All Chapters of Claimed By My Stepbrother : Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

The rest of the days that followed were… awkward. There’s really no better word for it. Awkward in that heavy, uncomfortable way where silence says more than words, and every glance feels like a reminder of the thing we’re all too scared to name. I spent most of my time in my room, tucked away behind closed doors, pretending the walls were some kind of shield. They weren’t, of course—the mansion was too big, too alive with the echoes of voices and footsteps for me to block everything out—but I clung to the illusion anyway. When I wasn’t locked away, I wandered the hallways, sometimes going for long walks around the gardens just to breathe air that didn’t feel so stifled. The irony was sharp: we were surrounded by acres of wild, beautiful forest, flowers blooming along stone paths, fountains whispering under the open sky… yet inside, we were like ghosts haunting each other. And my mother—well, she tried. God, she really did. Every time we crossed paths, whether in the hall or out

I found her by accident. Well, not exactly an accident—more like I’d been circling the mansion for hours, pretending to admire the gardens or the carved stonework when really, I was trying to gather the courage to do the one thing I’d been avoiding: talk to her. And then there she was, sitting on a stone bench under this ridiculous archway covered in vines, the kind that looked like it belonged in some fairytale wedding scene. Sunlight streamed through the leaves, catching in her hair, and she was just… sitting there. Perfectly still. For a moment, I thought maybe she was sleeping, but when I got closer, I saw her eyes were open. Distant. Lost. “Mom?” Her head turned slowly, and then she smiled at me. But it wasn’t her usual smile. It was… stretched. Forced. The kind of smile people give when they’re trying to convince you everything’s fine but you can practically hear the glass cracking underneath. “Camila,” she said softly. “You’re up early.” I shrugged, even though it was

ETHAN ~ I missed her so damn much. I didn’t even know where her underwear ended up—I’d practically tossed them over my shoulder without looking. Didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered at this point. Her thighs were soft, pressed together like she was teasing me. I eased them apart, my hand sliding up the inside of one until I had a perfect view of her. My throat went tight as I swallowed. I dragged a knuckle through her slick heat, and her hips jerked, restless, her breath catching. “Ethan…” “You’re so fucking pretty,” I rasped, voice breaking with how much I wanted her. She gave a shaky laugh, but it turned into a gasp when I teased her entrance with my fingers. I nudged her thighs wider, settling in between them, and licked a long, slow line through her slit. The taste of her hit my tongue— erotic, sweet, heady, overwhelming in the best way. Her legs trembled under my grip when I did it again. I shifted against the mattress, desperate for any kind of relief, because sh

I waited. At first, it was fine. The kind of waiting that feels temporary — like he’d be back in a minute, maybe two. I sat on the bed with my knees pulled to my chest, picking at the edge of the blanket, staring at the door like it might suddenly swing open and Ethan would walk in, shrugging like, false alarm. But minutes turned into what felt like hours. Time sort of stretched weirdly when you were alone with your thoughts, especially when those thoughts included Ethan’s father being somewhere on the other side of the walls. The packhouse was too quiet. That was what unnerved me first. Usually, there were faint sounds — laughter echoing from the yard, footsteps, someone shouting orders in the distance — but now, it felt like the entire building was holding its breath. I tried to distract myself. Pulled the sheet tighter, sat cross-legged on the bed, and picked at a loose thread on the blanket. I even tried to tell myself that maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe Ethan’s father wa

The air between us stilled, and I felt my chest tighten. “Please don’t say that,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “Don’t—don’t make it sound like something’s about to happen. Like we’re…”“On borrowed time?” he finished for me, smiling faintly. It wasn’t the kind of smile that comforted you — it was the kind that broke your heart a little, because you could tell he was trying to make light of something that wasn’t light at all.I hated that smile.“Ethan, I’m serious,” I said, pulling back just enough to see his face properly. “Can you not talk like we’re about to walk into a battlefield?”He studied me quietly for a few seconds, his eyes softening. Then he exhaled, almost like he was surrendering. “Alright. I won’t say it.”“Good,” I muttered, though my heart was still pounding.But then, instead of stepping away, he tilted his head toward the door and said, “Come on.”I blinked. “What?”“Follow me.”“To the west wing? Already?”His grin returned, a little more genuine this t