His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 24

**Betrayal Births by Joseph King**
**Chapter 24**

**Claire’s POV**

The room around me seemed to tilt and sway, as if the very foundation of reality had begun to crumble.

The instant my finger jabbed into Elijah’s chest, an unsettling wave of panic crashed over me. My heart, usually a steady companion, faltered. It stuttered like an old engine, then raced uncontrollably, and finally skipped beats as if it were short-circuiting, teetering on the edge of collapse.

I gasped, my breath hitching as I clutched at the air, my chest tightening painfully as if it were caving in. My knees buckled beneath me, sending me stumbling backward, desperately searching for something—anything—to anchor myself to this world.

The dresser loomed nearby, the bedpost offered a promise of stability, and my medication… my pills were my only hope.

But my hands grasped at nothing but empty space.

“No…” The word slipped from my lips as a mere whisper, barely audible. My legs quaked beneath me, trembling as if they were about to give out entirely. Deep within me, my wolf whined softly, a muted sound of warning and fear that echoed my own rising panic.

With a blind desperation, I turned toward the nightstand where I kept the bottle of pills. My fingers fumbled across the wooden surface, knocking over the lamp in a cacophony of shattering glass.

The shards scattered across the floor like tiny, dangerous stars.

My vision blurred, spots of light bursting at the edges, and I heard the rasping sound of my own breath as I clawed at the drawer. “Pills…”

And through the chaos, Elijah remained an unmoving figure.

Frozen in place.

I could make him out through the haze of my distorted vision—tall, still, his cold eyes locked onto me with an unnerving intensity. He didn’t move to assist, didn’t even make a sound to indicate concern. No calls for help, no signs of panic—just a steadfast gaze that felt like ice.

He simply watched.

A sob erupted from my throat, raw and desperate. In that moment, a harsh truth crystallized in my mind: he would stand there, impassive, and allow me to slip away into the abyss.

Rage and terror twisted together inside my chest, fueling a fire that pushed every last bit of energy from my body. I hated him. I loathed him with every fiber of my being. My throat burned as I forced the scream to escape.

“MOM!”

The sound that came out was jagged, more like a primal roar than a plea for help, tearing through my lungs like a wild animal. My chest seized painfully, my knees buckled, and I crashed to the floor, the impact knocking the breath from me.

Just when I felt myself teetering on the brink of surrender to the encroaching darkness… chaos erupted.

The door burst open with a force that echoed through the room.

“Claire!” My mother’s voice sliced through the haze, laced with terror. She rushed toward me, her footsteps hurried and frantic, with Ethan close behind her, his expression an unsettling calm amidst the storm.

They were at my side in mere seconds.

Mom’s hands trembled as she fumbled for the pill bottle, tears glistening in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Ethan, call for help! Please!” she shrieked, her voice quivering with urgency.

Ethan slipped his arm under my shoulders, lifting me just enough for Mom to press the pill to my lips. I was teetering on the precipice, caught in a battle between the will to live and an unsettling acceptance of death.

Maybe the pain would finally cease, right?

I felt something wet touch my mouth, and instinctively opened up as water followed.

I coughed, swallowing the pill, the bitter taste clinging stubbornly to my tongue.

Mom rocked me gently in her arms, a soothing rhythm, while Ethan stood, his demeanor calm as he dialed the emergency services.

My head throbbed mercilessly.

As my vision began to clear, I caught sight of Elijah.

He was still there, an immovable statue, as if someone had pressed the pause button on his existence.

Not a hand raised to help. Not a single word uttered.

And then, without a sound, he turned on his heel and walked away.

I was left in a haze of confusion, but the stark reality of his indifference told me all I needed to know. There was no saving him.

The last sensation I clung to before darkness enveloped me was the sound of my mother’s sobs and Ethan’s steady, quiet reassurances as he spoke to the doctors.

When I awoke again, the air was sterile, the smell sharp and clinical.

My bed had vanished, replaced by crisp white sheets, cool metal rails, and the low hum of machines surrounding me. Tubes snaked from my arms, and I felt the familiar pressure of electrodes adhering to my chest.

Panic washed over me like a cold wave. My eyes shot open wide, my breath quickening into ragged gasps as my hands began to claw at the wires that tethered me to this place.

“No, no, no—”

“Claire!” My mother’s voice broke through the fog, gently pressing my hands down, her face pale and streaked with remnants of dried tears. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You fainted again. You’re safe.”

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