His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 82

**Chapter 82**

**Elijah’s POV**

The rain had become a relentless companion since that dreadful night. It fell in rhythmic waves, as if the world itself was caught in a state of confusion, unsure of how to respond to the chaos that had unfolded. I found myself seated by the window in the living room, a silent observer of the droplets racing down the glass, each one a reminder of the turmoil inside me. The sound of the rain tapping against the roof created a haunting melody, but the house felt eerily still, too still for comfort.

My father often claimed that silence was a sign of peace, a signal that the storm had finally passed. But I couldn’t share his optimism. To me, the quiet amplified the cacophony of thoughts swirling in my mind, making everything feel more intense, more unbearable.

Dr. Adrian had been released from the hospital two days prior. My father, after scrutinizing the surveillance footage himself, had declared him not guilty. He insisted that there was no way the doctor could have avoided Claire without crashing into something else. The rain had obscured everything that night, and Claire had stepped into the street without warning.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he had said firmly.

I chose not to argue, but deep down, every time I replayed the scene in my mind—the blinding car lights, the screech of the brakes, the metallic scent of blood mingling with the damp air—my stomach churned violently. Fault or not, the reality remained; she lay there on the ground, lifeless, because of him.

I should have been there.

Dad had even ensured that Dr. Adrian retained his medical license, arguing that it would be unjust to ruin a man’s career over an unintentional mistake. “He’s been instrumental in Claire’s recovery,” he had said, “removing him would only complicate matters.”

That thought lodged itself like a thorn in my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

The very idea of that man being near her again—checking her pulse, standing vigil by her bedside—unleashed a torrent of emotions within me that I struggled to contain.

I pressed my hand against my chest, attempting to soothe the dull ache that had settled there since the accident. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, a reflection of my own turmoil, a reminder of the bond we shared. It had been the same since the moment she had awakened.

Since the moment she looked at me, and I realized she didn’t remember who I was.

The first time I laid eyes on her awake, she was propped up in her hospital bed, her hair cascading softly around her shoulders, illuminated by the sterile light. When she turned to meet my gaze, time seemed to freeze in that instant.

But she hadn’t uttered my name. Not even a flicker of recognition crossed her features.

There was a haunting emptiness in her eyes that felt foreign, as if a part of her had vanished. And when she spoke, it wasn’t to me. It was to him.

“I remember you, Dr. Adrian.”

Those words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My name was nowhere to be found.

I stood there, paralyzed, as she offered him a faint smile, as if he were the only person in the world who mattered. My body reacted instinctively; my jaw clenched, my fists balled up tightly, and a fire ignited within my chest.

For the rest of that day, I struggled to catch my breath.

Now, as I sat in the living room, that memory replayed endlessly in my mind. I tried to convince myself that it didn’t matter, that her memory loss wasn’t a choice, but the reality remained that she had forgotten everything about me.

At some point, my father entered the room, his tie loosened, his jacket draped over one arm. He paused when he noticed me still seated there, lost in thought.

“You should take a break,” he suggested gently. “You haven’t returned to school since it all happened.”

“I can’t,” I replied softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You need to,” he urged, his tone firm yet caring. “Claire needs time to heal. Hovering around won’t help her remember any faster.”

I turned my gaze away, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m not trying to make her remember. I just can’t leave her like this.”

He let out a heavy sigh, tossing his jacket onto the couch. “You’re not hearing me. The doctor said that stress won’t aid her recovery. She needs space.”

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