Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 53

Chapter 53

Elara

Second period was Studio Art.

The art room was my favorite place in the whole school–floor–to-

ceiling windows on the north wall, letting in perfect, even light. The

smell of oil paint and turpentine and canvas. Tables covered in paint

splatters from a hundred different projects.

Ms. Rivera looked up when I walked in. Her expression softened.

“Elara.” She kept her voice low. “Stay strong, okay? Don’t let them

break you.”

Something in my chest cracked open. Just a little.

“Thank you,” I managed.

She nodded. Squeezed my shoulder briefly, then moved on to greet

the next student.

I took my usual seat by the window. Started setting up my materials- canvas, brushes, palette. My hands moved automatically, familiar

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Chapter 53

with the routine.

Around me, other students filed in. The conversations were louder

than usual. More animated. I caught fragments:

“…can’t believe she’s actually here…”

“…heard the Vanes kicked her out…”

“…living in some dump in the Bronx now…”

I mixed my paints. Titanium white, burnt umber, ultramarine blue.

The colors bled together on my palette, beautiful and chaotic.

Ms. Rivera started the class with announcements about the upcoming

Founders‘ Day exhibition. My stomach twisted at the mention of it,

but I kept my face blank. Kept mixing colors.

“Remember,” Ms. Rivera was saying, “portfolio submissions are due

October 29th. This is your chance to showcase your best work to

college representatives from RISD, Parsons, and Pratt.”

Someone raised their hand. Will Ms. Kennedy be reviewing the

portfolios too?”

Ms. Rivera smiled. ‘Ms. Kennedy will be giving an artist talk, yes. I’m

Chapter 53

sure she’ll offer valuable insights to all our aspiring artists.”

I pressed my brush too hard against the canvas. A blob of paint spread across the surface, ruining the careful layer I’d been building.

The rest of the class passed in a blur. I worked on my painting–just a study, nothing important–and tried to tune out the whispers around me. Ms. Rivera circulated through the room, offering quiet

encouragement and technical advice.

When she stopped at my table, she studied my canvas for a long

moment.

“Good use of light,” she said softly. “But you’re holding back. I can see it in your brushwork. You’re being too careful.”

I looked up at her. “Careful keeps things from breaking.”

Her eyes were sad. “Sometimes, Elara, you have to break things to make something beautiful.”

Before I could respond, she’d moved on to the next student.

The bell rang. Ms. Rivera gathered her bag and notebook.

“I have a meeting with the curriculum committee,” she announced to

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the class. “You’re welcome to stay and work if you’d like. Just make

sure everything is cleaned up before you leave.”

She left. The door clicked shut behind her.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Students packed up their

supplies, chatting about lunch plans and weekend parties. The room

gradually emptied.

I stayed at my table. Kept painting. There was something soothing

about the repetitive motion–load the brush, apply paint, blend,

repeat. The world narrowed to just canvas and color.

I didn’t notice how quiet it had gotten until I heard the door lock.

My head snapped up.

Madison stood by the entrance, her hand still on the deadbolt. Behind

her were three other girls–all of them from Victoria’s usual circle. All

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