Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 69

Chapter 69

Elara

The moment shattered like ice water poured over warmth.

Both our eyes moved to that glowing screen. Sloane’s name blazed

accusingly in the dim lighting.

Cold swept up my spine. The restaurant’s warmth vanished instantly,

like being yanked from a beautiful dream back to harsh reality.

Julian’s expression shifted–the vulnerability disappearing behind his

usual controlled mask. He picked up the phone, jaw tightening as he

glanced at the screen.

I stared at that phone, my heart crushed by an invisible hand.

Everything we’d just shared–the Mexican food, his concern, even that

dangerous question about coming to his place–might have been

nothing more than temporary kindness.

And one call from Sloane could erase it all.

Julian hesitated for two seconds, then answered. His voice lost all its

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earlier softness. “Yes.”

I couldn’t hear Sloane’s words, but Julian’s expression grew

increasingly grave, his brow furrowing deeper.

“I understand,” he said, voice low and compressed. “I’ll be there soon.”

Those few words sentenced this night to its inevitable ending.

Julian hung up, staring at his phone screen for several seconds,

thumb sliding across the surface.

I sat across from him, hands clasped on my lap, nails digging into my palms. My expression had returned to calm, only the pain hidden

deep in my eyes betraying me.

He looked up, meeting my gaze. A hint of apology colored his tone,

but determination dominated. “I have to go.”

My mouth curved into an hollow smile. “Okay.”

One simple word. No questions. No pleading. No emotional reaction

whatsoever.

The emptiness seemed to unsettle him more than anger would have.

His frown deepened.

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He stood, reaching for his jacket from the booth’s back. “I’ll have Atlas

take you back to the Bronx.”

I stood too, my voice terrifyingly calm. “No need. I can get back on my

own.”

Julian’s brow furrowed. “It’s almost midnight-”

“Julian, you don’t need to be responsible for me.” My eyes met his

directly, clear and cold. “You have more important things to deal with,

don’t you?”

No sarcasm. Just a statement of fact. This seemed to disturb him even

more.

His throat worked. He seemed about to say something, but settled on:

“I’ll handle the Victoria situation. I promised.”

I nodded, my voice hollow. “I know. Thank you for dinner.”

I picked up my small bag and stood, preparing to leave.

As I passed him, I paused for one second.

Julian leaned forward slightly, as if expecting me to speak.

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But I just kept walking toward the door.

“Elara-” He reached for my wrist.

I stepped aside smoothly, avoiding his hand. My voice remained calm

but carried a thread of exhaustion. “Go. Don’t keep her waiting.”

I pushed the door open. Cold wind rushed in, tangling my hair. The

bell above the door chimed as my silhouette disappeared into the

dark street.

Julian stood frozen, hand suspended in air.

I walked without purpose after leaving the restaurant. My arms

wrapped around myself against the cold. The dress’s thin fabric

fluttered in the wind.

The jalapeño heat still lingered in my mouth, but I tasted nothing

now.

I remembered Julian assembling my taco, his voice saying “slow down,” the confusion in his eyes when he’d asked about coming to his

place.

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Then Sloane’s call. And his immediate “I’ll be there soon.”

I stopped at a crosswalk, watching the traffic light change. Red light

washed over my pale face.

Suddenly, I laughed–a desolate sound in the empty street, tinged

with self–mockery.

“Again,” I whispered to myself, the words scattering in the cold wind.

The previous timeline had been identical. Julian would hold me when

I cried. He’d remember what I liked. He’d stay by my bed when I was

sick.

But one call from Sloane, one “I need you,” and he’d leave

immediately.

The tenderness was real. The abandonment was also real.

And I was always the one left behind.

I pulled out my phone and opened the Uber app. A driver accepted-

five minutes away,

Standing on the bodega steps waiting, I looked toward Times Square

in the distance, where the sky glowed bright with lights.

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Manhattan’s night was glamorous and cold. Just like Julian’s kindness

-beautiful to look at, but never truly mine.

12 AM. The garage apartment was silent, my roommates asleep. Only

the weak streetlight through the window illuminated the cracked

mirror before me. Police sirens and barking dogs sounded in the

distance.

I removed my heels carefully, walking barefoot to the sink. The mirror

reflected my state–ruined makeup, dark circles beneath my eyes, lips

still red and swollen from jalapeños with a trace of salsa.

I turned on the cold water, splashing it over my face. The icy drops

ran down my cheeks.

The cold shocked me, but my eyes became clearer.

I stared at my reflection, speaking hoarsely but firmly: “Enough,

Elara.”

“He remembers you like spicy food, but he remembers more that

Sloane needs him.”

“He said he’d protect you, but what he protects is always the Vane

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