Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 237

Reborn at Eighteen: The Billionaire’s Second Chance

Chapter 237

Julian

The words hit me like a physical blow.

*If you ever speak about her that way again,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, ‘engaged or not, I will walk out of Blackwood and never return. I’ll transfer

every asset I personally control out of Vane Group and start my own firm if necessary.”

The threat was real. Atlas had been working on contingency plans for weeks. Shell corporations. Offshore accounts. Everything I’d need to break away from

the family business if it came to that.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Grandfather said flatly. “Do you understand what you’re proposing? You’ll make yourself a social pariah. No respectable family will

want to associate with a man who abandoned his pregnant fiancée.”

“I understand perfectly,” I said. “I’ve thought it through. My decision is final.”

I watched his hands tighten on his cane until his knuckles stood out like bone.

“If you walk out of this study still determined to go through with this,” he said slowly, “there will be consequences.”

The door slammed open.

I didn’t have time to turn before Tristan grabbed my collar with both hands and slammed me back against the bookshelf hard enough to knock the wind out

of my lungs.

“You bastard!” His face was inches from mine, twisted with rage. “You’re really going to abandon her? Sloane’s carrying your child, she’s trying to maintain her career, and you’re out there parading around with that little gold–digger like she’s your fucking property?”

The words were too passionate. Too personal. Too invested in someone else’s relationship.

And I finally saw what I’d been too blind to notice before.

I didn’t fight back. Just let him shake me while he ranted about how Sloane deserved better. How she’d sacrificed everything to be with me. How dare I throw

it all away.

When he finally ran out of breath, I asked the question that changed everything.

“Tell me, little brother–when did you fall in love with my fiancée?”

He let go of me like I’d burned him. Stepped back. His face went white, then red, then white again.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

No words came out.

I’m not blind, Tristan,” I said quietly. “You always make excuses to be wherever she is. You volunteer to pick her up from the airport when I’m busy. You know her preferences better than I do sometimes. You suggested we hire her favorite caterer for the engagement party even though I’d never mentioned her

preferences to you.”

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Chapter 237

“That’s-” He stopped. Started again. Even if 1–hypothetically–had feelings for Sloane, it doesn’t matter. She loves you. She chose you. And you’re a selfish bastard for throwing away something precious that other men would kill to have.”

The martyrdom in his voice made me feel sick.

“Then you can have her,” I said. “If you want Sloane Kennedy so badly, you’re welcome to court her once I’ve formally ended things. I won’t stand in your

way.”

“Enough.” Grandfather’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Both of you. We are Vanes, not common street brawlers.”

But I could see it in his face too–he’d known. Maybe not consciously, but he’d seen the signs and chosen not to acknowledge them because it was

inconvenient.

He turned to me. ‘You’re making the biggest mistake of your life. You’re letting your obsession with that girl cloud your judgment. The Vane name has been built over generations through strategic marriages and careful alliances, not reckless passion. If you go through with this, you’ll be spitting on everything

our family stands for.”

“Maybe what our family stands for needs to change,” I said.

My hands had started shaking. I pressed them against my sides to make it stop.

“I’m tired of treating relationships like corporate mergers. Tired of pretending I can force myself to love someone I don’t just because it makes good business sense. I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than spend one more day lying to Sloane and lying to myself.”

Grandfather’s face had gone completely still. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and deadly.

“You would choose her over everything. Over your family. Over your responsibilities. Over the legacy that five generations of Vanes have built.”

“Yes,” I said simply. “I would.”

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out something wrapped in black velvet.

The family cane.

I’d seen it used exactly twice in my life. Once when Tristan was sixteen and had been caught embezzling from one of our charitable foundations to impress a girl. Once when Victoria was fourteen and had crashed her first car while driving drunk.

Never on me. I’d always been the good one. The responsible one. The heir who never stepped out of line.

“You want your freedom,” Grandfather said, unwrapping the cane with careful, deliberate movements. “You want the right to make your own choices about who to marry, who to love, who to build a life with.”

He held up the cane. Black ebony, carved with the family crest, worn smooth by generations of use.

“Everything has a price, Julian. You know that. I taught you that. Your freedom–your right to make this catastrophically stupid decision–will cost you thirty strokes. One for each year you’ve been alive. One for each year I’ve invested in making you into someone worthy of leading this family.”

He looked at me steadily. “If you can take your punishment without crying out, without begging me to stop, then I’ll accept your decision. I’ll let you throw away everything we’ve built. But if you break–if you prove you’re too weak to endure the consequences of your choices–then you’ll do exactly as I say. You’ll marry Sloane Kennedy. You’ll give up this ridiculous infatuation. And you’ll never speak to that girl again.”

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The room was absolutely silent.

I could hear my own heartbeat. Could hear Tristan’s breathing, quick and shallow with shock. Could hear Victoria’s heels clicking in the hallway outside as she paced, waiting to see what would happen.

I thought about Elara. About the way she’d looked at me in the hospital when I’d finally told her I loved her. About the hope and fear and desperate uncertainty in her eyes when she’d given me her ultimatum.

If you love me, break up with Sloane. Choose me. Publicly. Completely. Or we’re done.

I’d spent the entire night since then trying to figure out a way to have both. To keep my family’s approval and Elara’s trust. To maintain the perfect image and the messy reality.

But standing there in that study, looking at my grandfather’s implacable face and that terrible cane, I finally understood what Elara had been trying to tell me all along.

There was no compromise. No middle ground. No way to keep one foot in each world.

I had to choose.

All right, I said quietly. “I accept your terms.”