His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 139

**TITLE: Betrayal Births by Joseph King**
**Chapter 139**

**Claire’s POV**

As Wednesday dawned, my mind resembled a chaotic jumble of index cards, paintbrushes, sheet music, and a hodgepodge of commitments I had made to various teachers, all of which I had assured would be “totally manageable.”

The weight of my own choices pressed heavily upon me, and I had no one to blame but myself. After all, I was the one who had enthusiastically signed up for the Academic Relay, the Art Showcase, and the Winter Arts Performance—all crammed into the same week.

It seemed that even a lapse in memory couldn’t erase my dreadful tendency to overcommit.

I was in the midst of vigorously applying glue to foam board—perhaps a bit too aggressively—when Jessica glanced up from her sketchbook, her brow slightly furrowed.

“Claire,” she said, her tone deliberate, “you’re dangerously close to gluing your own fingers together. Maybe take a moment to breathe before we have to summon the nurse?”

With a defeated sigh, I dropped the glue bottle and let out a long, shaky breath. “I am breathing. Really, I am. It’s just… overwhelming.”

“That’s because you signed up for three events,” she pointed out, her pencil gliding effortlessly across the page as she shaded the corner of her portrait with an expertise that was enviable. “Most people choose one event. Or none at all. But you? You decided, ‘Hey, let me take on multiple departments and suffer through it all.'”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her observation. “I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way. It just… unfolded.”

Her expression softened, revealing a glimpse of understanding. “You want to prove to yourself that you’re still the same person, don’t you?”

I froze, the glue cap hovering mid-air above the bottle.

Her voice lacked any hint of mockery or pity; instead, it was gentle and sincere. It was a kind of honesty that felt foreign, especially given everything I had been told about her actions before the accident.

Yet the girl sitting beside me now was not cruel. She wasn’t sharp-tongued or competitive, nor did she whisper behind my back.

She was quiet, careful, and genuinely trying her best.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah… perhaps. Or maybe I just got a little too excited.”

Jessica smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, I’m glad we’re paired for the Art Showcase. You have a better eye for color than you realize.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day.”

She snorted lightly. “It’s not even noon yet.”

“Still counts,” I replied, a smile creeping onto my face.

We settled into a comfortable silence, the kind that enveloped us in tranquility. The rhythmic scratching of pencils, the gentle tapping of brushes, and the faint scent of acrylic paints filled the air, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Our collaborative piece—a portrait study set against an abstract background, a concept she had envisioned—was coming together beautifully. I took charge of the color work, blending warm tones into cooler shades, while she expertly handled the intricate details that tied the entire composition together.

It felt… surprisingly effortless.

That ease, however, was abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable presence behind me, even before I heard his voice.

“Claire.”

His voice sent a shiver down my spine, straightening me up, freezing me in place, and igniting a warmth all at once. Elijah leaned casually against the doorframe of the art room, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his hair damp from practice.

Even in the standard-issue gray of school attire, he looked like he had stepped out of a photoshoot for some magazine titled “Brooding Winter Athletes.”

Jessica noticed my sudden stillness and cleared her throat, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Should I pretend I don’t see him boring holes into the back of your head?”

I shot her a glare, but it was futile; she was grinning like she had just won a prize.

“Hi,” I managed to say, attempting to sound unaffected by his presence. “What brings you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at hockey practice?”

“I finished early,” he replied, stepping further into the room while maintaining a respectful distance, aware of the teachers’ strict policies regarding unauthorized visitors in elective classes. “Coach decided to push conditioning since I’m returning next week.”

“That’s good, right?”

He shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. “It’s something.”

Jessica shot me a conspicuously pointed look, the universal signal to confront my intense not-boyfriend before the paint dried.

I couldn’t help but wonder why the term “boyfriend” flitted through my mind.

I wiped my palms on my apron, feeling the need to escape for a moment. “Let me wash my hands. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded, waiting near the sinks as students murmured amongst themselves. Once we were far enough from prying ears, I lowered my voice.

“You really didn’t have to come all the way here.”

“I know,” he said, watching me rinse my hands under the warm water. “But I didn’t like how you rushed out of the house this morning. You barely had anything to eat.”

“I had tea,” I defended.

“Tea is not food,” he countered firmly.

“I had biscuits too,” I added, a hint of defiance in my tone.

“Three biscuits,” he replied, his expression unwavering.

“Wow, you counted?”

His face remained impassive, but his eyes told a different story: yes, he had counted. He observed everything about me, even when I tried to act like I didn’t notice.

“I’m fine,” I reassured him softly. “Really. It’s just school stuff.”

“I know.” A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. “I’m trying to give you space. I really am.”

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