Reborn at Eighteen The Billionaire's Second Chance novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

Elara

The SUV’s leather seat was cold against my thighs.

I sat in the back, watching Manhattan blur past the tinted windows.

Early morning commuters flooded the sidewalks–briefcases, coffee

cups, purposeful strides. Normal people living normal lives.

I pressed my forehead against the glass. The coolness helped with the

nausea.

“Miss Vance.” Atlas’s voice came from the front seat. Professional.

Distant. “Is the temperature acceptable?”

“It’s fine.”

We merged onto the bridge. Queens stretched ahead, all brick and

billboards.

I couldn’t stop replaying it. Julian’s hands on my skin. His weight

pressing me into that red velvet bed. The way he’d looked at me this

morning–calm, calculated, like he’d just closed a business deal.

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My stomach lurched. I swallowed hard, tasting bile.

“Atlas.” The word came out rough. I cleared my throat. “Can I ask you

something?”

His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. Gray, unreadable.

“Of course, Miss Vance.”

“Julian…” I paused, searching for the right words. “Does he.. do this

often?”

The silence stretched. Three seconds. Five. Ten.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” he said finally.

Liar. He understood perfectly.

“Bring women to hotels. Make them…” I couldn’t finish.

“Miss Vance.” His tone shifted, became somehow gentler while remaining completely impersonal. “I only execute Mr. Vane’s instructions. I don’t ask questions about his… personal affairs.”

“So you do clean up his messes.”

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Another pause. Longer this time.

“It’s my job,” he said quietly. “That’s all it is.”

I laughed. It came out bitter, hollow. “Right. Just following orders.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.

The silence was answer enough.

We were somewhere in Queens when it hit me.

My whole body went rigid.

Oh God.

Oh God, did he-

I tried to remember. Forced myself through the fog of last night–the

alcohol, the fear, Julian’s mouth on mine. His hands pulling off my

clothes. The sharp pain when he first pushed inside.

And after. When he’d moved faster, harder, his breathing ragged

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against my neck. That final moment when he’d-

My hand flew to my mouth.

“Miss Vance?” Atlas glanced back. “Are you unwell?”

I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

Lily.

My baby girl had come into this world because of a night I couldn’t

even recall. Because I’d had no choice, no control, no-

Not again.

I can’t let it happen again.

“Atlas.” My voice shook. “Stop the car.“,

“Pardon?”

“I said stop the car. Now.”

He hesitated, then smoothly pulled over. We were in front of a Duane

Reade, its bright sign garish in the morning light.

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He turned to face me fully. “Is there a problem?”

I stared at my hands. They were trembling.

“I need to…” The words stuck in my throat. Heat flooded my face. “I

need to buy something.”

He waited.

I closed my eyes. Forced the words out in a rush: “Plan

contraception.”

The silence that followed felt like drowning.

nergency

When I opened my eyes, Atlas was watching me. His expression

hadn’t changed–perfectly neutral, perfectly professional. But

something in his gaze made me want to disappear into the leather

seat.

He was calculating. I could see it. Weighing this request. What it

meant. Whether Mr. Vane would approve.

My fingers clenched into fists. “I have a right to protect myself.”

I lifted my chin, met his eyes in the mirror. “It’s my body.”

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More silence. Then:

“You’ll wait in the car.” His tone was final. “I’ll purchase it.”

I bit my lip. “…Fine.”

Atlas stepped out. The door shut with a soft click.

Through the window, I watched him walk into the pharmacy. Tall, composed, his suit jacket perfectly pressed. Like he was running any

ordinary errand for his employer.

Not buying Plan B for the woman his boss had fucked last night.

I hunched forward, arms wrapped around my knees.

Inside the store, I could see the aisles. The checkout counter. A

woman in a blue vest stocking shelves.

I imagined Atlas walking past the greeting cards, the candy displays. Finding the family planning section. Picking up that blue and white

box.

What must he think of me?

A girl who needs emergency contraception the morning after sleeping

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with her boss. A girl who’s stupid enough to get into this situation in

the first place.

Tears burned behind my eyes.

I remembered sex ed class at St. Valerius. Ms. Chen’s matter–of–fact

voice: “Plan B is a backup option for when other contraception fails or

isn’t used. But the best protection is always communication and

consent before sex.”

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