Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Elara

Home. She still called Blackwood Estate home, as if we had any claim

to that cold stone prison.

I put the phone away and pushed open the stairwell door to find the hallway full of students between classes, their voices and laughter

creating the soundtrack of normal life that would never be mine

again.

Several girls saw me and immediately huddled together, their whispers punctuated by pointing fingers as one of them held up her

phone to show the others something that made them all laugh.

I kept walking with my head held high, refusing to give them the

satisfaction of seeing me break down in the middle of their

entertainment.

In the restroom, I splashed cold water on my face and looked in the

mirror at the bruises that were fading to yellow–green instead of

purple, though my eyes looked wrong in a way that had nothing to do

with physical injury–hollow and haunted by things I couldn’t unsee.

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I pulled out my phone again and looked at Mason’s contact, at the

number that didn’t work anymore, at the witness who’d been erased

from my life as if he’d never existed at all.

But he had existed, and he’d saved me when no one else would. That

was real.

I took a breath and walked to Ms. Rivera’s office, knowing what I had

to do even if it was probably futile.

She looked up when I knocked, her expression shifting from surprise

to concern in the space of a heartbeat. “Elara. Are you all right?”

“I need Mason Parker’s home address.”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over her keyboard as she

processed my request. “I heard his family moved. Very suddenly.”

“I know, but they can’t have left yet–not this fast, not with all the

logistics of moving across the country.” I leaned forward, desperation

seeping into my voice. “If I go now-”

“Elara.” Her voice was gentle in a way that made me want to scream, heavy with the kind of sad wisdom that came from seeing too many

students crushed by systems they couldn’t fight. “Sometimes the

system fails us. Sometimes powerful people make sure of that.”

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“So I should just accept it? Just let Victoria win?”

Ms. Rivera stood up and walked around her desk, and I noticed for the

first time how she had to look up to meet my eyes, this woman who’d

been one of the few teachers to treat me like a human being. “I’m not

saying that. I’m saying be careful. Be smart. Don’t put yourself in

more danger.”

“They already put me in danger by sending men to-” I stopped,

unable to finish the sentence that would make the horror real again.

She reached out and touched my arm with surprising gentleness. “I

know. And I’m sorry. I wish I could do more.”

“You can. Give me his address.”

She sighed, a sound full of resignation and worry, before walking back

to her computer to type something and write it on a sticky note.

“West 86th Street. Upper West Side. But Elara-”

I took the note before she could finish her warning. “Thank you.”

“Be safe. Please.”

I left before she could say anything else that might make me lose my

nerve.

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The taxi took twenty minutes through heavy traffic where every red

light felt like an hour stretching into eternity, each delay another

chance for Mason’s family to disappear before I could reach them.

I counted the cash in my wallet–forty–three dollars left, enough for

the taxi but not enough for anything else, not enough for a future

that didr involve crawling back to Blackwood Estate on my knees.

The driver dropped me at the corner of West 86th in front of a

brownstone building in a nice neighborhood with trees lining the

street, nothing like the gritty reality of the Bronx where I’d almost

lost everything.

Two black SUVs were parked in front with Mason’s family loading

boxes into the back, and I saw him in his gray hoodie and jeans,

helping his father carry a large suitcase toward the vehicle.

My heart started pounding as I stepped off the curb and started to

cross the street, opening my mouth to call out his name.

“Mason-”

A hand clamped over my mouth hard and fast, the black leather glove

cutting off my voice before it could properly form, and I tried to

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scream but the sound came out muffled and wrong.

Someone grabbed my arms and pulled them behind my back with the

kind of professional, practiced efficiency that told me these weren’t

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