Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Elara

Every eye swiveled to me.

The moment stretched. A test. A trap.

“Miss Kennedy is Mr. Vane’s guest,” I said, voice level. “I have no

objection.”

“Good.” Victoria’s laugh was brittle glass. “Because it’s not your place

to object anyway. This is the Vane home, and you’re a Vance. Let’s not

forget the distinction.”

Scattered chuckles from staff. Quickly suppressed.

I picked up my bag and walked toward the side entrance. Not the

grand stairs–those were for family. For Sloane.

I kept my back straight. Pace steady.

But my fingers clutched the bag handle until leather bit into my palm

hard enough to bruise.

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Behind me, the welcoming party swept Sloane inside. Victoria’s

animated chatter echoing. Mr. Vane Senior’s pleased rumble. Tristan’s

smooth interjections.

Julian said nothing.

But I felt his gaze following me until I disappeared around the corner.

My room was unchanged. Small corner in the east wing–far from the

family quarters. Adequate but dated furniture. Single window

overlooking the service drive and kitchen garden.

I dropped my bags and sat on the bed.

Breathe. Just breathe.

My hands shook. I pressed them flat against my thighs, counting seconds. Trying to force calm through my system.

This is exactly what happened last time.

Memory rose unbidden: Sloane moving in three years ago. Same ceremony. Same casual dismissal. Same cruelty wrapped in social

niceties.

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And then-

No. I stood abruptly. Not this time. I’m prepared now.

I moved to my desk, opened my laptop, pulled up my schedule. SAT

prep every morning. Portfolio review in two months. College

applications in three.

A knock at the door.

“Miss Vance?” Anna, the head maid. “Dinner is at seven. Mr. Vane

Senior expects everyone in attendance.”

“I’ll be there.”

“And… Miss Kennedy will be joining the family table now. You’ll be in

your usual place, of course.”

My usual place. Far end of the table. Next to the serving station.

“Understood.”

Anna’s footsteps retreated down the hallway. The sound faded into

silence.

I turned back to my laptop. My vision blurred for a moment before I

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forced it back into focus.

Not this time. I will not break this time.

I opened a blank document and started typing my college essay. One

word after another. Building my escape one sentence at a time.

The words came slowly at first. Halting. I had to keep stopping to think about what I wanted to say. How to frame my story in a way

that would make admissions officers see me as someone worth

investing in rather than someone to pity.

I wrote about my father. About his work ethic. About what he had

taught me about dignity and service and doing your job well even

when no one was watching. I did not mention how he died. Did not

mention the Vane family at all. Just focused on the lessons he had

given me before I lost him.

An hour passed. Then two. The light outside my window faded from afternoon gold to evening blue. My fingers kept moving across the keyboard. The essay was taking shape. Rough and unpolished but

honest.

At six thirty, I saved the document and closed my laptop. Stood up and stretched. My back ached from hunching over the desk. My eyes felt dry and tired.

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I walked to my closet and pulled out the most neutral dress I owned.

Navy blue. Long sleeves. High neckline. The kind of thing that would

let me blend into the background at dinner. Not draw attention. Not

give Victoria any ammunition for whatever comments she was

planning.

I changed clothes mechanically. Brushed my hair. Looked at myself in

the mirror.

The girl looking back at me was pale. Tired. But her eyes were clear.

Determined.

At six fifty–five, I left my room and made my way down the back

staircase to the dining room. My footsteps were quiet on the carpet. I

could hear voices coming from the formal dining room. Laughter. The

clink of crystal glasses.

I paused outside the doorway and took a breath. Then I walked in.

Everyone was already seated. Mr. Vane Senior at the head of the table. Julian to his right. Sloane beside Julian, her hand resting casually on

his arm as she talked. Victoria and Tristan on the left side.

And at the far end, next to the serving station, was my empty chair.

No one looked up when I entered. The conversation continued

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without pause. Sloane was telling a story about an art gallery opening

she had attended in Paris. Victoria was laughing at all the right

moments. Mr. Vane Senior was nodding approvingly.

I walked to my seat and sat down quietly. Spread my napkin across

my lap. Kept my eyes on my empty plate.

Anna appeared beside me with the first course. She set the plate

down without making eye contact. Without a word.

Dinner began.

The conversation flowed around me. Through me. Like I was not there

at all. They talked about Sloane’s upcoming exhibition. About Julian’s

latest deal. About the Kennedy family’s political connections and how

useful those would be for Vane Industries.

I ate slowly. Methodically. Cutting each piece into precise portions.

Chewing the prescribed number of times. Not tasting anything.

“Elara.”

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