All Chapters of Claimed By My Stepbrother : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Ethan chuckled, that deep rumble in his chest making me both irritated and flustered at the same time. “Pancakes?” he repeated, eyebrows raising like I’d just told him I wanted diamonds for breakfast. “Sweetheart, this isn’t the cabin kitchen. There’s no flour, no milk, and definitely no maple syrup lying around here.” I tried to pout but ended up laughing a little despite myself. “So what? You’re saying Knoxl doesn’t do breakfast food? What kind of hell is this?” He smirked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “The kind where people survive on roasted meat, stew, and bread. If you’re craving pancakes, you’re about three villages too far from civilization.” I rolled my eyes, hugging my knees against my chest while still sitting on the bed. But under the joking, I couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that sat heavy in my stomach. Not just about pancakes. About… us. About how he touched me like he wanted me but always stopped before it became anything more. Like he

My wrists stung from the tight ropes digging into my skin, and my mouth was dry. My head throbbed faintly, each pulse making the world tilt. The smell in the air was damp, like stone walls and sweat and old wood. Then, out of nowhere, the sound of a door creaking open cut through the silence. Light—blinding and merciless—spilled into the darkness where I was kept, and I flinched hard, squeezing my eyes shut against the sudden brightness. It felt like knives stabbing straight through my eyelids. And then came the voice. Loud and furious. “What the fuck did you do?” It wasn’t aimed at me. It was aimed at whoever was inside here with me. I forced my eyes open, squinting, and caught sight of a figure leaning in the shadows not too far from me. The man’s shoulders jerked like he hadn’t expected to be confronted either. “What?” he barked back, voice defensive. “Why the hell did you keep her here?” the angry voice growled. The figure beside me shifted, stepping slightly into the dim

I tried the food. Honestly? I didn’t expect much, but damn—it was good. Sweet, soft, rich in a way I couldn’t quite place. Not like anything I’d eaten back home or even in Ethan’s pack. My stomach had been gnawing at itself for hours, so I didn’t waste time overthinking it. I just ate. Bite after bite, shoveling spoonfuls like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, because, well, I kinda hadn’t. I didn’t stop until my belly felt heavy and warm, the ache inside of me finally easing. It was… comforting in a way I hadn’t felt since everything had gone upside down. Comforting enough that my eyelids felt like weights. I curled up on the ridiculously soft bed, pressing my face into the pillow that smelled faintly of something spiced. I must have drifted off faster than I thought, because the next thing I knew, I was in that hazy, unsettling space where dreams feel real enough to cut. Ethan’s voice. I could hear it echoing faintly, calling my name through some kind of fog. “Camila!”

I stared at him. Home? I wanted to laugh, maybe even choke on it, because the picture of “home” in my head wasn’t some glowing kingdom with red-haired strangers claiming blood ties. It was me and my mom in our tiny apartment, the one-bedroom place that always smelled faintly of coffee and fabric softener. I remembered curling up in my little room with its chipped nightstand and creaky bed, the way she used to sit on the edge of it and run her hand through my hair. Then, later, it was the mansion. The big house with polished floors, and expensive furniture that I never really felt safe in. I lived there, yes, but LIVED isn’t the same as HOME. It was like existing in a glass cage, being watched, trapped, weighed down by the tension in every wall and the secrets buried in every room. But then there was the cabin. The cabin where Ethan carried me when I was too tired to stand, where I laughed and cried and broke down in his arms. The smell of pine, the sound of the fireplace. That—th

I waited. That’s literally all I could do—just sit there and count the seconds like some prisoner in a fairytale tower. I’d already tried pacing, already tried lying down, already tried staring at the ceiling until the cracks in the stone started looking like faces. None of it helped. So I just stuck to waiting. One hundred seconds. Five hundred. I lost track somewhere after a thousand. The sun shifted through the slit of a window, telling me it was later now—afternoon, maybe. My stomach grumbled in agreement, like it was keeping time too. Finally, a knock. Light, almost musical. My head snapped toward the door. “It’s me,” a voice chimed softly. Lyra. I swear I almost leapt to my feet. The door opened, and she stepped in, balancing a tray. Steam curled up from the dishes, carrying a sweet, earthy smell that made my stomach groan louder. I felt a little embarrassed, but she only smiled, like she’d been expecting it. “You kept your word,” she said warmly, setting the tray on