His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 167

**Chapter 167**

**Claire’s POV**

As we arrived at the school, the remnants of the previous night’s unsettling emotions were swiftly overshadowed by the demands of our daily lives. The weight of schedules, expectations, and the relentless rhythm of routine pressed down on me, forcing any lingering thoughts into the recesses of my mind.

The school building thrummed with an energy that felt almost exaggerated after the quiet of the morning. Laughter ricocheted off the walls, too sharp and bright, while lockers slammed shut with a force that seemed unnecessary. Voices blended into a cacophony, each one overlapping the next until they lost their individual meanings, creating an atmosphere thick with chaos.

Elijah strolled alongside me until we reached the main entrance, his gait relaxed yet deliberate, as if he were already mentally tallying the hours ahead rather than engaging with the present moment. Just before we parted ways, he turned to me, his expression serious.

“Don’t let anyone bait you today,” he advised, his tone casual but laced with concern.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You say that as if I thrive on conflict.”

“You thrive on being right,” he countered, a teasing glint in his eye.

“That’s a different matter entirely,” I replied, a hint of defensiveness creeping into my voice.

“It’s different in a way that half the population just doesn’t get,” he said with a shrug, his lips curving into a playful smile.

I shook my head, dismissing his words as I headed toward my first class, eager to escape before he could elaborate further. Yet, his comment hung in the air, nagging at me longer than I cared to admit.

Jessica was already waiting for me near the art wing, her posture tense as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The moment our eyes met, her expression shifted from irritation to determination.

“You,” she declared, her voice firm. “We need to talk.”

“That sounds a bit threatening,” I replied, trying to lighten the mood. “Good morning to you too.”

“They’ve changed the exhibition slots,” she said, lowering her voice as students flowed past us like a river. “And guess who suddenly has priority placement?”

I sighed, already bracing myself for the answer. “Let me guess. Lila?”

Jessica’s jaw tightened, her frustration palpable. “Of course it’s Lila. Because why wouldn’t it be?”

Lila Hart had mastered the art of polite superiority, a skill she wielded like a weapon. She never raised her voice, never directly insulted anyone, yet somehow always managed to position herself in the spotlight, where attention fell most favorably. It wasn’t a question of talent—she was undeniably skilled—but fairness seldom played a role in her ascent.

“Did they give any reasoning?” I inquired as we stepped into the studio, the familiar scent of paint and varnish enveloping us.

Jessica snorted derisively. “Something about ‘conceptual cohesion’ and ‘representative themes.’ Which is just code for her parents donating again.”

I set my bag down, retrieving my sketchbook as I tried to quell my rising frustration. “Getting angry won’t change anything.”

“I know,” she snapped, her voice sharp before softening. “I’m sorry. It’s just… this really matters to me.”

“It matters to me too,” I reassured her, my tone steady. “Which is why we need to keep our emotions in check. We adapt.”

She glanced at me, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “You sound just like Elijah.”

“That’s incredibly insulting,” I replied, though a smile tugged at my lips.

She couldn’t help but smile back, despite herself. “Still true.”

Class began with our instructor diving into logistics, his voice smooth and authoritative as he detailed the revisions to the exhibition layout. When he confirmed Lila’s placement at the center display, a ripple of murmurs swept through the room, a collective intake of breath.

In that moment, I felt something shift within me—not quite anger, but a sharper, more focused sensation. My inner wolf didn’t react with aggression; instead, it stood alert, ears pricked, cataloguing the tension in the air as it always did when the balance felt off.

During work time, Lila approached our table, her smile pleasant yet calculated, as if she were carefully orchestrating every interaction.

“Hey, Claire,” she greeted, her tone dripping with feigned sweetness. “Jessica. I hope the changes don’t disrupt your concepts too much.”

Jessica stiffened beside me, her eyes narrowing. “Why would they?”

Lila tilted her head slightly, a faux-concern etched on her features. “Well, you know. Proximity matters. Flow matters.”

I looked up from my sketch, my voice steady. “So does content.”

Her gaze flicked to mine, a calculating glimmer in her eyes. “Of course. That’s precisely why they made the decision they did.”

I met her gaze without wavering. “Or perhaps that’s why you anticipated it.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but something icy lurked beneath the surface. “You always read too much into things.”

“And you depend on people not reading at all,” I replied, my tone calm but firm.

Jessica inhaled sharply beside me, clearly taken aback.

Lila straightened, her demeanor shifting as she prepared to leave. “Good luck with your work,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away.

Jessica stared after her, disbelief evident on her face. “Did you just—”

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