Lahat ng Kabanata ng Claimed By My Stepbrother : Kabanata 111 - Kabanata 120

I stared at my phone for a long time before calling. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed Greg. The ache in my side from where I got shot was starting to burn in a way I couldn’t ignore. I was still bleeding, the blood soaking into the edge of my shirt. I wasn’t healing fast enough. The bastards had used something new—silver-laced or chemically modified to screw with our regeneration. Whatever it was, it worked. The line clicked, and Greg picked up after two rings. “Hello.” I exhaled and leaned against a tree. “How’s the honeymoon?” “Cut the crap, Ethan. Why are you calling me?” Right. Straight to the point, as usual. “They came again,” I said. “More of them. Twice as many. I took most of them down, but…” I hesitated, pressing a hand to my side. “They’re not backing off, Greg. It’s going to be worse tomorrow.” There was a pause. Not silence—just the sound of his breath and that distant hum of him calculating something. “I knew it would come to this,” he said f

I turned, blinking at him. “What?” He was leaning against the counter, his arms folded, head tilted slightly, the corners of his lips curved into something that looked casual but felt... tighter. His eyes didn’t leave mine. That weird little glint was back in them. “Creepy much?” I said, rolling my eyes, but I felt it — the slow creep of heat crawling up my neck. “We are close. She’s my best friend.” He nodded slowly like he was cataloguing that information, filing it away into some mental stalker drawer labeled 'Tessa: threat level moderate'. “You’re blushing,” he added, voice maddeningly calm. I scoffed. “Shut up. I am not.” He said nothing. Just smiled. That tiny little, smug-ass smirk like he knew something I didn’t. I turned back around, and continued eating. It was actually… weirdly peaceful for a second. It felt normal. Like we were normal people sharing breakfast. Except normal people didn’t have murder flashbacks and imprinting conversations and weir

I didn’t know how to leave my room. Like, physically, yeah—I could walk over to the door, twist the knob, and just… go. But mentally? Emotionally? I was glued to the bed, paralyzed under the soft weight of my own thoughts. I didn’t even do anything productive. Not like I picked up a book or decided to clean or rearrange the pile of clothes I’d been pretending wasn’t growing in the corner. Nope. I just sat there. I laid there. I rolled around, covered myself with my blanket, kicked it off, groaned into my pillow, stared at the ceiling fan as it spun in lazy circles like it was mocking me. I wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore. All I knew was that the air in the room felt heavy, like it knew something had happened too. Like even the fucking walls were gossiping about me and Ethan now. God. The memory of the kiss—the way he said “good girl” in that low voice, the way his hands moved like he already knew every inch of me—kept replaying in my head on loop. I pulled the p

ETHAN ~ I didn’t know Camila could be that damn cute. Sure, I knew she was beautiful — I'd known that from the second I laid eyes on her — but cute? That was a different beast altogether. That was a punch straight to the gut, a low blow I wasn’t prepared for. And it hit me hard. I sat there on the edge of the bed, the faint ache of my freshly healing wound throbbing under the bandage. But my mind wasn’t on the pain. No, it was stuck replaying the kiss. Over and over again. I had kissed her on impulse — pure stupid impulse. I couldn’t help it. She was there, all worried and soft, and vulnerable. How the hell was I supposed to resist? But what wrecked me, what completely shattered the thin walls I had around myself, was the fact that she kissed me back. She actually kissed me back. I groaned low in my throat, dragging a hand down my face, remembering the way her lips had pressed against mine — hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed, then firmer, nee

The drive back felt longer somehow, the bag sitting heavy on the seat next to me, a silent reminder of how close we were cutting this. Every turn of the tires felt like a clock ticking down in my head. Gotta move fast. By the time I pulled into the driveway, the sky was beginning to lighten at the edges, a dirty shade of blue smudging out the black. I killed the engine and stepped out, boots crunching over the gravel. I kept the duffel slung over one shoulder, my other hand resting at my side. Please still be asleep, Camila. I slid the key into the lock and twisted it slowly, easing the door open with barely a creak. I locked the door behind me and moved fast, my boots whisper-quiet on the floorboards. First stop: my room. I dropped the duffel onto the bed and zipped it open with fast, practiced fingers. Inside, nestled among black foam padding, were three small glass vials, each filled with a swirling, smoky liquid the color of storm clouds. The guy had delivered