His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 102

**Chapter 102**

**Claire’s POV**

The moment the lights extinguished, it wasn’t the gentle dimming of a stage setting the mood for a grand reveal. No, this was an abrupt plunge into darkness, a sudden void that snuffed out sound and color as if a great hand had descended to cover the eyes of the entire ballroom.

One heartbeat, the opulent room shimmered with golden light, chandeliers casting a warm glow over elegantly draped silk gowns and polished marble floors. The next heartbeat, it was as if the universe had flipped a switch, leaving nothing but a suffocating blackness that enveloped everything in its path.

I stood there, momentarily paralyzed, grappling with the unexpectedness of it all. You don’t anticipate darkness in a space that requires a small fortune just to step inside. The silence was punctuated by whispers that rippled through the crowd, a chorus of confused laughter, and the delicate clinking of champagne glasses as someone’s drink tilted precariously.

People shifted around me, their bodies brushing against mine as they sought to regain their bearings. My heart raced, even as I tried to convince myself it was merely a power outage, a minor glitch in the system. Such things occurred. Yet, the air felt charged, as if some unseen force had been waiting for this precise moment to strike.

“Elijah?” I called softly, my hand instinctively reaching out for the space where I had last felt him standing beside me. Just before the lights had gone out, he had been tense, a flicker of annoyance dancing in his eyes; too many strangers had been encroaching upon my personal space tonight, their smiles too practiced, their touches too deliberate to be mere accidents.

Though Elijah was not typically the jealous type, witnessing two different men vying for my attention in less than ten minutes had ignited a protective instinct within him. His arm had been securely wrapped around my waist, a warm and steady presence that I could still feel even in the dark.

Then, in the enveloping blackness, I sensed him move closer, his body brushing against mine, a shield against the unknown. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and strained. Even though I couldn’t see him, I could detect the tension lacing his words. “Stay close to me.”

In the crowd, someone shouted that the backup generators would kick in soon, while another voice cursed their absence. Amidst the rising murmur, I felt a soft shift of air behind me, a movement too swift, too deliberate.

I turned, squinting into the void, and that’s when I heard her voice—light, sweet, and all too familiar, yet it sent a chill down my spine.

“Oh no. Claire, you really shouldn’t be standing there.”

Naomi. I recognized her voice immediately.

Her tone was not one of warning; it was saccharine, dripping with an artificial sweetness that made my skin crawl. It was the kind of tone she employed when she wanted something to unfold while keeping her hands clean of any wrongdoing. The unsettling proximity of her presence made my discomfort surge.

“What do you mean?” I asked, instinctively inching closer to Elijah.

“I just meant,” she replied, her voice light and airy, “that some people don’t handle the dark very well. You know how crowds can be; someone might accidentally bump into you.”

That should have been an innocuous statement, but something in her delivery felt sinister.

Before I could muster a response, the air shifted once more—the unmistakable sound of someone pushing through the crowd with a sense of purpose.

“Elijah—” I began, but the words never left my lips.

He reacted before I could fully comprehend the danger. I heard his breath hitch, a sharp intake that signaled movement, followed by a violent shove that knocked me off balance.

Something collided with him in the darkness—hard enough that I felt the reverberation through the floor beneath my feet. A few people screamed, others cursed in confusion as chaos erupted around us.

“Elijah!” Panic surged within me, rising like a tide that had been waiting for its moment to crash. I reached out blindly, my hands searching for him. I touched his arm, then his shoulder, but his weight shifted in a way that suggested he was struggling to remain upright.

“I’ve got you,” he said, but the words came out strained, thin, as if they were being pulled from a deep well of effort. That only fueled my anxiety, for Elijah was never one to sound so fragile.

Voices around us escalated in confusion. Someone jostled past me, almost knocking me over, and in the midst of the chaos, I felt a hand clasp my wrist. I assumed it was Elijah reaching for me again, but the fingers were too slender, the grip too light.

Naomi.

“I told you,” she whispered, leaning in so close that I felt her breath brush against my cheek, “someone might run into you.”

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