His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 95

**Chapter 95**

**Claire’s POV**

Perched on the edge of my bed, I find myself lost in thought, staring blankly at the wall. The tightness in my chest from earlier refuses to fade—the confrontation with Naomi still echoes in my mind, along with Elijah’s infuriating smirk during training. The October evening had felt unusually warm, almost stifling, as if the air itself was conspiring against me. Just then, my phone screen lights up, shattering the silence.

June is calling.

A jolt of anxiety twists in my stomach, and before I can collect my thoughts, another name flashes beneath hers.

Lily.

Together. As if they’ve orchestrated a surprise attack from a past I can only vaguely recall.

My thumb hovers hesitantly above the screen. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I shouldn’t feel like I’m about to step onto a stage without a script. They’re just girls. My friends. Or at least they were.

But still, my heart races, a quiet thrum echoing against my collarbone.

With a deep breath, I force myself to swipe the green icon.

The call connects, and for a moment, silence envelops us.

“…Claire?”

It’s June. Her voice is instantly recognizable, warm yet edged with something sharp, as if she’s trying to mask her concern.

“Claire, oh my God, finally!” Lily bursts in, her tone urgent and breathless. “Why haven’t you picked up? We’ve been calling you literally every hour!”

“I—hey.” My voice comes out embarrassingly soft, almost a whisper.

There’s a pause, thick with confusion.

“Hey?” June repeats, her disbelief palpable. “Girl, are you okay? Why do you sound like you don’t know who we are?”

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on me. Here we go.

“I kind of… don’t,” I confess, my voice barely above a murmur.

Silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating, as if both girls have just had the wind knocked out of them.

“…Claire,” Lily whispers, her voice trembling, “what does that mean?”

I take a slow, deliberate breath, gathering my thoughts. “I had an accident. Two weeks ago.”

Their gasps come in unison, as if they had rehearsed this moment.

“What accident?” June demands, her voice rising in pitch. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? Are you hurt? Did you faint again? Did someone hit you?”

“June,” Lily interjects sharply, “let her talk!”

“I’m fine.” The word feels like a lie, but I cling to it. “I was walking home. A car… hit me. Or maybe I hit the car. I don’t really know. They said someone pushed me out of the way before I could react.”

“Oh my God,” Lily breathes, her voice a mix of disbelief and concern.

“I woke up with memory loss,” I continue, trying to steady my voice. “Not total… but a lot of things. Important things. People.”

A soft curse escapes June’s lips.

“You could’ve died,” she murmurs, her voice cracking, revealing the depth of her worry.

“I know.” The truth of it settles in my chest like a cold stone—quiet but impossible to ignore.

“What about your heart?” Lily blurts out. “Are you stable? Did the doctors say anything? Was the accident caused by—”

“No.” I interrupt gently, trying to calm their rising panic. “It wasn’t my heart this time. Just… bad luck. Wrong place, wrong moment.”

Both girls exhale shakily, the tension easing slightly.

“God, Claire,” June groans, the relief evident in her voice. “You’re not allowed to traumatize us like this.”

A soft laugh escapes me, startled but genuine. “I didn’t exactly plan it.”

“You could’ve at least texted,” Lily grumbles, her tone half-serious. “Like ‘hey, I’m alive, brb.’”

“I didn’t have my phone.”

“And your brain apparently exited the chat,” June adds, trying to lighten the mood.

“Exactly.”

Their laughter fills the air, and for a brief moment, warmth seeps into the cold space inside my chest.

“But seriously,” Lily says quietly, “how are you… really?”

How am I?

I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the familiar patterns swirling above me. “Confused. Tired. Everything here feels familiar yet wrong at the same time. Like someone rearranged my entire life while I was asleep.”

“That sounds awful,” June murmurs, her empathy palpable.

“It is,” I admit, the weight of my reality crashing down on me. “Some days, I wake up and it feels like the walls are breathing.”

“That’s dramatic,” Lily remarks, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“It’s true.”

“Okay, fine, but still dramatic,” she concedes, a smile evident in her tone.

I huff a laugh, feeling lighter.

“So…” June ventures, attempting casualness but failing. “How’s Elijah?”

Oh boy.

I hesitate, and she pounces on my pause.

“A pause? A PAUSE? Claire, what does that mean?”

I hang up with a weak laugh, heading downstairs.

Elijah is already seated at the table, his focus on slicing his chicken. He doesn’t look up—just a quick flick of his eyes that barely registers my presence before he returns to his task. His jaw is tight, and his hair damp from a recent shower. The air around him feels charged, like a silent hum vibrating through the room.

I take my usual seat across from him, a place I’ve occupied so many times before—habit overriding memory.

Dinner begins in the usual manner—calm, peaceful. The clinking of forks, the soft sound of chewing, the quiet clatter of glasses.

Then, without warning, Mom drops a bombshell.

“So,” she says lightly, “Claire… do you have a boyfriend?”

I choke.

Actually choke.

Rice goes down the wrong pipe, and I slap my hand against my chest, a horrifying cough echoing through the dining room. Elijah’s head snaps up sharply, his expression shifting as if the very idea has offended him.

I manage to gulp in air, the panic still lingering.

Mom blinks, concern etched across her face. “Honey, it was just a question.”

“Why—” I cough again, struggling to regain my composure. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re growing up,” she shrugs, nonchalant. “And you used to talk to some boy often, before the accident. I was just wondering if that was still a thing.”

A boy?

A boy I apparently talked to a lot?

My mind spins uselessly, trying to piece together fragments of memories.

And then, instinctively, my gaze drifts toward Elijah.

He isn’t even pretending not to listen.

His shoulders tense, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his jaw reveals his discomfort. The muscle ticks once, twice, as if the question has unsettled him. Like the answer carries weight.

Which is utterly ridiculous.

Why would he care?

He’s my stepbrother. My cold, frequently annoyed, rarely smiling stepbrother.

I forcibly drag my gaze away, mentally chastising myself.

Get a grip. Elijah doesn’t have a say in anything you do, even if he is freakishly handsome and maybe a bit protective—no. I can’t be thinking like this.

Mom waits expectantly, her eyes searching mine.

I clear my throat, sitting up a little straighter, and force the words out.

“No.”