall. Four hours. That’s all we had.

I started unpacking what little they’d let me bring. Sketches. Reference photos. Dad’s pocket watch that hadn’t worked in eight years but I kept anyway because–because I did.

Through the glass walls, I could see Sloane being escorted to her booth. Front row, of course. Prime position. She walked slowly, one hand on her stomach, and even from here I could see her engagement ring catching the light. The cameras followed her like she was royalty.

The PA system crackled.

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Chapter 232

Good morning, competitors. Dr. Sterling’s voice. “Welcome to the Praxis Prize semifinals. As you’ve noticed, we’ve implemented new security measures to ensure the integrity of this competition. Each booth is equipped with continuous video monitoring and a designated observer.”

I glanced at the woman standing outside my door. Middle–aged, clipboard, neutral expression. She nodded once. I nodded back.

“The theme for today’s competition is Transformation,” Dr. Sterling continued. “You will find all necessary materials in your assigned booth. The use of any outside supplies will result in immediate disqualification. You may begin… now,”

Locks clicked open. I tore the plastic off the brushes, hands already shaking with the need to start working.

Four hours. One canvas. Everything I had riding on this.

I blocked out rough lines in charcoal. A figure breaking through fractured glass, reaching toward light. Transformation. The word had been stuck in my head since they announced the theme. Wasn’t that what I’d been trying to do? Transform from the girl who let herself be used into someone who could stand

alone?

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