His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 44

**TITLE: Betrayal Births**
**by Joseph King**
**Chapter 44**

**Claire’s POV**

The morning light filtered through the hospital window, casting a gentle glow across the sterile room. It was the day after Naomi’s unexpected visit, and the nurses finally deemed me ready to be free from the confines of my IV. As the nurse expertly removed the needle, I felt a faint sting, and the small mark it left on my arm throbbed slightly. She noticed my instinctive urge to scratch at it and gently admonished me, securing a bandage in place with a motherly touch.

“You’re all set to go home this afternoon,” she informed me with a warm smile, her eyes darting over my chart one last time. “Doctor Adrian has left specific instructions for you: light rest, minimal stress, and remember to take your medication twice a day. Oh, and please, no skipping meals.”

I nodded, though my mind was somewhere else entirely. “Got it.”

Her smile lingered, revealing a hint of disbelief as she left the room, leaving me enveloped in an uncomfortable silence that pressed in around me like a thick fog.

I reached for my phone, fingers trembling slightly as I scrolled through a slew of unread messages. My mother’s frantic texts flooded my screen, each one dripping with the kind of love that only a mother could convey in times of crisis. Then, there was a brief message from Naomi, checking in to see if I was still alive.

But there was nothing from Elijah.

Not that I had truly expected any communication from him.

With a heavy sigh, I sank back against the pillow, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my chest. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting delicate, golden stripes across my blanket. For the first time since the accident, my heart felt surprisingly calm, as if the storm within had finally subsided.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Without so much as a knock, the door swung open, and I glanced up, anticipating the familiar figure of my mother. Instead, it was Elijah who stepped inside, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black hoodie. His expression was inscrutable, a mask that revealed nothing of the turmoil I sensed beneath the surface.

His hair was tousled, as if he had just rolled out of bed, and there was a faint bruise marring his jawline—a testament to sleepless nights, perhaps.

For a moment, we stood in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. The stillness stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

“You’re being discharged,” he finally said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“Yeah,” I replied, my gaze drifting away. “That’s what they told me.”

He nodded, a single, curt movement. “Dad asked me to drive you home.”

Of course he did.

I pressed my lips together, feeling a surge of irritation. “He couldn’t just send a driver?”

“Elijah,” I uttered his name before I could stop myself, the sound foreign on my tongue.

His eyes flicked to mine for a brief moment, and a flash of something vulnerable crossed his face before he looked away. “Don’t make this difficult. You shouldn’t be alone after everything that happened.”

I felt my defenses rise. “I’m not made of glass.”

“No,” he replied quietly, “but you keep breaking like one.”

His words landed like a slap, sharp and stinging.

For a heartbeat, the atmosphere between us shifted, charged with unexpressed feelings. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” I retorted, bitterness creeping into my voice.

He took a step back, as if creating physical distance could mend the fracture that had just occurred. “Just… pack your things. I’ll be waiting outside.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving me staring at the door, my heart racing with a mix of anger and confusion.

It wasn’t merely what he said that stung; it was the ease with which he said it, as if my breaking was just a casual part of our conversation.

I exhaled shakily, gathering my belongings with a sense of urgency. My sketchpad lay on the table by the window, half-filled with pencil smudges and unfinished ideas. I tucked it under my arm, grabbed my small overnight bag, and stepped out into the hospital corridor.

The hallways felt excessively bright and cold, the polished floor echoing softly with the sound of my sneakers.

As I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass, I barely recognized the person staring back at me—pale skin, disheveled hair, and tired eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.

Elijah was waiting by the elevator, one hand buried in his pocket while the other scrolled through his phone, seemingly lost in thought. When the elevator doors opened, he stepped aside without a word, allowing me to enter first.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify