His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 80

**TITLE: Betrayal Births by Joseph King**
**Chapter 80**

**Claire’s POV**

The first sensation that pierced through the haze of my consciousness was the rhythmic beeping that filled the sterile room. It resonated in my ears, a haunting echo that seemed to sync with the slow thud of my heart.

As I blinked my eyes open, the harsh brightness of the overhead lights made me squint painfully. The walls were stark white, almost blinding, and I felt an overwhelming sense of disorientation. My throat felt parched, as if I had swallowed sand, and when I attempted to shift my body, a sharp tug at my wrist caught my attention. A thin, clear tube was embedded in my skin, fastened securely with tape, and I instinctively recoiled at the sight.

I swallowed hard, but the dryness in my throat only intensified. My chest rose and fell erratically, a frantic rhythm that left me feeling breathless. There was a scent in the air—sharp, sterile, and utterly foreign. Everything about this place felt wrong, as if I had stumbled into someone else’s life.

A movement beside me drew my gaze. A woman occupied a chair near my bed, her hands clasped tightly together, her eyes red and swollen, betraying the weight of her emotions. She looked at me with an intensity that suggested she had been watching for what felt like an eternity.

“Claire,” she breathed, her voice trembling with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “You’re awake.”

The sound of my name sent a shiver down my spine. It felt alien, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

Her hand reached for mine, trembling slightly. “It’s me, honey. It’s Mom.”

Instinctively, I pulled my hand away, my heart racing as panic surged through me. “Who are you?” I croaked, my voice rough and barely above a whisper.

Her expression crumpled, as if my words had physically hurt her. “It’s me,” she repeated, desperation lacing her tone. “I’m your mother. You were in an accident.”

The word “accident” hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I blinked, trying to grasp the meaning, but my mind was a void—dark and empty. I struggled to conjure any images, any memories, but all I found was an impenetrable blackness.

Desperate for something, anything, to jog my memory, I scanned the room again. The bed, the machines softly beeping, the sterile smell of antiseptic—it was all foreign to me, a scene from a life I couldn’t recall.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a girl who appeared to be around my age stepped inside, clutching the strap of her bag like a lifeline. Her eyes were puffy and red, mirroring the woman beside me. She paused at the foot of my bed, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that suggested she was waiting for a reaction.

“Claire,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s me. Naomi.”

The name felt like a distant echo, familiar yet utterly foreign. I searched my mind for any connection, but found nothing. Her mouth quivered as she processed my silence.

“Naomi,” I repeated slowly, testing the name on my tongue like a foreign word. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you.”

A choked sound escaped her, and she covered her mouth with her hand, tears slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. I longed to feel something—sympathy, sadness, anything—but all that resonated within me was a dull ache that settled deep in my chest.

The woman beside me, my supposed mother, rose quickly, murmuring something soothing to Naomi, her voice barely reaching my ears. My attention, however, was drawn to the man who entered next.

He moved with a deliberate slowness, as though he were afraid of the weight of the moment. His gaze was fixed on me, and for a fleeting moment, I entertained the thought that he might be another doctor. Yet there was something in his eyes, a familiarity that suggested he knew me in ways I couldn’t comprehend.

“Elijah,” my mother said, her voice carrying a weight of unspoken history.

He stepped closer, the air thickening between us. His jaw tightened as he spoke my name—“Claire.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn’t fathom why. “Do I know you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, laced with confusion.

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