Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 233

Reborn at Eighteen: The Billionaire’s Second Chance

Chapter 233

The work pulled me under the way it always did when everything else disappeared and there was just the canvas and my hands and the image trying to claw its way out of my head.

An hour passed. Then another.

I stepped back to check my progress and caught movement in my peripheral vision. Sloane’s booth door opening. A woman in scrubs walked in carrying a thermal bottle and a small medical kit. She stayed maybe thirty seconds, said something to Sloane I couldn’t hear through the glass, then left.

Probably nothing. Sloane was pregnant. Of course she needed someone checking on her.

But then it happened again thirty minutes later. Same woman. Another brief visit. And when she left, Sloane glanced at something in her hand–something small enough to palm–before tucking it away somewhere the camera couldn’t see.

I forced myself to look back at my canvas. Don’t let her distract you. That’s what she wants.

But I couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t stop wondering what was being passed during those visits that had nothing to do with blood sugar or prenatal vitamins.

Lunch break came at hour two. Thirty minutes to grab food and use the bathroom. I took a water bottle and a granola bar to a corner where I could eat

without making eye contact with anyone.

That’s when I heard them. Two girls from the preliminaries, standing by the water cooler.

‘I can’t believe Sloane’s even competing,” one said. “She’s four months pregnant and she had a fever yesterday.”

“Her assistant has to check on her every hour. Blood sugar monitoring or something. The organizers gave special permission.”

My water bottle crinkled in my grip.

Every hour. Those weren’t random medical checks. They were scheduled. Regular. Approved.

And every time that door opened, it was a chance to pass information. To share what other competitors were working on. To coordinate.

I wanted to march over and demand proof that those visits were actually medical. But what would I say? The girl who’d accused Sloane of trying to drown her now thinks she’s cheating again? Who would believe me?

The last two hours blurred together. I finished my piece–the fractured figure, the glass turning to wings–and knew it was good. Maybe the best thing I’d

done under pressure.

But was it enough?

When the buzzer sounded, I set down my brush and felt something between relief and dread settle in my chest.

Done. For better or worse.

The judging took an hour. We stayed in our booths while the panel moved through the rows. When Dr. Sterling reached mine, she paused longer than she had at the others. Studied the canvas from three different angles. Her expression gave away nothing.

Finally they let us out. We gathered in the viewing area for results, and I stood near the back with my arms wrapped around myself, trying to prepare for

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Chapter 233

disappointment while not quite killing the small, stupid flame of hope.

*Before we announce the results,” Dr. Sterling began, “I want to acknowledge the unusual circumstances of this round. We’ve implemented the highest security measures in Praxis Prize history. We’ve also made necessary accommodations for participants with medical needs, always with full transparency and

oversight.”

Medical needs. Necessary accommodations. Each word felt like a justification for something that shouldn’t need justifying.

‘The judges were unanimous,” Dr. Sterling continued. “The quality of work today exceeded our expectations. We can only advance six competitors to the

finals.”

She started reading names in reverse order. Sixth place. Fifth. Fourth-

“Elara Vance.”

The sound hit me like cold water. Fourth. I was advancing, but barely.

And then-

“Sloane Kennedy, sixth place.”