All Chapters of Claimed By My Stepbrother : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

By the time the flames died down, the sky had turned an orange kind of gold. The kind that looked soft but felt like the day was ending with more questions than answers. The burnt clothes lay in the pit, crumbling into nothing. The smell of smoke clung to my skin and hair, and even though I didn’t want to stay out here any longer, I just stood there for a bit. Watching. Making sure nothing was left but ashes. Then I dusted my hands on my shorts and turned back toward the house, shoulders heavier than they should’ve been. Once inside, I dragged myself up the stairs, step after step, like they were fighting me back, until I reached the comfort of my room. I sat down on my bed, pulled my phone from where I’d left it charging earlier, and stared at the screen for a second. There were no missed calls. No texts. Nothing from Aunt Anya. She hadn’t called. I chewed on my bottom lip for a second, debating whether to call or just pretend like nothing happened. But then again,

The reception was already in full swing by the time I made it to a seat. The music was loud, the champagne was flowing like water, and the guests looked like they were having the time of their lives. I, on the other hand, felt like I was stuck in a weird alternate reality—one where my mother just married Greg, and I had to pretend like I was happy about it. I wasn’t. I mean, I smiled. I laughed at the speeches. I clinked glasses when someone raised a toast. But it was all… fake. There was this buzzing in my chest that wouldn’t go away. Like a low hum of discomfort, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the whole wedding thing, or just the fact that Ethan had been staring at me on and off all day. Tessa returned with a glass of something bubbly and handed it to me. “You seriously look like you saw a ghost.” “I’m fine,” I told her, which was the biggest lie I’d told all week. And that’s saying something. Tessa didn’t push. She just sat down beside me and let out a long, drama

The music swirled softly in the air as I walked back into the reception hall, heels clicking against the marble floor, the chaos in my head louder than the chatter around me. I spotted them instantly—my mom in the middle of the dance floor, her face flushed with laughter as she twirled with some family friend, her dress flowing like a whisper around her legs. And Greg—he stood near the back, alone, one hand lazily holding a glass of champagne while the other rested in his pocket. But he wasn’t watching the dancers. His eyes were fixed on her, soft and completely enthralled, like she was the only thing in this room. For a second, I froze. I don’t know why. Maybe because that look on his face didn’t feel like a lie. But lies were all I’d gotten from him. I started walking toward him, slow and deliberate. My jaw was tight, and I felt that familiar heat rising in my chest, crawling up the back of my neck. He noticed me halfway across the room and casually placed his drink on

We finally pulled up to the mansion, the tires crunching against the gravel driveway like bones underfoot. The sky was turning that kind of soft orange that screamed “evening nap,” and everything about the place looked way too grand and way too quiet for my current mood. Honestly, it looked like a painting someone forgot to smudge. I climbed out of the car, hoodie pulled over my head like armor, and dragged my feet up to the front door. My hand fumbled for the key in my pocket, fingers shaking just slightly from all the adrenaline that hadn’t burned out yet. My head was pounding, and my body felt like a used-up battery—low energy, low will to exist, just... low. I shoved the key in the lock. Turned it. Nothing. I tried again, this time using my whole body like the damn door was out to get me. Still nothing. My jaw clenched. “Seriously?” I muttered under my breath. Behind me, I heard Ethan’s slow, deliberate footsteps approaching. He moved like he was walking on water—q

“Camila?” The voice was too soft for the way it sliced through the chaos in my head. Too gentle for the blood-soaked room. I turned sharply, breath frozen somewhere between my lungs and throat. My knees threatened to give out under me, but i didn’t move—couldn’t move. The voice was familiar, but hearing it here, now, made it feel wrong. Twisted. And then I saw him. Ethan. Standing a few feet away, surrounded by the carnage, like some grotesque painting come to life. Blood painted his shirt, his neck, even smeared across his cheek like war paint. His hands—God, his hands were dripping. But what made my stomach twist wasn’t the blood. Wasn’t the violence. It was the smile. That damn soft, almost innocent smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth like he hadn’t just stepped out of a horror scene. Like he hadn’t just painted the living room red. “Sorry about that,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur, calm like they were just chatting over coffee. “I really di