Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 6

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Reborn at Eighteen: The Billionaire’s Second…

Chapter 6

It had started exactly one year ago. The day after my seventeen

birthday, when he’d given me the compass necklace in the library. I’d

been crying after another round of Victoria’s bullying, and he’d

appeared like something out of a fairy tale. Tall, composed, achingly

beautiful in his tailored suit.

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“Your father saved my grandfather’s life,” he’d said, his voice devoid of

warmth but not unkind. “That makes you family, Elara. Anyone who

tells you otherwise is wrong.”

Then he handed me the necklace and left.

I’d spent the next three hundred and sixty–five days trying to make him look at me that way again.

6:00 AM alarms to brew his favorite Blue Mountain coffee.

Handwritten notes tucked into his briefcase: “Have a great day, Julian!” with little hearts dotting the i’s. I’d learned about jazz music and bourbon because he liked them. I’d memorized the Wall Street Journal’s front page every morning so I could ask intelligent questions at dinner.

I’d waited in the garage when he came home from late nights at the office, a plate of food wrapped in foil. I’d organized his dry cleaning.

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Chapter 6

I’d sat in his study while he worked, silent and adoring, just grateful

to be in his presence.

And I’d followed him everywhere I could–lingering outside his gym,

“coincidentally” showing up at the same restaurants, engineering

excuses to ride in his car. I’d filled my phone with stolen photos:

Julian in his shirtsleeves reviewing contracts, Julian’s profile backlit

by his computer screen, Julian’s hands gripping a steering wheel.

My diary from that year was fifty thousand words of obsessive

delusion. “Julian smiled at me today.” “Julian said my hair looked

nice.” “Julian let me sit next to him at dinner.”

I’d been a stalker. A lovesick child mistaking pity for affection,

obligation for romance.

And Julian’s patience had worn thin fast.

By last month–by the homecoming dance at St. Valerius Academy-

his tolerance had finally snapped. I’d spent a week planning the

perfect dress, the perfect hair, the perfect moment to ask him to be

my date. I’d cornered him in the parking lot, trembling with hope and

terror.

His response had been loud enough for everyone to hear: “Elara, what

you’re doing is called stalking. It’s illegal. Stop.”

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Chapter 6

The lacrosse team had laughed. Someone filmed it. The video went

viral in our social circle: “Crazy foster kid thinks she has a chance

with Julian Vane.”

I’d locked myself in a bathroom stall and cried until my eyes swelled

shut.

But Mom had told me to try harder. “Men like the chase,” she’d

insisted, scrubbing the Blackwood Estate’s marble floors on her

knees. “He’s just playing hard to get. You have to show him you’re

serious.”

So I’d kept trying. Kept pushing. Kept humiliating myself.

Until today. Until this morning, when I would have jumped at the

chance to go to Boston with him.

Until that morning at the hotel, where I’d wake up in his bed with no

memory of how I got there, my dress torn, his disgust the first thing I

saw.

“You drugged me,” he’d accused, his gray–blue eyes arctic. “You’ve

been stalking me for a year, and now this? Did you really think

forcing yourself on me would make me want you?”

I’d tried to explain. Tried to say I didn’t remember, didn’t know what

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