Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Elara

Blackwood Estate looked the same as always with its gray stone and

Gothic arches.

The guards escorted me to the main hall where Mr. Vane Senior sat in

his high–backed leather chair by the fireplace with a glass of whiskey

in his hand, looking every inch the patriarch dispensing judgment

from his throne.

Mamá stood in the corner still in her cleaning uniform, her face pale

and frightened in a way that made my heart sink because I knew she

wouldn’t stand with me.

“Elara.” Mr. Vane Senior didn’t stand up or even look at me directly,

studying his whiskey instead as if it held more interest than my

presence. “Sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

He sighed and set down his glass with deliberate care before finally looking at me with those cold, calculating eyes that had never seen me as anything more than an obligation. “You’ve had a difficult week.

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Chapter 38

I understand that. Victoria’s behavior was… excessive. I’ve spoken to

her about it.”

“Have you.”

“She’s young and impulsive, and she didn’t understand the

consequences of her actions.” He pushed a piece of paper across the

coffee table–a check made out for $100,000 with my name written in

elegant script. “This is to compensate you for your distress. Buy

yourself something nice, or save it for college.”

I didn’t move or touch it, recognizing the check for what it was: blood

money, a payoff to make me shut up and go away.

“You’re upset about the Parker boy.” Mr. Vane Senior picked up his

whiskey again and swirled it contemplatively. “That was unavoidable.

His father received an excellent opportunity in Los Angeles, and I’m

sure the family is grateful for the advancement.”

“You paid them to leave.”

“I facilitated a mutually beneficial arrangement where the boy will have a better life, his parents will have better careers, and everyone wins.” He took a sip of whiskey. “Everyone except people who insist

on making problems where none exist.”

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“Except me, you mean.”

“You’re being dramatic.” His voice hardened like steel wrapped in

velvet. “This is how the world works, child. You make choices, you live

with them, and you learn that some battles aren’t worth fighting. You

tried to involve the police in a family matter, and that was unwise.”

Mamá stepped forward with her hands clasped together in a pleading

gesture that made me feel sick. “Elara, please. Just apologize to

Victoria. Make this right.”

I looked at her–really looked at the woman who’d given birth to me,

who’d taught me to cook, who’d held me when I cried as a child–and

saw the woman who would always choose survival over justice,

security over truth.

“Make what right, Mamá? They tried to have me raped, they broke

Papa’s watch, and they drove away the one person who tried to help

me.”

“You’re being dramatic!” Her voice rose to a desperate pitch. “Victoria is your sister, and you need to get along with her!”

“She’s not my sister–she’s a spoiled brat who’s never been told no in

her entire life.”

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