Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 86

Chapter 86

“Aren’t you?” He stepped closer, backing me against the bed. “Your

father worked for us. Your mother works for us. We took you in. Fed

you. Clothed you. Paid for your education. Everything you are,

everything you have–it’s because of my family.”

“And you never let me forget it.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not-”

“It is!” I shoved at his chest. It was like pushing a wall. “Every single

day, you and Victoria and Tristan remind me that I don’t belong. That I’m just the help’s daughter playing dress–up. That I should be

grateful.”

“You should be.”

“For what?” My voice cracked. “For being bullied? For being blamed every time something goes wrong? For being told I’m not good enough? For being brought to places like this and–and-”

The tears came then. Hot and bitter and unstoppable. I hated them.

Hated the weakness they showed. But I couldn’t stop.

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Julian’s expression shifted. Something flickered across his face-

confusion, maybe, or the ghost of guilt.

“Elara-”

“Don’t.” I wiped at my face with shaking hands. “Just… don’t. You’ve made your point. I’m small. I’m nothing. I’m easily controlled. Congratulations. You win.”

For a long moment, he just looked at me. His face unreadable.

Then, quietly: “This isn’t about winning.”

“Then what is it about?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out–slowly, giving me time to pull away–and caught my chin, tilting my face up to meet his eyes.

“You said you loved me,” he said, and his voice was strange now. Rough. Almost… uncertain. “In your room that night. You said you’d loved me for three years.”

My heart stuttered. “That was a mistake.”

“Was it?”

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“Yes.” I tried to pull away. His grip tightened–not painful, but firm. “I was confused. I was young and stupid and I mistook… I don’t know. Gratitude. Safety. Whatever it was, it wasn’t love. It couldn’t have

been.”

“Why not?”

“Because you never-” I stopped. Took a shuddering breath. “Because it was all in my head. You never saw me that way. You never will.”

His thumb brushed across my lower lip. I froze.

“Are you sure about that?” he murmured.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t sweet. His hand threaded through my hair, tilting my head back, and his mouth claimed mine with something that felt like anger and desperation tangled together.

”

I tried to push him away. I did. My hands went to his chest, pressed against solid muscle and thundering heartbeat, and I pushed.

But he was stronger. He’d always been stronger.

His other hand found my waist, pulled me closer, and the kiss

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deepened–demanding, consuming, erasing every coherent thought

from my alcohol–soaked brain.

And God help me, for just a moment–just one terrible, traitorous

moment–I stopped fighting.

My hands stopped pushing and started clinging. My mouth opened under his. My body melted against him like I’d done this a thousand times before, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like I was still that girl who’d loved him so desperately she’d destroyed herself for him.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, and his eyes–his eyes were different now. Darker. Desperate in a way I’d never seen.

“You’ve ruined me,” he said, and his voice broke on the words. “Do you understand that? You’ve completely destroyed any semblance of control I had. I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting-”

He cut himself off. Closed his eyes.

“This is wrong,” he said. “You’re–we can’t—”

But he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip on me tightened.

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“Julian,” I whispered. The room was still spinning, but now it was for

a different reason. “You don’t want me. You want Sloane. You’ve

always wanted-”

“Shut up.” He kissed me again, harder this time. Angrier. “Just… shut

up.”

And I did.

Because what else could I do? I was drunk. I was exhausted. I was

terrified and furious and so, so tired of fighting.