His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Claire’s POV

The remainder of the day slipped away from me like a surreal dream, one I couldn’t seem to shake off, no matter how hard I tried.

At home, my mother hovered around me, her concern palpable. She brewed chamomile tea, the steam curling up into the air, but it eventually went cold on my nightstand, forgotten. She fluffed the pillows on my bed, arranging them with such care that I felt like a fragile doll on display, rather than a person who needed comfort.

I feigned sleep, closing my eyes to give her the illusion of peace, but my thoughts were relentless, spinning in a chaotic whirlwind. I replayed the events of the hallway over and over—Elijah’s piercing gaze, the pill that had threatened to unravel my carefully constructed facade.

It dawned on me then that this was the first time he had truly seen me. He witnessed the pills, the panic, the truth I had buried beneath layers of forced smiles and hasty explanations. My vulnerability, stripped bare before him. And yet, he had remained silent, offering no mocking words, no pitying glances—just that heavy, inscrutable look that seemed to etch itself into my memory.

I curled deeper under my blanket, an ache blossoming in my chest, something unfamiliar and unwelcome. I didn’t want to name it, didn’t want to acknowledge that it might be connected to him in any way.

That evening, as I scribbled in my journal, the words spilling out in a messy scrawl, my door swung open with a suddenness that made my heart leap into my throat.

It was Elijah, his presence filling the doorway like a shadow that didn’t quite belong.

My pulse quickened, and my pen froze mid-sentence. “Do you even know how to knock?” I snapped, clutching my journal to my chest as if it could provide me with some semblance of protection.

He ignored my outburst, his gaze sweeping over me like a cold breeze; I was pale, curled up in bed, my hair a tangled mess from the day’s turmoil. I braced myself for a sharp jab, the kind of insult I had come to expect from the Elijah I thought I knew—the one who tossed barbs as casually as breathing.

But the silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. His jaw was clenched, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and then he spoke, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “Take your pills next time.”

I froze, confusion knitting my brows together.

I stared at him, my heart racing—not from illness, but from the softness in his voice, a fleeting hint of concern that made me question everything. Had he been worried for me?

Before I could gather my thoughts into words, he turned and walked away, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that left me breathless.

I sat there, immobile, my journal slipping onto my lap. My heart thudded loudly in the stillness of the room, and I pressed my face into my pillow, whispering to the emptiness, “What do you want from me, Elijah?”

I never did find the answer to that haunting question.

By Friday afternoon, the mansion buzzed with an electric energy that even I could sense. Maria moved about the house with a newfound urgency, the TV in the den blaring highlights, and the air was thick with chatter about the much-anticipated game.

Silvercrest versus Ridgewood. Two rival schools, two rival packs.

Elijah was the star player, the captain—the one everyone spoke of with reverence, as if he were some kind of hero on ice.

I had been doing my best to avoid the whole spectacle, trying to shield myself from the noise, the excitement, the constant reminder that Elijah’s world was one I didn’t belong to.

But, of course, my mother had other ideas.

“Why don’t we go?” she suggested at breakfast, her tone tentative yet hopeful. “It would mean a lot to him, showing our support. We could sit together, cheer him on.”

I froze, toast hovering halfway to my mouth. “Mom…”

She pressed on, nervously fiddling with her coffee mug. “He’s your stepbrother now. You should at least try.”

Just then, Elijah strolled into the kitchen, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder, his hair still damp from practice.

Mom’s face lit up. “Elijah, I was just saying we’d love to come to the game tonight!”

His expression hardened, jaw tightening as he avoided her gaze.

“Don’t.”

The single word sliced through the air like a knife.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify