Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 90

Chapter 90

Elara

The words hit me like ice water.

“What?”

“I had two drinks all night. I was completely sober.” His eyes met

mine, steady and clear. “So when I made the decision to fuck you,

knew exactly what I was doing.”

I couldn’t breathe. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to.” He said it simply, like it was obvious. “I’ve

wanted to for a while now.”

“But Sloane-”

I

“Sloane is my girlfriend.” He cut me off. “That hasn’t changed. That

won’t change.”

Something inside me shattered.

“Then what was this?” I gestured at the bed, at us. “What was the

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point?”

“The point,” he said carefully, “is that I can have both.”

I stared at him. “Both.”

“Yes. Sloane as my wife. You as-” He paused, searching for the right

word. “As mine. In a different way.”

“As your mistress.” The word tasted like ash.

“I wouldn’t use that word. But essentially, yes.”

I laughed. It came out harsh, bitter. “You’re actually insane. You think

I’d agree to that?”

“I think you don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice-”

“No, there isn’t.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to something

quiet and dangerous. “Because if you refuse, I’ll make sure your

mother loses her job. I’ll make sure no art school accepts you. I’ll tell

Sloane you seduced me, tried to break us up. I’ll-”

“Stop.” My voice broke. “Just stop.”

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He did. Watched me with those cold, calculating eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Just looked at me like he was

trying to figure something out.

Finally: “Because you’ve gotten under my skin. Because I can’t stop

thinking about you, and I hate it, and the only way to make it stop

to have you. Completely. On my terms.”

“That’s not love,” I said. “That’s possession.”

“I never said I loved you.” His voice was flat. “But I do want you. And

I’m not used to denying myself what I want.”

I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapped my arms around them. Tried

to make myself smaller.

“And if I say no? If I refuse to be your… whatever you want to call it?”

Julian’s expression didn’t change. “Then you’ll lose everything. And I

mean everything, Elara. Your mother’s job. Your housing. Your chance

at college. Even your art–I’ll make sure every gallery, every school,

every opportunity knows you’re a liar who falsely accused Sloane

Kennedy of plagiarism.”

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“You wouldn’t-”

“Try me.”

The certainty in his voice made my blood run cold.

This was really happening. He was really doing this.

“How long?” I asked quietly. “How long would I have to… be yours?”

“Until I’m done with you.” He stood, walked to the window. “Could be

months. Could be years. Depends on when I get bored.”

“And in the meantime, you marry Sloane. Have a perfect life with her.

While I’m just-”

“While you’re mine,” he finished. “Yes.”

I closed my eyes. Felt tears slip down my cheeks.

This was worse than anything that had happened before. Worse than

the humiliation, the bullying, the assault attempt.

This was Julian systematically destroying any hope I had of freedom.

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“I need time to think,” I said.

“You have until Monday.” He checked his watch. “That gives you forty-

eight hours. Come to my office Monday at noon with your answer.”

“And if I don’t show up?”

“Then I assume your answer is no. And I start making calls.” He turned to face me. “But you’ll show up, Elara. Because you’re smart enough to know that this-” he gestured between us, “-is the best

option you have.”

He grabbed his jacket, headed for the door.

“Julian-” My voice stopped him.

He looked back.

“I really did love you,” I said quietly. “For three years. I would have done anything for you. And you’re taking that and turning it into-

into this.”

Something flickered across his face. Regret? Guilt?

Then it was gone.

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“I know,” he said. “But that’s not my problem.”

The door closed behind him.

I sat there as the sun rose higher, painting the room in gold light.

And I understood, finally, that the Julian I’d loved had never existed.

He’d always been this. I’d just been too blind to see it.

I fell asleep sometime around seven AM, exhausted and wrung out.

When I woke, the sun was high in the sky. My phone–wherever it was

-said 11:30 AM.

I was alone. Julian hadn’t come back.

There was a note on the nightstand, written in his precise

handwriting:

Atlas is downstairs. He’ll take you wherever you need to go. Coffee

and breakfast are paid for. Don’t forget–Monday at noon. My office.

-J

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I crumpled the note in my fist.

Then I forced myself out of bed. My body protested every movement- sore between my legs, bruises darkening on my hips and thighs where his fingers had gripped. Evidence of what I’d let him do.

What I’d helped him do.

I found my clothes scattered on the floor. The undershirt was unwearable, torn beyond repair. My skirt was wrinkled but inta… My tights were shredded. I had no underwear–he’d taken them off and I couldn’t find them anywhere.

I ended up putting on just the skirt and Julian’s white dress shirt that he’d left draped over the chair. It hung to mid–thigh on me, smelled like his cologne. I rolled up the sleeves, buttoned it as high as it

would go.

In the bathroom mirror, I barely recognized myself.

Tangled hair. Smudged makeup. Dark circles under my eyes. Bite marks on my neck and collarbone. I looked like exactly what I was- someone who’d been thoroughly fucked and left behind.

I washed my face. Tried to finger–comb my hair into something presentable. Gave up.

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The coffee on the nightstand was cold, but I drank it anyway. Needed

the caffeine. The pastry in the paper bag sat untouched–I couldn’t

imagine eating.

Finally, I gathered what was left of my clothes, shoved them in the

bag, and left the room.

Atlas was waiting in the lobby, exactly as Julian had promised. He stood by the door in his dark suit, face impassive.

When he saw me, something flickered in his expression. Pity?

Disgust?

“Ms. Vance,” he said politely. “The car is outside.”

I followed him in silence.

The Rolls–Royce was parked at the curb. Atlas opened the back door for me. I climbed in, sank into the leather seats.

“Where to, miss?”

I gave him the address in the Bronx. Heard his slight pause before he

said, “Of course.”