His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 85

**TITLE: Betrayal Births**
**by Joseph King**
**Chapter 85**

**Claire’s POV**

“Yeah,” I replied, forcing a smile while my gaze remained glued to the window, avoiding his eyes. “Just tired.”

He didn’t push further. Instead, he pulled a clean shirt from his bag, grabbed a towel, and shot me one last glance—an unreadable flicker in his eyes that left me unsettled before he stepped out.

–

As soon as the door clicked shut, I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My heart raced, pounding against my ribcage like a frantic bird trying to escape.

Ugh, how I despised feeling so lost and adrift.

After Elijah left, I found myself rooted in place, staring at the closed door as if it might somehow reveal the answers to the questions swirling in my mind. The silence enveloped me, pressing against my ears until I could hear the steady thrum of my own heartbeat once more.

What was happening to me? Each time he was near, a rush of warmth surged through me, an unsettling pull in my chest that I couldn’t quite comprehend. Nothing in my life made sense lately, and this confusion only deepened my frustration.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, and before I even realized my own intentions, I was on my feet. The coolness of the floor beneath me sent a shiver up my spine as I stepped into the corridor, drawn by the faint scent of soap mixed with something warm and clean—something oddly familiar. I followed the enticing aroma until I reached a half-open door.

“Elijah,” I called out, spotting him in the middle of the room.

He paused, turning to glance back at me, an eyebrow arched in surprise.

Inside, he was pulling a sweatshirt over his head, his back to me. For a fleeting moment, I considered retreating, but the thought of returning to the solitude of my room felt unbearable.

I knocked softly on the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

He glanced over his shoulder, a simple “Yeah” escaping his lips.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The room was modest yet inviting, filled with the essence of a life well-lived. Books were haphazardly stacked on the desk, a pair of skates rested against the wall, and a black jacket hung carelessly over the back of a chair. I stole a glance at him, my mind racing to find the right words.

“I wanted to ask about the gala,” I ventured, breaking the silence. “Dad mentioned you were supposed to help me prepare.”

He nodded, running a towel through his damp hair, droplets of water cascading down his neck. “Yeah. It’s next week. Mostly formal stuff—dress rehearsals, dance routines, etiquette lessons—all that jazz.”

I hesitated, my heart fluttering nervously. “Was I… any good at it before?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “You were really good, yeah. Although, to be honest, it bored you half the time.”

That sounded like me, even if the specifics escaped my memory.

The room fell silent again, the only sound being the soft rustle of fabric as he moved around. I couldn’t quite place why I lingered there, but leaving felt like a loss I wasn’t ready to face. My eyes wandered to the photos pinned on his board—none of them included me. There were snapshots of him with other students, one with an older man who bore a striking resemblance to Ethan, and another of a sports team, all smiling faces that seemed so distant.

“You play hockey?” I asked, curiosity piqued.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice dropping slightly, “but I haven’t been on the ice much lately.”

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